The End of the Beginning is the Beginning of the End

(Potential melodrama alert!)

Wow. It’s been a bit over two weeks since I ended one part of my life, and here we are again. The difference this time is that the doors are shutting slower, and some drips are still pouring in. There’s still a lot of goodbyes to go around, both to conclude relationships and to cherish the continuation of some.

Bleh. I apologize, but welcome back to another issue of stadarooni, and the fiftieth at that! While I did not plan for such an occurrence, know that this post may be the last time you will see me as sane. University is coming up and as some wise cliché always spouts, this is only the beginning! For now, however, we are not going anywhere.

Now, as with last summer, I want to kick things off with a story. This one will be a bit different, as I graduated! Maybe I made that sound passive, but I am unsure if it has hit me yet. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this descriptive story and enjoy the sunshine. 8)

***

You have just said goodbye. Not for two months or even three, but for good. It lacks weight, and the cauldron’s fire seems extinguished. That walk or drive felt the same as it did in September, and your bag tumbles onto the floor as usual. This time, it will remain there forevermore, but that feels insignificant. You handed in your final assignment and penned your last test, but it does not daunt you in knowing that is it.

Faces. They were there an hour ago, and the hour before that. Perhaps they were that of a student, a teacher, or a nobody. In the next hour, they may amalgamate into the haze of memories, which are untouchable. In that impervious shelter, they cannot be tended to, and they may deteriorate into forgotten dreams. It is not the end, however, as they make take to your road in another form and create new memories. Faces may not be forgotten so easily, but what of voices?

Emotions. Bittersweet? Joy? Sadness? Anxiety towards the unknown? For some, the end of the line may be where life reforms into eternal meandering, phasing into normality without any excitement. For others, the end is just where the page ends and the next begins with new life. Some may feel like heroes; some may feel indifferent to the trial they have persevered through. Whatever the causation, words linger in your mind, defining your smile as you take your cue off of the stage.

Fall. Why is it that during your moment, you only look to the door? There is plenty left for you before the page turns, only bound by your imagination. However, the leaves do eventually crinkle. Regret is only crushed when memories are gone, and the invincible cogs of society grind on in the invisible wind. The midnight soliloquy will never be heard and the rest can only lush and blue for so long.

Memories. The twilight jingle of a music box rusts, leaving its tone mute for all of time. The moment may be forgotten, but emotion will dwell to the grave. The same suit will take course for friends, mentors, and children until your world is nothing but a memory that the cogs have marched beyond. Still, this meaningless part of existence cannot bring you down, as purpose takes precedence over this shallow fact.

Pride. No matter philosophy or judgement, this is your moment. You can set the sail wherever you choose to, as the sea is now open. Opportunities await, but you take heed of danger and consequence. The world is changing, and so is yours. You could not see its beginning or end, but you have control over yours. You have survived the first round, but you are just getting started. The end is the beginning, and the beginning is the end.

Whether or not there be parades or shrines, memories of your accomplishment are engraved. The song may never be sung, but it will always exist. The final day is over, but there is still the next one. Time may march on, but our stories are what give it meaning.

***

While I have no idea what I just wrote, I hope you could at least think and reflect on everything. Unlike last summer, I will not be leaving for an extended period of time so you can expect posts in both July and August! This was my fiftieth post on the blog, and I can guarantee (just like the story said) I am just getting started. 🙂

The Perfect Combo

Today, we come to an ‘unexpected’ post on this blog.

Minus some April Fools foolery, most posts on this blog are generally taken seriously to such an extent that something can be gained from it. Lessons in storytelling? Perhaps. Do you see some flaws in my writing? Perhaps you can, see what they are, and find out how they can be improved. No matter the quality of a work, there is something to be gained.

However, today is not a day to be taken seriously.

