Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Needles
This a Transformers drabble from my fanfiction.net account (I will be posting more from that account). Just a cute, funny little idea that popped into my head. Just gave it a few tweaks here.
Needles
Sam wasn't sure if this was a common trait among every species in the universe, or if it was only restricted to sentient beings, but apparently this little trait affected giant robots as well. It was amusing, yet understandable at the same time, which was why he didn't outright laugh when he had witnessed it happen. That, and he probably would have been squished or flicked by some humiliated, ticked off Autobots.
They hated needles.
How did he know? Well, for one, he was there to witness the Autobots literally head for the hills the moment Ratchet stepped into the docking bay of their new base with several robot-sized needles in tow. Even the great Optimus Prime and fearless Ironhide ran out of there like bats out of hell.
Sam really would have laughed if he hadn't felt some sympathy for them. He hated needles as well, and those were some big frakkin' needles the medic was wielding.
Up until that point, he didn't think robots even needed to get booster shots, but apparently they do, and hate it just as much as humans. Learn something new every day, huh?
And so there they had been, all rounded up by Ratchet through some coaxing (read: threatening), getting their shots and not liking it one bit, but it was either get the shot or be painfully dismantled and reassembled as a toaster.
Sam also had to wonder; did every medic have to have such an evil smile?
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Alone in The Forest (Flash Prose)
She sits alone in the forest, on a dark and stormy night, waiting. She has been waiting for so long, so very, very long. Every night she sits in the forest and waits. For what or whom does she wait for so loyally, night after night? She is waiting for someone, yet no one at all. The one she waits for is silent and swift. She never knows if he visits her at all, for she cannot see or feel him around her. But sometimes, just some times, she can feel that he is near. She doesn’t know what he looks like, smells like, and feels like, for she has never met him. Yet here she waits for him, night after night. No one understands why she waits so intently for someone she has never met and who never shows up. She will know when he is ready to reveal himself to her, she would tell them. Still, they did not believe her, tried to convince to return to the warmth and safety of the house. So many times she had refused to return; so many times she had escaped when they tried to lock her in. She always got out. Eventually they stopped trying; left her to wait in the cold for the unknown stranger she was so intent on meeting. Madness, they said, she wasn’t right in the head. Madder than a hatter.
The storm raged on, pelting her with its icy cold rain, yet she did not move from her spot on the grass beneath the old pine tree where she always waited. She was soaked to the bone, her dress clinging to her small frame, her sight blurred by thick gobs of water. But still she did not move from that spot, didn’t even flinch. He would come tonight, she was sure of it. She could feel him nearby, he had to come! She wanted to meet him. She wanted to see this stranger that haunted her every waking hour, ask him why he did so. Through the storm, she heard a faint sound. It was getting louder, and louder, and soon it was louder than the storm! The thundering sound of the hoof beats of a horse drowned out the storm. It was an unearthly sound, for it to overpower the sound of the storm. It was him! He was coming! Immediately she sprang up like a lithe rabbit, excitement coursing throughout her body. Calming herself, she gingerly walks out from under the tree, from what little protection it had offered.
The sound was getting louder, so loud she almost had to cover her ears it was so deafening. She did not. She did not want to look like she was afraid, lest he stop and turn away from her. For a long while, she couldn’t see anything, yet the horse’s gallop sounded as though it was right in front of her. Why was he taking so long? She closed her eyes. Perhaps he was toying with her yet again. She could not tell if she was crying; the cold rain ran down her cheeks and numbed her face. Suddenly, the noise stopped and she opened her eyes. And there in front of her, was a beautiful black stallion with a golden bridal, and a fine leather saddle with gold stirrups. Upon the stallion was a tall, cloaked figure, hood drawn over his head. Wordlessly, he reached out a black gloved hand to her. She took the hand, and with swift strength and gentleness, he pulled her on to the stallion, seated in front of him. They were oddly dry, the stallion and its rider, she was soaked- had been soaked, she was dry now, yet they were completely dry. She marvelled at the magic for a moment, before trying to peer under the hood of the rider. Silently, he put his gloved hand on her cheek (warm, it was so warm) and shook his head. She was not meant to see his face. He took up the reins, turned the stallion, and kicked him in to a gallop once more. Off they rode, deeper in to the forest, never to be heard from again. It should have frightened her you know, if she had thought to look back, for under the pine tree, she had left her body. A frozen, wet, empty shell.
