Countdown- Writing Prompt

This past week I went through a brief spasm of writing prompts. :) Pinterest was fantastic.

I decided to post the shortest one I wrote (post above).

Countdown

A green glow emanates from my watch. I press start.

TEN

I’m the last one left.

We ran for years. We denied them the right to our blood by hiding in cement walls that dripped with moisture; or clutching the ground under an acrid truck (most of them were rigged).

NINE

I am the silent one. I am the deadly one with the black knives and the one with the lack of sympathy. I spared no one. They will not spare me.

EIGHT

It began with a war from years ago; a war which has never ended for me. Every night I dream of drowning. I wake up to phantom blood running down my face.

SEVEN

I had a team once. They weren’t my friends, but the occasional word that might have been a joke gave us the feeling of belonging. They’re all gone.

SIX

Now it’s just me.  Running is the last thing in my life that’s consistent. I think if I were to stop, I would die.

FIVE

I’ve killed people. It’s something I’m not ashamed to admit. I could have been an assassin with my clean kills and dark eyes.

FOUR

They would not spare me for my crimes. That’s what I am counting on.

THREE

I brush my hair back and tense before releasing a choked breath. I prepare myself mentally with the same words I’ve always used to focus and relax. I clutch a small explosive rigged to set off on contact. “Ready when you are.” I murmur absently.

TWO

“Come out of there and put your hands up!” Thudding feet and clicking guns arrange themselves.

“Here we go.” I grin and launch out to meet them, my hands held high. I will have myself one last run. Running is all I know. Without it I will die.

My watch beeps frantically and my hands thrust down. The guns come up.

ONE

I am not running. I am flying.

ZERO

Poem- Fictitious Fancies

I have no words that glow

No tales of ringing steel

I have no loom of foresight

No worlds that are surreal

The portal through the wardrobe

Has closed itself to me

My companion who could run

Has run at last from me

I lost my magic ring

It fell through time and space

It crashed into a mountain

At silver warp speed pace

It takes imagination

To make a dream alive

It takes a leap of daring

To take dreams to the sky

I have no right to do

what I have seen been done

Instead I have the privilege

To share the light of One

No wand will ever choose me

No staff is mine to wield

I have only plain symbols

to make their minds all reel

No mockingjay will sing

No faction claim my work

My writing is not beauty

It has too many quirks

They say all things have endings

I think that very well

For without any endings

Beginnings would be quelled

Now one last word- “say please”

Please let me live my days

In peace with friends of paper

Who have loved me “Always”

Opening Words

Copyright Peter Vanham

For one of my classes I get to write a short story. :D

I have a couple excerpts from different stories I'm considering. There's just too many possibilities!

The first one... is based in an established world already that I've created.

The second one is made up of what I have going on in my head. Numbers and stone statues.
__________________________________________________

“We hide things. We steal the things the world says are the most dangerous things in the world; the things that will bring back our mortality.

Humans are supposed to die. We’re supposed to ‘get sick.’ But we don’t.

We are murdered.” – From the Creed of the Mercy Slayers

“What about… The Stealers?” Garrett gulped down more of the tonic. “It’s got a mysterious feel to it, like the shadows.”

“But it’s so obvious.” Tuney groaned. “What do we do? We steal stuff. If the idea is to not get caught let’s not name ourselves with the crime before we commit it.”
__________________________________________________
The statue didn’t move.

Tony could’ve hugged the statue’s pedestal in relief. Then the shock of what that implied sank in.

“It’s finally over.” He took a deep breath and turned to Syrie. “Can you believe it?”

Syrie shook her head. Her voice whispered through his mind. No. But I know that it is. It’s not like last time. However you of all people know that knowing is different than actually believing…

Tony stepped over to the statue’s pedestal and slid down the still warm stone. He touched the words engraved in their neat little rows. Above the lengthy paragraph was the title: The Queen.

Tony and Syrie each studied the stone chunks scattered around them. There was a wing (from a very talkative griffin), an arm, the remains of The Queen and pieces too badly battered to discern what they had been originally.

Syrie pulled out her pen, the one that had lead for ink, and wrote on the pedestal: The 37^th War. Year 2073. The Queen has fallen. Survivors Tony Derk and Syrena Tome.

We remember.
____________________________________________________

Sketch- November WIP (update)

This is what happens when I get really into a piece...
Suddenly I'll notice I have 6 different things floating between my hands.

I bring an update on my November WIP! ^_^

Anybody have a guess as to who it is?

Farther along-ish with the hair

Lots of adjustments to the face... :)

Death of Glory (excerpt)

Roman Gladius used in the Roman Legions
(Pinterest)

I wanted to title this post "Excerpt From My Novel The Death of Glory Which I Haven't Touched Since July" but decided that was a bit much. ^_^

I know most of you are unaware that for 2 1/2 years now I've been working on a book which in proper, writerly, terms, would be called a novella. It's based on the OYAN curriculum form. A marvelous curriculum that has changed my life first and foremost and my writing second. But to get into that of course would be enough for a post all it's own.