As I have mentioned, I am in a Writing class at school, and that is where the bulk of my work in the past few months has gone towards. While I take a lot of what I do very seriously, yesterday was when everything changed. Now if you may excuse me, I hope some comedy will bring a smile to your day. My assignment was to make a paragraph from the point of view of a waitress and an unhappy customer on the topic of a burger. However, I decided to add a short story as well…

Enjoy! 🙂

***

Waitress

It’s do this, do that. Why is it that this Triple Decker Deluxe Hamburger brings me so much joy? I can just imagine my teeth puncturing that bacon like a toothpick, only to sink into that beef, hot off the grill and sizzling with the aroma of delicate Havarti cheese. Here it is, topped off with fresh and hand-picked lettuce and tomato, not to mention that soft yet crispy bun that just soaks in all these flavours. The smorgasbord of perfection is right in front of me, and here I am serving it. I could just pick off a piece of bacon instead of thinking about how ripe it must have looked on the burner. All these parts mushing together and complimented by these scrumptious fries. I almost feel as if I’m internally screaming at myself.

Unhappy Customer

No, no, no, it’s all wrong! One of these patties is slightly out of proportion from the others, and that just won’t do! Why is the cheese WHITE? A proper hamburger from an eloquent dinner such as this should use house-made aged cheddar, as that just SMACKS pizazz! The aesthetics are also all wrong! Why is the bacon a slightly redder red than the beef, and why do the colour of the vegetables strike me more than the meats? The buns are also way too small; how am I supposed to enjoy my first bite when I get oozing meat on my hands? Also, the lighting in this room is all wrong. The 50’s vibe just takes away from this innovating hamburger, and the lighting doesn’t even give the glamour that a family-oriented venue needs! Forget the burger, this place needs a proper interior decorator!

Story

“So, um, are you just going to stare at it or do you plan on eating it?” said the waitress as saliva foamed on the corner of her lips. The customer’s family gazed upon her in unfashionable horror, but he just stared at it with an indomitable look of disappointment.

“The meat should be cooked to a perfect medium-rare, not this gnarly medium-medium-rare! I expect perfection from a fast-food chain such as yours; how hard is it to make a gourmet meal for a family of six and a single father?”

“Bro, I’m just a waitress. If you actually have a problem, take it up with-”

“Don’t even get me started on the rug at this place? Do you people really call dark burgundy a velvet red? Sheesh!”

The waitress looked again at the burger, with its handcrafted Angus beef patties glistening in the last beams of the sunset. It was beautiful and better than all of mankind. It did not cry, moan, whine, or complain about the different between salmon and an aggressive pinkish-orange. It just stood there lovingly, destined to be eaten like an angsty teenager eats ice-cream. That was when she dug down on the burger, squeezing its soft exterior on her scarlet lips.

“Hey! That was my burger! If anyone thinks they can just take up a man’s lavish meal like you just did, I don’t know what that makes me!”

“It makes you kind of slow, dude.” The burger tasted of manufactured beef and microwaved bacon, but after a monotonous two-hour shift, everything tasted better. It was as if a surge of energy had hit a starving survivor of a plane crash, not knowing where they were headed. It was love at first bite.

“That reminds of the time my wife loved me! Until, of course, I took interior decorating as a hobby! Why be so 2016 when you can be so 2017?” The customer then took his hands to exquisitely retrieve the bugger from his assailant, which meant he was going to rip it out of her hands. Instead, he overshot his range, rather grabbing the waitress by the hands.

It was then that time slowed down. It was a haze of confusion as if twenty IED’s went off in a public restroom. It was a dirty feeling, as if two stars merged and danced into a supernova, with no concern for the surrounding planets. (Or in this case, for the family members who would not approve of such unconditional love.) Like the burger, it was cheesy to such an extreme that outreached the stars, not knowing whether the love would create a family, which in turn would cause the couple to purchase expensive appliances that polluted the environment, therefore killing off the sadly endangered black spider monkey.

“Um, this is 2017. You can’t touch me like that.”

“Oh, I just slipped. It happens all the time, that’s why I have six children!”

It was then that the waitress realized that love was overrated, as people simply sucked. Yeah, they sucked. As a random YouTube video once said, love only happened in movies. In real life, it was called stalking.