The storm raged on, pelting her with its icy cold rain, yet she did not move from her spot on the grass beneath the old pine tree where she always waited. She was soaked to the bone, her dress clinging to her small frame, her sight blurred by thick gobs of water. But still she did not move from that spot, didn’t even flinch. He would come tonight, she was sure of it. She could feel him nearby, he had to come! She wanted to meet him. She wanted to see this stranger that haunted her every waking hour, ask him why he did so. Through the storm, she heard a faint sound. It was getting louder, and louder, and soon it was louder than the storm! The thundering sound of the hoof beats of a horse drowned out the storm. It was an unearthly sound, for it to overpower the sound of the storm. It was him! He was coming! Immediately she sprang up like a lithe rabbit, excitement coursing throughout her body. Calming herself, she gingerly walks out from under the tree, from what little protection it had offered.
The sound was getting louder, so loud she almost had to cover her ears it was so deafening. She did not. She did not want to look like she was afraid, lest he stop and turn away from her. For a long while, she couldn’t see anything, yet the horse’s gallop sounded as though it was right in front of her. Why was he taking so long? She closed her eyes. Perhaps he was toying with her yet again. She could not tell if she was crying; the cold rain ran down her cheeks and numbed her face. Suddenly, the noise stopped and she opened her eyes. And there in front of her, was a beautiful black stallion with a golden bridal, and a fine leather saddle with gold stirrups. Upon the stallion was a tall, cloaked figure, hood drawn over his head. Wordlessly, he reached out a black gloved hand to her. She took the hand, and with swift strength and gentleness, he pulled her on to the stallion, seated in front of him. They were oddly dry, the stallion and its rider, she was soaked- had been soaked, she was dry now, yet they were completely dry. She marvelled at the magic for a moment, before trying to peer under the hood of the rider. Silently, he put his gloved hand on her cheek (warm, it was so warm) and shook his head. She was not meant to see his face. He took up the reins, turned the stallion, and kicked him in to a gallop once more. Off they rode, deeper in to the forest, never to be heard from again. It should have frightened her you know, if she had thought to look back, for under the pine tree, she had left her body. A frozen, wet, empty shell.
Long Forgotten
Underneath frozen skies of grey,
Forgotten dreams lay
Where had I gone wrong
To leave them for so long?
What were my dreams?
I can’t remember well it seems
The skies were once so warm and bright
Now I feel I have lost my light
Once, I dreamed to write
To share with others my light
But somewhere along the way
They grew wings and flew away
I’d give anything to have them back
My soul feels like it should crack
I need my muse, the inspiration
To come back from her vacation
And take her place by my side once more
So I may create world galore
And bring back my light
To end this darkest night.
Forgotten dreams lay
Where had I gone wrong
To leave them for so long?
What were my dreams?
I can’t remember well it seems
The skies were once so warm and bright
Now I feel I have lost my light
Once, I dreamed to write
To share with others my light
But somewhere along the way
They grew wings and flew away
I’d give anything to have them back
My soul feels like it should crack
I need my muse, the inspiration
To come back from her vacation
And take her place by my side once more
So I may create world galore
And bring back my light
To end this darkest night.
Friday, July 2, 2010
What does Love mean to Me?
A while ago, a friend named Alan asked the Junkies on Scott Sigler's site to write and essay of which we had to choose from three topics to write about;
What does LOVE mean to Me?
What does LIFE mean to me?
What does FRIENDSHIP mean to me?
The topic I chose was what Love means to me. I'm ashamed to say it came out rather short after I had such a long, hard time trying to figure out just what to write. My friend JP posted his in his blog Somebody's Dad, so that got me to decide to post mine here as well.
What does LOVE mean to Me?
What does LIFE mean to me?
What does FRIENDSHIP mean to me?
The topic I chose was what Love means to me. I'm ashamed to say it came out rather short after I had such a long, hard time trying to figure out just what to write. My friend JP posted his in his blog Somebody's Dad, so that got me to decide to post mine here as well.
What does love mean to me?
Love means waking up in the morning knowing you’re not alone in this world.
Love means sitting together drinking coffee, happy and content with each other.
Love means having the best conversations without even saying a word.
Love means that out there, somewhere, some one cares about you.
Love means a lot of things to me, a secret smile, an inside joke between friends, giving or receiving a hug for no reason at all other than wanting to do it. What love means to me is having people who will always be there by your side, even if they can’t physically be there with you. Love means a lot of things, some of them are hard to put in to words. But I can say this; love means I’m alive.
Even though I disliked how short it was, I still sent it in. Because like the others who sent theirs in, so many that are longer than mine, I put my heart into what I was trying to say. I've always been told that as long as someone can see that you've put your heart into it, they'll know you've tried your best. I can only hope that people can see that I did indeed try.
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