Chapter 2 (Written by Me, Kassady) Amy stood a gape, as a man stood in front of her, that looked as if he had just came from the set of Lord of the Rings. "Who...who" she stammered, "Listen"Amy said shakily, "This game your playing... its not funny any more. Just stop, okay?" The weirdo glared at her, his hair falling into his face, making his face look fierce and mysterious, "Who are you? And where am I?" he asked, still glaring at her.
The shadows sweep
And shadows fall
Across the weeping sky
Eyes as black as a devil’s soul
Through clouds of smoke did peer
A lady in peril and he was bound
Not by honor, not by fear, but by magic
To help the lady, dear
With a single sweep he broke the bonds that bound
The lady, dear
the daylight hours i must confess
are not always filled with happiness
open up a jar of dreams to chase away the stress
the nighttime serves to make you think
an atmosphere in which you sink
all thoughts and dreams are put in jars for thirsty minds to drink
creativity it seems is not to be found only in dreams
the facets of our daily lives are bursting at the seams
how this works inside a jar is a mysterious theme
as i look up into the sky it turns into a sea
One might say it was ironic, but he did not find it funny.
The wind swept over hallowed ground as darkness lay upon the earth. How ironic that his last glimpse of freedom was a graveyard.
Her hand was cold in his. He looked into her icy cold eyes and knew what he felt must be true. The only human he'd ever loved had bound him into servitude.
Phorknere
Prologue
The wind was blowing hard and strong, the way all the sailor's on board the great ship liked it.
A big burly, broad and muscular man stood, legs spread far apart as a manly and confident figure. The captain smiled, proud and glowing with excitement and glee. His child was going to be born! His first baby girl, he was sure.
The will to write a poem striks in an instant like a flash of lightening outside my window. One can not just sit down and write poetry for without that light a poem is nothing more than nevermore the cry of a poem tortured. Please enjoy my hastily writen poem!
Shadows of light; Slivers of darkness
Light and dark forever twighned
Such is this of wich I write
Stories and tales; Shadows and stones
Heros and villians; good and evil
Of such is what we write
And yet it seams the soul laid bare
These, and the last couple of fairy tales I've been posting, are for a comilation entitled, "Ordinary Tales of Extraordinary Nature." Of late, I have been annoyed at the lack of good fantasy in the writing sphere of today (excluding AP, of course!), so these little stories are my response to the listless and dark fantasies you find in a bookstore. My tales, like E. Nesbit's short fairy stories, may or may not have a moral; however, I wouldn't wish my morals to be apparent, for when I was a child, I hated when someone was trying to teach me something.
When shadows fade and shadows fall
Darkness creeps and rolls
The desert man made of sand cries out
“What a laugh, did you think this was a pure romance story? I mean come on. How could I let my author write something like that? It would have no place in it for a villain like me.