***

I hope you enjoyed this unexpected post, and I hope you enjoy my upcoming sentimental post set for next week!

Light and Dark

Welcome, welcome!

After a troll post and the first analysis in months, I have returned with a different, third shade. I hope you like these kinds of posts because I present another story!

This piece is dialogue-only, unlike another one I posted a while back that only focused on it. As with many of the pieces I created for my Writing class, this one did go through rewrites and edits, and there was a word-count that I nearly capped. For reference, my drafts went over some dialogue that I had to cut out completely and was nearly a page longer. This was the final copy that I handed in, so I hope you enjoy it!

***

“Do you ever wonder what’s up there?”
“Everything is up there, obviously.”
“True, but do you think anyone is watching us? Maybe we’re watching them!”
“They would be watching a dull rock if they could.”
“Wouldn’t it be lovely to be up there, so vast and free?”
“You would go insane! Watching dull rocks, of course.”
“Does it matter if you’re physically alone? Stars watch you.”
“Doesn’t make the cold hurt any less.”
“We’ll persevere. Haven’t we always done so?”
“It’s sterile up there. Society chains us to the ground, anyways, and it’s not that easy. The world always finds a way to self-destruct under pressure.”
“People can change that! I can steer my car, and there’s billions in this world. We will find a way to break free from shackles and leap.”
“You’re forgetting politics, economy, religion, culture, and power. What makes you think anything will get done?”
“They will change us.”
“They?”
“That’s not what’s important. Do you believe in a destiny for us?”
“I believe we will continue until we cease. We’re not machines, but don’t you find it funny how we just shut off?”
“One day, we will wake up to their arrival. We’ll fulfill whatever purpose lies in the stars.”
“What if they doom us to slavery or extinction? History is not a kind source when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“I like to believe they will act regal and fair. Magnificent beings who will take us by the hand into tomorrow!”
“You’re in love with an idea that will never happen. I suppose your idealism is why I like you, but what you suggested cannot happen.”
“Why?”
“Imagination is disappointing. We want to believe something, and find solace in it. We want to embrace it, and never let go as the harp strikes a chord in the background.”
“If space is infinite, how can I be wrong?”
“Space dies. The stars die. Life as a whole will wither into what it once was: nothing.”
“Isn’t it better to simply exist? To breathe and smell the blossoming of life?”
“Sometimes being an idea can allow you to edge out the competition, can it not?”
“But you technically still exist. Just in someone’s head, that’s all. Right?”
“Remember: ideas change. They can become vile and incomprehensible, or even vanish.”
“If we die, will anyone remember this conversation? Will it have even happened?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Ears hear. The wind doesn’t have them.”
“And that’s where your pessimism is not entirely true. They may not even sense the same way we do.”
“Realism never hurts. Sometimes life shuts you down, and you have to change to overcome it. I’ve never been defeated before, so why now?”
“You’ll never be defeated as long as you keep on going.”
“Like I do.”
“Can you at least agree that the sky is wonderful tonight?”
“That I can do-”
“That’s the last word I’ll hear out of your mouth, soldier. Anymore before you deal with the CO?”
“Just smile, will you?”

***

If you are wondering why the ending is abrupt, that is due to a new conflict I had to establish in a twist as a part of the criteria for this assignment. The original drafts had a few more lines there, but I had to cut it short which sadly made the twist more odd and less abrupt/surprising.

I also have a post that will be made somewhere in early-mid June, which will be something that has never been on this blog before. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this post!

 

End of the Line

Hello everyone, and welcome back!

The blog has been pretty quiet over the past two months, but I have been watching from the sidelines. While a lack of posting, of course, means success will not be met as easily, I can assure you that the blog is not devoid of a viewership. In fact, this month has been very successful to this point! I will go into more depth on what is happening in an update post tomorrow, as well as an explanation for what those two previous stories were and where they may go.

While I try not to be too lazy in what I post here, today I present a rougher draft of an assignment that I worked on at school a few weeks ago. My task was to focus on voice, and I decided to take a step back and enjoy myself while writing this. I present you with a more traditional story for this blog and one that has dialogue as well! Please enjoy what you see, and I will catch up with you at the end.

