Post by Jo on Jan 10, 2009 13:58:39 GMT -5
Hai popplez! I am lazy and have to write up another 1500 word essay in four days. Therefore I am beseeching you to read through my Creative Writing assignment, check for typos and generally tell me if its good or not. Actually, scratch that last part. I don't care if it is or not, he can like it or lump it, then give me a 2:1 and lots of praise! huzzah.
Thank you in advance you loverly people. And if you don't then psh, thanks for reading? IDK. I'm sure Mel will do it. I'll poke her.
*Goes off to write an essay on 'In Flander's Fields'.
Kindred Desire.
From up here you can see everything. Perhaps not the whole world, but everything the whole world has to offer, if you look close enough. There is peace and solitude up here. Or, if you’re that kind of person, there is the resonance of socialites and festivity. Visitors are forever conversing here; their life stories of love, hatred, loss and regret are painted upon the walls in every language imaginable. The fire crackles with the faces of those visitors that had peered into the glowing ember for comfort and warmth, each flicker of rising ash carries remnants of their shining eyes. Reanimated voices rebound from the curved glass windows, echoes of times gone by. Here memories are conserved, new ones are formed and future thoughts are fabricated. And here, nothing is what it seems.
Dr Tobias Drake had settled himself into his ancient chair some hours ago, his hand curled around the stiff dragon head that laid peacefully at rest on the arm and hadn’t moved since. He now caressed the pallid wood, his fingers finding the grooves of previous thoughtful strokes. As his fingers mindlessly drew unseen shapes upon the woods surface, his memory fused and he furrowed his brow. Today had been a long, tiresome day. Everything he had ever known had been questioned with one simple act. One frivolous occurrence and his whole knowledge of the universe had been blown away.
Nathaniel re-entered the cloudy room, peered through the haze and sighed. No matter how many times he told Tobias to tidy his work up, he never did. Others thought it foolish for him to speak to such a man like that, but as his oldest friend it had become his duty. His gaze followed over the many coloured glass flasks of all shapes and sizes, some not even worldly shapes. His eyes followed the queer coloured liquid that leaked, poured, flowed and slipped through these funnels and watched thoughtfully as they made their relentless journey. Through a particularly weird shaped flask, Nathaniel spied Tobias Drake sitting, face in palms, in a greenish hue, with smoke mockingly curling from his greying head. Nathaniel coughed and straightened himself up to make himself known and more prominent. Dr Drake was oblivious and continued his fraught despair.
Inside, there is an ethereal glow that ignites the welcome. Hanging from the ceiling, two flying dragons are downward in grace, their luminosity lighting up for all to see. With your cheeks warm and your eyesight adjusted, the rest of the room is a marvel to behold. One complete large room, expected of such a place, it is occupied by so much it seems impervious to even suggest walls. A wondrous staircase graces the curving walls, rising so high the very top is a myth to behold. Intricate threads of silver hang low from the staircase, its hollow base encrusted with dangling trinkets of no use other than ornamental to you or I. The outspread from the staircase is befuddling to the most philosophical of men; regal bookcases line the contours, their shelves rupture forth with thousands of books, all of them read fifty thousand times over. Books with gold etchings, silvered pages and inked constructions that can be interpreted in every direction and more.
This place was not always so abound. There was a time when its walls were silent and the stairs merely creaked with boredom. When no one visited purely for the sake of the visit and when they surely did not cohort with such frivolous or otherwise uptakes. The rooms were hollow and the stars above could not begin to illuminate the darkness within. This place was lonely and held a desire for one thing only: A Friend.
I speak, of course, of the lighthouse upon Elden Rook. The foundations built into the very sea, it sits atop and sways with the wind yet it never moves. The sea throws all it can muster upon it, yet it never decays. The fiery depths have birthed life into the sea around it; small islands, misshapen rocks and decrepit wastelands that slowly corrode back into the sea. Not one of these irrelevances could pay harm to it and they all fade away besides it.
Desiderata is its name, its will and its passion. It neither fulfils nor grants, but it does not disappoint. It has no reason to disappoint.