So any time you hear me reference my "OYAN novel" taa-daa now you know what it is. :)

The working title is "The Death of Glory." The main character is boy in his teens living in Roman-Britain. Roughly 400-410 AD right before the Romans are pulled out of Britain.

The Saxons are attacking and the "R&B's" have been forced to cooperate (as far as I know this isn't historically accurate, but it's very much something that could have happened).

I thought I might show you guys the last scene I wrote in my novel. :)

-Duer is the main character (it is from his perspective, first person)
-Ator is the primary antagonist, leader of the attacking Saxons (also called Sea Wolves)
-Arlyn and Brean are friends of Duer

I did edit it a bit so that it flowed better and (hopefully) makes more sense but this is still first draft material.
_________________________________________________________________________________

I find myself face to face with Ator.
Sometimes I wonder if the gods purposely plot out my demise and then throw up their hands in frustration when I escape.

He wouldn’t recognize me. He’s killed too many Romans and Britons for one to stand out. So the riot of battle can cloud even the sea gods gaze. I smile darkly. The sweeping strokes of his sword knock me to the ground within the first few minutes and I gasp in shock. How? I note how he has taken up a Roman sword in one hand, while he doesn’t wield it with grace, his strength more than compensates for skill. In his other hand he grips a spear.

I bring my arms up in submission. When the blade strikes down I fling myself to the side and the blade pierces the earth next to me. Now it is dancing through the air again, ready to plunge deep within me and wrest out my spirit. I’m almost tempted to let it. Such a death would guarantee a glorious afterlife.

A spear with the top of the shaft broken off lies to my left. My fingernails gouge the dirt and I make a fist around the spear to block against Ator’s sword. The shaft is snapped in two from sheer force. My arm tingles.

Again I’m forced to scramble away, having to pause to lurch out reach for a heartbeat from the unrelenting steel, panting and dragging in gulps of air. This is straining my body and my mind. Soon, all too soon, I will give out and be eliminated.

If only I could get onto my feet. In desperation I brace my palms on the ground and surge upwards, twisting to face Ator. He knocks the side of my head with his sword hilt. Everything sways and blurs and I collapse.

The only thing that exists is the sky. Gloriously empty. My head throbs, and I gladly distract myself from it by staring up into the endless depths of pale gray. It hurts too much to think. It takes too much effort to summon any lingering feelings of regret towards my friends or any lingering pity. I can’t bring myself to greet my death. The noise of banging shields and screams are a rough haze… What do I care for their quarrels?

Gray eyes connect with mine. A path links between us for a moment. Gray eyes. Gray sky. Endless. Hate and rage storm through them. Beautiful.

“Duer!”

Ator is shoved into the ground by a large body barreling through. Rough hands jerk me to my feet. Arlyn roars at me. “What are you doing?”

I see Ator recover and bare his teeth like a cornered hound.

“You were just staring.” Brean’s frantic shouts wash over me as he rushes to my side.

The sky vanishes and I blink. “I…”

“Why were you just staring? Staring!” Brean can’t seem to understand what exactly it was I had been doing.

I lick my lips. “I was greeting Death.”

He lets out a yell of frustration. Arlyn half paces, half jogs next to us, weapon held at ready to defend our retreat.

“Arlyn.” I greet him and attempt a wave. “Thanks.”

The dark haired warrior rolls his eyes and proceeds to ignore me.

Later I would wonder, if I were to kill Ator, how would he have felt in the afterlife? I was no one special. Would he be raging in humiliation and swearing revenge on me as he burned in whatever afterlife the Sea Wolves believed in? Or would he resign himself to his fate?

And I have to laugh. What are the odds of me killing Ator?

He is only a man.

He is also a god.

To his people and to some of the Britons, to me even, he is a god.

Who can kill a god?

But now, now this was war and war does not merely think. War is calculating and cruel as she takes lives. Her second in command is Death and he does her bidding.

I shake off another cloud of dizziness along with Brean’s supporting arm and charge yet again.

Sketch- watercolor experiments

Happy Tuesday!!!

I bring you my experiments from the weekend. A mixture of watercolor, pen and water, and some pixlr effects.

First up is ink with blue watercolor to highlight the front raven. I brushed over the birds with water and it created the cool shadows.

The woman's face I did the pen and water effect. I splurged on red, brown and black warercolors and used up the last of the blue to accent.

Black and white now because it looks cool. :)

Agh this one I can't decide if I like it or not. He looks creepy. I mean I wanted him to look a little sad and hard pressed, he just looks like the undead. O_o I like it, but I've got mixed feelings about it.

Based on one of my favorite characters in a recent book I read. I suppose it reflects my unhappiness towards what the author is doing to him.

Edited. Wooooo... :)