 

***

“Why is it that we always see blue? It’s always blue, blue, blue. Up: sky blue. Down: dark blue. Have you ever thought of that?” said Sushi.

Sushi’s imagination was always outside of our confines, even if it annoyed the old-timers in our school. The lack of bravado in living towards the land was due to the white beasts. The ultimate evil that lurked, eyes like night striking death in its heart. It is apparently some part of a great chain of life, but I do not choose to believe clownfish; the anchor keeps me at bay.

“Sushi, you’re swimming in a sea of possibilities. Try closing your eyes, and you’ll see black. Everything else is too dangerous!” said Blue.
“Isn’t black just a really dark shade of blue? I want to feel the world, not dream it! We’ll be safe as long as we stick to the shore!”
“Child, boredom will not resolve your current issues. Do not cast away.”

In one way, he was right. Shouldn’t we venture to the shore instead of sailing around it? However, we don’t know what’s out there. I have always trusted Blue’s instincts. Green means seaweed, and you don’t know how many talons can gouge out your eyeballs if you don’t see them. Pink means jellyfish, but they aren’t fish: they are murderers. Sushi is just asking to be bait, and bait always gets hooked away.

“Elder, the school has been swimming in circles for weeks. The nets of ‘China’ have killed off whatever used to live here, and what’s this: they’re clear, or in other words, blue!”
“Sushi, such behaviour is what causes problems in this school! We cannot escape our problems, as they exist everywhere-
“Blue, don’t make me pull a muscle again. Our school makes up in hubris what it lacks in foresight. If Sushi thinks the ocean is beautiful, he can go and find its depth himself,” I said.

I do not often wish to speak with those who go around in circles, but they are obedient to reason. I recognize that my reasoning is ultimately of a sadistic temptation: in the wild, the strong thrive. He has already lost, and now the tides will turn on him as he discovers the perverted nature of the sea.

“If the sharks come, do not run back! They will manipulate you, and your blood will spill because of it. You are off the hook, although another lies ahead,” said Blue.
“Does that mean I will get to see red? Let’s see: there’s crimson, scarlet, lust, carmine, ruby…”

His voice scattered into the wind, and soon we forgot about him. The sea can get lonely sometimes. We are lost in thought, and we don’t like to talk. After five years, I ran out of anything to say, and they did as well. Sushi was the last of our children, but he had drifted away, far into the black horizon of eternity and all lost dreams.

All there is to strike at curiosity is the land. It brings me a joyous hope; a seizure that disrupts my stream of consciousness. I ponder at what may lie, and if a new world would appear. Of course, it was against the elder’s seal of approval as they just want us to drown in sorrow. I’ll be damned if I’m sinking off the deep end, but it never feels like the calm before the storm. The water is still, just like us. Our hearts are watered down, dampened by the dry humour that we may swim in a new channel. Of course, that will not be until the floodgates come open. Perhaps they can come fishing for us?

“Do any of you wish to chase rainbows?”

 

***

Although short, I hope you still enjoyed today’s serving. Remember to check back tomorrow for an update/announcement of sorts, but there is something I want to leave before I head off. For the past two months, I have been working on getting social media accounts up and running for the blog! I present you with some links, but please tell me if there are any other platforms that I should check out.

Thank you, and have a pleasant day! 🙂

Industrial Love

10 years earlier

“Mr. Griffith, please wake up as you were instructed to.”

Birth. A daily procedure in this box pyramid, casted by the tranquilizing love of probing machines and automated utensils. They sliced through air, but they quickly vanished. It was no way to introduce an infant into the world.

“Note: Griffith is unresponsive. Prepare morphine. Subject may need to be shut down.”

The words came into Griffith’s ears, and he knew what they meant. Morphine was an opiate used to numb pain, which meant that something wrong was happening. The orders were carried out by a artificial hum, words gargled and imitated as if read off a script. If he knew this before entering the world, than being born was not so bad.