Nathanial tore his gaze from the cindered books and stared at his old friend. In just under a day he had grown ever so older, his greying hair now a pale, faded chalk and his face so sunken and grave. The books piled on the floor, now completely disintegrated, had fallen from the heights of the Lighthouse. A continuous stream of old chronicles had been falling from the unseen roof of Desiderata for over an hour now, neither man below questioned it. Tobias had been in his chair for the duration of all the commotion around him, his hands never quavered from rubbing his temples. A solemn coldness ran through every bone in his body which sank into his very soul and seeped into his skin. He was now lost in a world he had once known so well.
In time, the books ceased their falling. The ashen remains had disappeared soon after and nothing remained of the destruction that had passed. The once vibrant colour of the stairs, the walls and the many memories of the place faded quietly, almost without notice. The echoes of past visitors had abated quickly at first, during the preliminary onslaught. What was left would vanish ever more so briskly. Tobias was not strong enough to withstand such incursion, even with Nathanial there to stand by his dear friend. Nathanial would regret to inform anyone of the position Tobias was now in, the pain struck him as deep as an arrow ever could. Desiderata had been his stronghold for over three hundred years, and now, what? A power hungry wanton had brought his whole world down in so little time. It really made him think; which was a dangerous thing to behold.
For years Desiderata had been the envy of all; magical, mythical, regal and powerful, they all knew of its powers and its strengths. Its weaknesses they knew little, but to their minds what could be exploited could also be reinforced. One such power, a greedy, self-absorbed woman of regal expulsion, had explored such exploits and therefore it came to pass that Desiderata, the stronghold atop Elden Rook, had been viciously savaged by this one tainted wretch: Avaritia.
And now, the memory of a thousand years falls down this night. The sea is silent; it glints not this night. The echoes of laughter have dispersed themselves as the army cast their sorcery; ripping out the very heart of desire. Desiderata splintered in the centre, pain enough for even a wise structure. Its painful reverberations swallowed the mourning sea, no mercy was shown. Sure enough, the onslaught proved too much and Desiderata perished into silence. All that was and all that would be was frozen in time, the act could not be undone. Hurt and alone, Desiderata would remain obscured from the world. Those who relied upon her most often would disappear from all knowledge, their fight unknown and forgotten. Free desire would be lost and in its place would come the resonance of cruelty, jealousy and greed. Desiderata; Avaritia is thy master.
From up here you can see everything. Perhaps not the whole world, but everything the whole world has to offer, if you look close enough. There is peace and solitude up here. Or, if you’re that kind of person, there is the resonance of socialites and festivity. Visitors are forever conversing here; their life stories of love, hatred, loss and regret are painted upon the walls in every language imaginable. The fire crackles with the faces of those visitors that had peered into the glowing ember for comfort and warmth, each flicker of rising ash carries remnants of their shining eyes. Reanimated voices rebound from the curved glass windows, echoes of times gone by. Here memories are conserved, new ones are formed and future thoughts are fabricated. And here, nothing is what it seems.
Dr Tobias Drake had settled himself into his ancient chair some hours ago, his hand curled around the stiff dragon head that laid peacefully at rest on the arm and hadn’t moved since. He now caressed the pallid wood, his fingers finding the grooves of previous thoughtful strokes. As his fingers mindlessly drew unseen shapes upon the woods surface, his memory fused and he furrowed his brow. Today had been a long, tiresome day. Everything he had ever known had been questioned with one simple act. One frivolous occurrence and his whole knowledge of the universe had been blown away.
Nathaniel re-entered the cloudy room, peered through the haze and sighed. No matter how many times he told Tobias to tidy his work up, he never did. Others thought it foolish for him to speak to such a man like that, but as his oldest friend it had become his duty. His gaze followed over the many coloured glass flasks of all shapes and sizes, some not even worldly shapes. His eyes followed the queer coloured liquid that leaked, poured, flowed and slipped through these funnels and watched thoughtfully as they made their relentless journey. Through a particularly weird shaped flask, Nathaniel spied Tobias Drake sitting, face in palms, in a greenish hue, with smoke mockingly curling from his greying head. Nathaniel coughed and straightened himself up to make himself known and more prominent. Dr Drake was oblivious and continued his fraught despair.
