My Stories

[Kamoc]

the woman holding a big fish was supposed to represent savia handling a topic that can be overwhelming at times, and is even harder to grasp.

the old man represents sivia once again, but more so in the effect that even though we've heard the story a million times.. it still, no matter how small, effects us.

[Noxious Orchid]

OMG its my grandpa!! How dare you stock him you dirty, dirty man!

[Noxious Orchid]

Not my favorite kind of story but i will read anyother stories you have.

[yuppa]

the woman holding a big fish was supposed to represent savia handling a topic that can be overwhelming at times, and is even harder to grasp.

the old man represents sivia once again, but more so in the effect that even though we've heard the story a million times.. it still, no matter how small, effects us.

Whoa! (neo's voice) That was totally awesome perception Kamoc!, Okay! Party on kamoc! That was really cosmically deep man

[burntoast]

Heh, thought "the poppy man" was the "poopy man". I swear it's one of those mind-tricks that make u go past a letter or replace one..

J/p.. But same with Nox, it isn't my kinda story.

Good work I guess.

[fyrtenheimer]

NO ONE IS INTERESTED IN YOUR SHITTY DRAMA WRITINGS.


LEAVE ME ALONE

that was fucking evil, fyrt.
not cool.

Hate the game

[Lyrs]

pick whichever one makes you happy. 8)

This one?

i meant happy as in, which one shows the feelings or reactions you were looking for when you wrote that up.

/end

[emp|typ|athetic]

Hate the game

?

[fyrtenheimer]

Open your mouth

[Savia]

OK, thanks to all of you who are taking this thread seriously. A move off of the poem now, to a short story that I wrote about a year ago for English coursework. As I had more time to work on and improve on this one, it's another of my favourites. Word has slightly messed up the margins / indents, but hopefully it's all ok.

To Live by the Blade.

Sashin wriggled his toes in the winter cold, bemoaning his earlier insistence on thin socks, for agility's sake. His last dregs of saké sloshed gently in their clay jar as Sashin descended an outcrop. He eased his katana in the sheath, wary of the blade freezing in place. Ryosuke had taught him that. Ryosuke... Ryosuke had taught him much, far more than just how to survive with the sword. He had taught him how to live by it. And then told him to abandon it! The old man had been skilled, even talented, but his wits must have weakened with age. Sashin would rather die than leave his sword behind him. Sashin had not spent years training in order to forgo the blade; Ryosuke seemed to have thought he had done. Ryosuke and his infantile beliefs! Even after all this time, the old fool would probably still think that Sashin could not live both by honour and the blade.
The gentle crunch of compacting snow drew Sashin's attention away from his inner thoughts. Thumbing the hilt of his katana up, readying it to be unsheathed, Sashin spoke quietly: "Who is there?", but the only answer was silence. Looking back, Sashin caught a glimpse of a shadow dashing between the trees before it disappeared entirely. This puzzled him, yet still he let his katana fall back into the sheath. Worse things than spies hunted him now. Followers in the snow were the least of Sashin's concerns today.

********************

The sun hung half above the treetops when Sashin again heard footsteps, this time ahead of him. They used less subtlety this time. Well-trained ears picked out the clack of sheath on leg. But that saké bottle had been full that morning, and Sashin was in no state to fight an opponent of any strength. His dismissal from the Sekihoutai had not been equable, and Kaoran-saman would maybe even stoop to sending ronin after him. Maybe even some of the Sekihoutai themselves.
Whatever the truth, Sashin could see no option but to run. But which way? Turning back would only place him farther from the next village and relative safety; running into the forests this close to night and the next snowfall was probably just as dangerous as meeting the armed stranger. Agitated, Sashin looked from the path behind him to the heavy forest on his left, and then back to the path. Nowhere to run...
Flustered as he was, Sashin only just picked up the crisp collapse of fresh snow again, much closer this time. Even as he froze, the other's pace picked up, running towards him- fast. Sashin's hand was on his hilt as the other's blade hissed free of its sheath. A sharp breath marked the other jumping, and Sashin's instincts, however dulled they might be by the saké and the cold, took over. Waiting until the assailant began his descent, Sashin ghosted sideways, ducking his shoulder to allow the other's blade to whisper past his side. The attacker, a youngish man wearing a ronin's gear and a dark halfmask, landed heavily but recovered quickly. Sashin was surprised to note another, apparently unarmed man a short distance away, padding silently, fluidly down the rough pathway. That Sashin had not sensed him was warning enough that he was far from unarmed. But the ronin with the halfmask had fully regained his stance now, and was advancing rapidly again. Sashin sneered as he cut the man down. Barely enough training to know one side of his sword from the other, and already sent out on an important mission. These ronin had no idea of how to live by the blade. Turning to face his other attacker, Sashin barely had time to register the scene before a rock-like fist hit his jaw and sent him reeling, his neck snapping back. The pain was sharp even through the influence of the saké; the impact had cracked his jaw. Blood dripped from his lip as Sashin staggered back, badly off balance. Stars spotted his vision. Shaking his head clear of most of the dizziness, Sashin raised his head again only to see the Sekihoutai prepare to strike again. With a punch like that, thought Sashin, there was little else he could be but one of Kaoran's elite unit. Alert this time, Sashin readied himself to dodge in the tiny space of time available. This time, as the other shot forward, Sashin thought himself ready. He thought wrong.
As Ryosuke had taught him, Sashin twisted away from the other's fist at the last moment, and moved only the least distance needed to avoid the blow. But the Sekihoutai, a deadpan expression on his face even as he acted, was too fast. Again, the other man's blow connected, and Sashin, only a short man for all his skill, was knocked off his feet. On his back, Sashin now had time to pull his katana up to block the most likely point of attack- the neck. Sure enough, the assailant's fist went for the weak point of soft flesh, and was caught.
Yet instead of the spray of blood and cry of agony that Sashin expected, there was nothing but a short, sharp clang and a sudden pressure on his katana, forcing Sashin to expend all of his strength to keep the blade's back from breaking his nose. Horrified, Sashin realised that the Sekihoutai wore metal gauntlets under his cloth gloves. Sashin knew now that he stood little chance, at least not whilst drunk. Scrambling up as fast as he could, Sashin made for the trees, and escape.