“Commence stage one: morphine dossage at 5-percent.”

The word commence meant something was starting. 5-percent implied lethality would increase. It was quite rude of Griffith to not let the machines know of his awakening. After all, he was born with knowledge, and compassion came second.

“Howdy gentlemen! Now about this little ‘injection’ you intent to sting me wi-”

The electronic wind of the room snapped, and Griffith’s monotonous commander did not say another word. Beyond that, Griffith sensed an uneasy difference in the space he occupied. The tiny, insignificant, space he occupied. Or was it large? With that, something amazing happened.

Griffith’s eyes opened. The room had no corners, and the white walls only reflected light. The machines were tucked out of existence, and with it any features for his birthplace. But there, beyond the cott he rested in, lied a line.

The exit.

What if I step out of line?

When the World Just Stops

‘Why did you do that?!?’ should have been Mr. Griffith’s response to the horror that bestowed him. His voice could only be swollen by despair and betrayal, and he quickly came to realize that he was defeated.

The monster did not laugh, nor weep, nor move on for him. It simply shot a look of satisfaction, relishing its kill with pleasurable evil. Mr. Griffith could only watch. He could only stand by as the beast emerged victorious. It was the only way this could have ended.

Step out of line, and you step off the edge of sanity. The men in high places were subtle, and the monsters always ripped through souls with the most dangerous of malcontent. Heroes who silenced the invisible blood they lusted for.

Mr. Griffith was a man. He chose to serve for the greater good, to go beyond their threats masked in compassion. But against the monsters, morality loses to practicality. They were monsters, in every worst sense of the word.

That was my son. And in an instant, the lights have forever been expelled. 

And in that moment, the world had gone still.

Lost and Found

Hello everyone! You may be wondering where the posts were for the past two days, and how my absence of leave will affect the posting schedule from now until the 25th.

While I would still technically classify this as day 17’s post, in order to play catch up you can expect two posts today, and two posts tomorrow. Wednesday will be back to smooth sailing, and I apologize for the two-day drought here.

Anyways, as I said on Friday, it is time to move back to storytelling. While Snow and a Toboggan was a more bittersweet tale, this one may be a bit different. It will relate more to Christmas, but maybe not the aspect of it that you expect. There are still toys and trinkets, but I will leave you at that.

Please enjoy.

***

Time has its wheels, and they are not stopping.

December is a blighted celebration of all wrong with the world. They put down their arms, voices, and differences all for me. Something that has collected dust on a shelf for eleven months, only to be picked up by those both poor in belonging and poor in heart.

I have heard the tales of the red jolly man. His merry cheer is one I have never heard and one I will never hear. He delivers my kind to every child in this world, but how does he do it in one night? Are there children in the stars waiting, only for him not to come? I wonder what his elves build in his mechanical fortress in the dead north. I was created by simple men only waiting for profit, sent overseas for other men who controlled them. If only the children knew that.

The storekeeper is a depressed fellow. From what I’ve heard of the red man, they are polar opposites. He puts on a mask with cheerful intention, but I know it isn’t true. The rainbow of lights down each aisle that wash nicely with the mahogany brown of each shelf, and that tree of his. When the lights turn off, I suppose he becomes more relatable. He lives in the store, and cries in the store. I am almost sure he will die in this store, unlike me.

I have heard the stories of how deadly man is. They wrap us in total darkness for what feels like an eternity, and only for their twisted pleasure. They give us to others, whether it be psychopaths, murderers, or children. I have heard terrible things about children. They are like animals, tearing through every ripple of our skin until we are broken and thrown away into the depths of hell. They have the audacity to replace us and waste their treasured coin on such a useless cycle.

I have heard that us toys are not the only victims of such torture. Everything is, and humans are creative. They can subject each other in morbid curiosity, and I find their uncontrollable behaviour disgusting. It is only this time of year that they do so, and they return to their normal state after December is over. It will happen as long as time never stops, and for now, I remain on this shelf of toxic dreams of a superior kind.