Inside, there is an ethereal glow that ignites the welcome. Hanging from the ceiling, two flying dragons are downward in grace, their luminosity lighting up for all to see. With your cheeks warm and your eyesight adjusted, the rest of the room is a marvel to behold. One complete large room, expected of such a place, it is occupied by so much it seems impervious to even suggest walls. A wondrous staircase graces the curving walls, rising so high the very top is a myth to behold. Intricate threads of silver hang low from the staircase, its hollow base encrusted with dangling trinkets of no use other than ornamental to you or I. The outspread from the staircase is befuddling to the most philosophical of men; regal bookcases line the contours, their shelves rupture forth with thousands of books, all of them read fifty thousand times over. Books with gold etchings, silvered pages and inked constructions that can be interpreted in every direction and more.
This place was not always so abound. There was a time when its walls were silent and the stairs merely creaked with boredom. When no one visited purely for the sake of the visit and when they surely did not cohort with such frivolous or otherwise uptakes. The rooms were hollow and the stars above could not begin to illuminate the darkness within. This place was lonely and held a desire for one thing only: A Friend.
I speak, of course, of the lighthouse upon Elden Rook. The foundations built into the very sea, it sits atop and sways with the wind yet it never moves. The sea throws all it can muster upon it, yet it never decays. The fiery depths have birthed life into the sea around it; small islands, misshapen rocks and decrepit wastelands that slowly corrode back into the sea. Not one of these irrelevances could pay harm to it and they all fade away besides it.
Desiderata is its name, its will and its passion. It neither fulfils nor grants, but it does not disappoint. It has no reason to disappoint.
Nathanial tore his gaze from the cindered books and stared at his old friend. In just under a day he had grown ever so older, his greying hair now a pale, faded chalk and his face so sunken and grave. The books piled on the floor, now completely disintegrated, had fallen from the heights of the Lighthouse. A continuous stream of old chronicles had been falling from the unseen roof of Desiderata for over an hour now, neither man below questioned it. Tobias had been in his chair for the duration of all the commotion around him, his hands never quavered from rubbing his temples. A solemn coldness ran through every bone in his body which sank into his very soul and seeped into his skin. He was now lost in a world he had once known so well.
In time, the books ceased their falling. The ashen remains had disappeared soon after and nothing remained of the destruction that had passed. The once vibrant colour of the stairs, the walls and the many memories of the place faded quietly, almost without notice. The echoes of past visitors had abated quickly at first, during the preliminary onslaught. What was left would vanish ever more so briskly. Tobias was not strong enough to withstand such incursion, even with Nathanial there to stand by his dear friend. Nathanial would regret to inform anyone of the position Tobias was now in, the pain struck him as deep as an arrow ever could. Desiderata had been his stronghold for over three hundred years, and now, what? A power hungry wanton had brought his whole world down in so little time. It really made him think; which was a dangerous thing to behold.
For years Desiderata had been the envy of all; magical, mythical, regal and powerful, they all knew of its powers and its strengths. Its weaknesses they knew little, but to their minds what could be exploited could also be reinforced. One such power, a greedy, self-absorbed woman of regal expulsion, had explored such exploits and therefore it came to pass that Desiderata, the stronghold atop Elden Rook, had been viciously savaged by this one tainted wretch: Avaritia.
And now, the memory of a thousand years falls down this night. The sea is silent; it glints not this night. The echoes of laughter have dispersed themselves as the army cast their sorcery; ripping out the very heart of desire. Desiderata splintered in the centre, pain enough for even a wise structure. Its painful reverberations swallowed the mourning sea, no mercy was shown. Sure enough, the onslaught proved too much and Desiderata perished into silence. All that was and all that would be was frozen in time, the act could not be undone. Hurt and alone, Desiderata would remain obscured from the world. Those who relied upon her most often would disappear from all knowledge, their fight unknown and forgotten. Free desire would be lost and in its place would come the resonance of cruelty, jealousy and greed. Desiderata; Avaritia is thy master.
Thank you in advance you loverly people. And if you don't then psh, thanks for reading? IDK. I'm sure Mel will do it. I'll poke her.
*Goes off to write an essay on 'In Flander's Fields'.
Hooray, Jowritings. <3