Five Opening Lines
Oct. 3rd, 2005 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellyssianThe Thirteenth Apostle
It is time.
They will come for me now, I, the murderer, the taker of life.
The Goblin and the Sorcerer
Dark and dismal were the vapours that clung to the hollows of the central tower room, climbing through the lofty arched windows, escaping by clambering down and down the winding spiral stone stairs – or by plunging over the precipice of that narrow walkway and down into the endless vertigo that extended through the center of the tower; continuing long after the steps ended in a platform with a small door that led to the barren hillock the tower's foundations are set in; continuing into realms beyond thought and planes of existence far removed from the world of mortals.
Spring's Awakening
The tides of winter tugged at his soul, taunting him as he lay motionless; the warmth of his blankets, the spring of the mattress, the fluff of his pillows were his world.
Never Ever After
In a land nearly close enough to touch – should you be one of those rare individuals who can see without seeing, hear without hearing, taste without tasting, smell without smelling, touch without touching, or know without knowing – there is a village, and that village is named The Village. (You must believe it is so, else it's nature is to fade at first at the edges, yellowing then, like an old photograph; maturing next into a crisp brownish layer, that will, at the last, crumble into a fine powdery dust made of heartaches and longing that will blow away on a butterfly's breath, taking with it an innocence and kindness and love that is scarce known in these cold, dreamless days.)
Of the Leaves and of the Waves
I am of the leaves, and she was of the waves.
They did not believe me, and they did not understand me. They talk of listening and they talk of hearing and they expound on the differences, and they straighten the diplomas on their walls, ever so unsubtly referring to the learned status heaped upon them, but they spend more time talking and speaking, so they do not understand.
It is time.
They will come for me now, I, the murderer, the taker of life.
The Goblin and the Sorcerer
Dark and dismal were the vapours that clung to the hollows of the central tower room, climbing through the lofty arched windows, escaping by clambering down and down the winding spiral stone stairs – or by plunging over the precipice of that narrow walkway and down into the endless vertigo that extended through the center of the tower; continuing long after the steps ended in a platform with a small door that led to the barren hillock the tower's foundations are set in; continuing into realms beyond thought and planes of existence far removed from the world of mortals.
Spring's Awakening
The tides of winter tugged at his soul, taunting him as he lay motionless; the warmth of his blankets, the spring of the mattress, the fluff of his pillows were his world.
Never Ever After
In a land nearly close enough to touch – should you be one of those rare individuals who can see without seeing, hear without hearing, taste without tasting, smell without smelling, touch without touching, or know without knowing – there is a village, and that village is named The Village. (You must believe it is so, else it's nature is to fade at first at the edges, yellowing then, like an old photograph; maturing next into a crisp brownish layer, that will, at the last, crumble into a fine powdery dust made of heartaches and longing that will blow away on a butterfly's breath, taking with it an innocence and kindness and love that is scarce known in these cold, dreamless days.)
Of the Leaves and of the Waves
I am of the leaves, and she was of the waves.
They did not believe me, and they did not understand me. They talk of listening and they talk of hearing and they expound on the differences, and they straighten the diplomas on their walls, ever so unsubtly referring to the learned status heaped upon them, but they spend more time talking and speaking, so they do not understand.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-03 07:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-03 07:28 am (UTC)The hardest part about that was remembering it - I've had dream-influenced stories and poetry before, but this one was more akin to transcription or dictation.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-03 07:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-03 09:35 am (UTC)