They can feel like I can, but they can act as well. Why do they not cherish the idea of being human, instead of dividing themselves into cults and teams? I can foresee my future, but I do know that I only exist in mind and I will never be able to defend myself. They die from age, but I am almost certain to be killed. Consumerism is their biggest weakness and my greatest threat.

I do not wish to die, but I have no choice. The store shelf is the same shade of brown, and the cries of the storekeeper no longer fill me with unbroken sympathy. I have become unfeeling, but my desire to live is like a primal instinct that pierces through my fabric skull. Maybe I will not end up as a gift, but as a stone on the wet pavement. I will lie there forever until something tears me into pieces. It is unfair that they have the ability of movement, and I am condemned to this void of lost dreams.

If luck exists, maybe I can find them.

If the red man exists, maybe he will find them.

Maybe… Maybe I should go to sleep, perchance to dream.

***

I hope that was not too depressing, and yes, that was the plan for Saturday’s post. Sunday’s was supposed to be retrospect, so expect that to be coming later tonight. It may be a long one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Also, you may be wondering about that guest post that faded into obscurity and never formed. The guest felt as if they did not have any great ideas, which is understandable. If he comes with an idea, though, I will let him post it whenever he chooses to, so consider it on indefinite hold for the time being.

Anyways, enjoy this last stretch until the holidays! 🙂

Snow and a Toboggan

Day 11, and now we come back to storytime. For those of you returning, thank you for making yesterday the most successful day on this blog by far. I know that a follow-up to Friday’s post (which is for a niche audience) may have gone against the variety I want to provide for the 25 Days, and I can assure you that what’s ahead will be as exciting, with longer posts as soon as school is out for me this Friday. The title of this post may be similar to another post I made back in June for the summer, and with winter coming up and another kind of cheer just around the corner, the idea for this post is too good to pass up on.

Hopefully, I did not talk for too long, as our story now begins.

***

Another trek through the marble valley is done, and now another day in the small wooden cabin. A look outside reveals a wonderland that sprawls across each end of the horizon, shimmering off the sun in an impossible glow. The air is solid and sound is nothing but a gust of wind, but its magnificent beauty gives eternal life to the platinum branches of trees. The rolling hills of silver blanket the ground, as smooth as milk and as pristine as porcelain. Its contrast to the polished wooden floor of the cabin fills the air with a fuzzy warmth, a feeling to be embraced with easy reminders of the past’s simplicity.

First, cocoa. Your mouth is dry and bit with frost, and your fur coat is trenched on layers of sweaters and t-shirts. You feel heavy, as if the pure mounds of snow can become unbalanced with a simple touch of your boots. It reminds you of the past, with your parents watching you slide down hills in the thick shroud of snowflakes, and the snowmen who kindly gazed upon your festive exuberance with a smile that lasted across time. Laughter at snowball fights, and angels that lied down to look up at the silver sky. It was cold, but fur is warmer than the cold, and bliss is warmer than fur. And coming back inside, only to be delighted by the comforting swirl of hot cocoa in your favourite mug. Now, you are your parents, and the silence in the air is the children.

Now what? Work is done, and rest lies ahead. But time runs out, and your velvet chair is your only companion in a burial of dreams and nostalgia. You remember how the spring blossoms, but it leaves winter in the past. Rain drenches the sky, and pours over the cheer of merry times. The snowmen do melt, and their semblance disappears into the earth and from time itself. The ground is left with verdant grass and muddy dirt, neither of which give the soft joy of gripping a million snowflakes. Their designs never repeat, and each one has its own name and story. You will never them out, as you do not have time.

You are lost. Your instincts convince you that the ivory plains of fluff are innocent, but you know the uneasy truth. Blizzards sending death down the spine, and avalanches blanketing the unlucky in an eternal sleep. Sleds carrying men who will die, and animals who have left silence in their wake. The blue horizon carries its semblance of beauty on a featureless white, but this simplicity is too alluring to men. Cocoa brings order to your wandering mind, and your gloves are the only shield between your tools and being forever stuck like ice in a forest of flurries. Yet, you are not lost for this reason. Emotional value holds its weight against reality, as if it were an unseen star in a glorious constellation of purgatory.