********************

It was later, far later, and night had long ago begun. Leaves swirled in the drifting snow that cloaked the landscape anew in waves of icy whiteness. Sashin was staggering, frozen and alone. His head pounded, his thoughts swam, as confused and as random as the fresh flakes that clung to the shoulders of his worn kimono in thin sheets. He still clutched the saké vessel, though he had drained its contents an hour past, wishing it would refill itself. The cold bit like an animal; it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Sashin...

Sashin looked up, his head seeming to weigh more than he could support. He could have sworn that he had heard the voice of his old sensei. Dismissing it as a trick of the wind, he raised his foot to get a hold on a bluff, preparing to clamber up.

You have failed me again, Sashin...

Surprised, Sashin slipped and nearly lost his balance, wavering at the point of collapse. He managed to snatch back his balance, and squatted down as he tried to gather himself. Catching his breath and calming his frayed nerves, Sashin mused that there had been a time when that would never had happened to him. But that voice, that had to have been his imagination talking. He knew that he had not failed Ryosuke. He had surpassed him.

Failed... You have failed three times, Sashin. You failed to understand the true reason for taking up the sword, and were blinded by ambition and dreams of vengeance. You faded yourself, as a human and as a samurai; failed me,
as a student; failed Kaoran as an assassin...

As Sashin watched, horrified, the swirling snow for a second formed the outline of a tall, lean man with a long braid of dark hair. Of Ryosuke. This was not possible! The old man couldn't be here! Sashin knew that he... No! He couldn't!
"No, Ryosuke! You lie to me again! I have never failed you, or Kaoran! Each of you asked the impossible! You told me to give up all that I was and live the sorry life of an unknown hermit, and Kaoran..."

Kaoran told you to kill, and you did not. He gave you a task, and you refused
it. He offered you the life that you left me to live, that of a hitokiri; a killer, and you failed even that. You are casteless, Sashin, an outcast. You are little more than a ronin; a sore, bitter, contemptible ronin.

Sashin screamed wordlessly, and drew his katana, slashing fervently at the snow, at Ryosuke, at Kaoran, at everything and everyone. At his own failure, and his former blind ambition. Tears of anger and sorrow burned his cheeks, and it seemed to him as if he was branded with his guilt.
"I wanted to be the greatest, most skilled and revered samurai ever to take up the sword! I wanted to protect the weak and defy the oppressive, to save the helpless and to slay the evil!"

But you have done none of this, Sashin. You had claim to nothing but your skill, and now, you have let even that go. You were beaten, Sashin, by a lowly assassin. Beaten by the very thing you wished to become.

Sashin dropped to his knees, sobbing even as his first-shed tears froze in the cold of the winter's night. He mumbled senselessly, repeating:
"Failed... I have failed... Failed..."
There was nothing but grief in his mind. The snows above him coalesced again into the form of a man, a man that was not quite Ryosuke, nor Kaoran, but something between them and Sashin's own image of the perfect samurai that he had wished to become. The figure showed strength and ruthlessness to the wrong, but also compassion, wisdom and restraint. It seemed an avatar of perfection, and Sashin knew that it was something he could never be.

You know what you must do, Sashin.

"Yes... I... know. It m-must be d-done..."
And there, alone but for his own mind in the cold, dark forest, Keitarosara Sashin, blood, tears, ice and saké mixed on his face in a mask of hate, anguish and pain, let his fingers relax. Seemingly slowly, with hardly a whisper of noise, his katana fell to the ground, sinking into the soft white powder and disappearing forever from both his sight and his life. Looking up to the few stars that shone through the canopy, Sashin cried out wordlessly. At last, he had succeeded. He had forgone the blade, and left his life behind him, left behind his sins. His blood on the snow about him reminded him of red-and-white; the kimono that his master had always worn was white; white with red, red blood... But that was gone now, that was done with, though it still pained him. He had finally left behind Ryosuke's murder, his murder at Sashin's own hands. There had been no other way to escape him, no choice, no alternative, he knew that, but still...
Hugging his knees desperately, Sashin fell sideways to the ground, alone at last in the forest.
And high above, the snow swirled and spiralled in an ever-changing pattern of pale flakes. If there was anyone but the hunting owls there, then perhaps they would see, just for a moment, the outline of a man: majestic in flowing robes of purest white, cleansed of all impurity and blood. A slight smile appeared to brush the corners of his mouth.
But there was no-one there, and even if there was, who would believe? Followers in the snow were the least of anyone's concerns today...