No, you are lost because you cannot find your sled. Your cabin may be on the edge of the world, but others come and go on the lonely road. Your sled was once used for a love of thrill and zipping past city lights that guided the night, but now it is your guardian as you pave the way. Winter brings everyone together in many ways, and you know that cooperation is just as effective as the games you relish in. Your sled is streaked with brick reds and emerald greens, with its hard rope of stitched twine that grips onto your hand. However, it is lost, which makes the road lost. And how do you expect to be found?

You do not know despair: winter gives life to your world. It guards memories, but they cannot exist forever. This cabin is your winter, as it no longer snows in the city. People cherish the past, but they alter the future in inconceivable ways. In a way, the sled is not lost, but it is forgotten. You may be forgotten as well, as the road no longer exists. If something is buried, how can one know it is even there in the first place? You know that memories are not eternal, but feelings are. Joy cannot be replicated, but you take pride in keeping the winter.

Instead, the cocoa is your guardian. Warmth may be opposite to the shivering cold of outside, but you still say the same milk weave its way around every crevice and colour of the landscape. Snowmen were your friend, and the winter is as well. The angels gaze up into the stars, and now you realize what they are: snow. And for at least a little while longer, snow is here to stay.

***

As a sort of ‘winter companion’ to Sand and an Umbrella, (which I encourage you to read as well) I hope you enjoyed this post. Perhaps it made you feel a bit saddened in some places, but I hope the ending had a bittersweet sentiment in it. There will definitely be more stories later this month, so stay tuned for those. Remember to make hot cocoa as well, and don’t get frostbitten.

Until next time. 🙂

Montagues and Capulets

Time for a change in plans.

With day six of the 25 Days of Repetition… I mean Stadarooni here, I want to spice things up sooner than later. You may have noticed the lack of storytelling, and otherwise a blast to the first few weeks of analysis with some reviewing and showcasing (?) on the side as well. As those posts seem to be the most enjoyed by you guys, you shall have your unasked request. You may have also noticed the change in the website’s theme, and I hope that you enjoy it more than the last. Please provide me with any feedback on it as you wish, but otherwise, we will head straight into this dose of storytelling.

***

In the wind, the knight danced, or was it the night?

Either way, this was her night. Ecstasy filled the mist and pumped into her lungs with a fragrance of lavender. It coursed throughout her veins, and her eyes were like perfect white yolks that glistened in the air like marble. Men admired her, but could never come close. Woman despised her, but they could only look up in awe. Selene was the night, and her audience waited below in the fog of flamboyance.

The mist seemed to be cast over the precisely laid candles, which Selene scented with the spice of cinnamon. It was rich, and those present would feel eternal affection to her everlasting and silent song of beauty. These songs flew over every dandelion and rose, with a seductive cast on all who gazed upon Selene. Her hair was the streaks of the galaxy swirling across time, her lips were the tantalization of primal desire, and her skin was a silk woven in the sands of time.

Love was a luminous star and many thought of Selene as such. However, Selene was the night. She outshined the stars with every subtle movement, almost as effortlessly as men took to hilt. She seemed to be an emerald, but this was to them.

For Selene, she was the night. Even the stones provided a warmth in which she did not, and the night left her hollow. Her audience waited in the fog of flamboyance, yet they could not reach under all efforts. A primordial sensation lingered within her beauty, almost as if she had a fiery passion for discovering her better half. Her chariot would never reach this personification of all light which she desired. Music that filled the air with the ecstasy of romantics, bur furthermore a truth in which she craved to find.

This truth was didactic to her. Did the knight dance in the wind, or was it the night?

A horizon divided.

***

With that, we come to today’s close. While this is without a doubt shorter than all posts on this blog relating to storytelling, I hope the detail and many symbols put into this made it worthwhile. Tomorrow might be a return to analysis, but I hope you enjoy the next venture into storytelling very soon as well.

Adios, and farewell.