falcon
New Member
I am torisnowball on CS
Posts: 20 
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Post by falcon on Aug 10, 2014 3:45:26 GMT
Username on CS; torisnowball, but on her you can cell be torisnowball, Tori, Victoria, or Falcon. On CS I can be referred to as torisnowball, Tori, or Victoria.
Identity of protagonist; The name will not be specified because she is a rather secretive kiamara, and the looks will be described in the story, and I will be using the mascot kiamara (I do not own one yet, so just imagine the mascot or yourself talking to the mysterious kiamara) She will usually be referred to as 'The kiamara' or 'she' throughout the story because she is a female. But secretly, her name is Rae, meaning "doe". She dislikes the name, so she never tells anyone it. No one knows her real name besides her and her deceased family. Shes very secretive and mysterious, she she doesn't have any friends, but the fireflies who follow her glow. She has the power to intrude dreams, for she is a dream keeper, helping kias in nightmares.
Story;
Italics mean thought, so they are not said out loud
Bold Means speech, so they are said out loud
"Where am I, Where am I!?" I thought as a frantically ran through the dark, scary forest. I tumbled over rocks and sticks, or whatever was in my path. I was unsure of where I was, and I was going to keep running until I got out of this chaotic nightmare. There was constantly the feeling of someone or something watching your every move as you sped through the trees. "Is there even a way out of here!?" I thought as I kept running. Suddenly in all the dark, I saw a very small light start appearing very far away from me. Thinking it was a way out, I ran toward it. I stopped short in front of it. "Who... are you?" I asked, examining the kiamara like creature. It was slightly floating in the air, but that may be an illusion; It as very hard to tell. She looked at me for a second "Who are you?" She said in her quiet, ghost-like voice. She sounded very mature, and was obviously an adult with two silver feathers on her tail. She went around me, examining me, The light grey mist around her feet dragging behind her. She was a beautiful kiamara, dark navy on her body that nicely mixed into a dark purple towards the bottom, so you could just distinguish two colors. She had long silver grey hair on her tail, and a long mane the same color. Her mane didn't get too much into her eyes, though, and her eyes were a light grey, but I could tell she was not blind since she was looking at me so intently. On her dark colors, she had a dark yellow pattern along her body, almost mustard yellow, that slightly glowed. She had a silver star charm attached to her tail. She had silver horns that were like a ram that wrapped around the back of her ears, which had another little silver star charm hanging from one of them. She had about five little fireflies always constantly flying around her and following her. "I'm... umm..." I mumbled, not sure what to say "Where am I?" I asked, needing an answer. "Your dreaming" She said, looking me straight in the eye. She wandered around me again, then looked me straight in the eye and I saw her eyes glow bright really fast until everything snapped white. I automatically shot up in my bed, panting furiously. "who was she?" I thought.
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The next week, I decided to take a walk in the woods near my house a few minutes before the sun set, so I could get back as it as setting. As I was walking through, I closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, I as in the same dark forest in my nightmare. I looked for the kiamara I saw last time, but she was no where to be seen. I turned my head, but right when I did that I saw a light grey glow out of the corner of my eye. It was the kiamara, and I followed her. She looked at me, then slightly smiled. She walked out behind a tree. I ran after her, looking for her behind the tree, but she was gone. Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. I turned around, and there she was again, her eyes glowing and then everything turned white. I was in my bed again, but I wasn't surprised or shocked. I was scared.
Word Count; (581/1000 w)
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Post by AcrossTheBrokenStars on Aug 10, 2014 7:00:13 GMT
If the narration is first person, do you have to specify a name?
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Post by xxamberlillixx on Aug 10, 2014 8:42:27 GMT
username on CS: xXAmberlilliXx
identity of protagonist: Sarp
story:
You come across a small cabin in the woods. You walk up to the doorstep and notice a small worn sign that used to say 'Welcome.' You hear a soft voice singing, and you knock. The singing becomes a hum, and the door opens to reveal a female Kia. She smiles, "Ah come in." She sits on a newer looking couch and pats the spot beside her. "Come on, I promise I maybe won't bite. So, you've come to hear my story? That's what I thought." She lays back in her spot.
"It started when I was just a little girl. I was playing in my room and heard a smash. Dad had hit mom and pushed her down. I had ran all the way downstairs from our apartment and yelled, 'Dad is fighting with Mommy!' The surrounding kias ran upstairs into the apartment to help my mom. My dad had passed out, and was arrested immediately. I, having nobody to live with, went with the lady who worked at the front desk. She took in orphans, so I would fit in." She sniffed, the memories were obviously getting to her.
"Well, the lady who worked at the front desks name was Sap, and she was watching 1 other orphan, named Ambon. On my 16th birthday, Sap got me pair of purple and silver headphones. She said the purple was my heart, and the silver was my soul." You look at Sarp to see bright blue tears coming out of the corners of her eyes. "I-I-I'm fine." She sniffed, wiping the tears away. "Anyhow, with my new headphones, I found a new love to express my self. One of these ways was through music. I loved dub step, and still do. I got a job at the local nightclub. It was a good paying job, and I liked it. One day, the nightclub closed and I was left jobless. Now, I have a job, at the local smoothie café. But, Ambon and Sap both didn't have jobs, so we slowly lost money. Eventually, it came to the point where while I was cleaning the house, I found a note."
'I hope you can understand Sarp, but I can't take care of you anymore. Ambon is too young to leave, but your old enough to go live on your own. I'm sorry love.'
"That day, was the worst day of my life. I felt worthless, and hated. I ran to my neighbors house, about a mile down the road in town. I opened the door and threw myself into her arms. I stayed there for 5 minutes, just crying while she comforted me. I lived with them for a year, until I was 19. I then said my farewells and found a nice spot in the woods. I found myself this cabin, and I love it to bits. Oh... But my story isn't done yet." She said, "A while ago, Ambon came to visit. He said that Sap had regretted sending me away from the moment I left. She cries everyday because she thinks that I hate her. Oh. But family is closer than ever." She finished.
"Well," she said, standing up, "That's my sad life... Well, I must get going, I have to get to my shift on smoothies. Thank you for listening." She smiled, standing up, and walking out the door.
word count: (562/1000 words)
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Post by wildhorse027 on Aug 10, 2014 13:14:05 GMT
username on CS:
wildhorse027
identity of protagonist:
Isolde
story:
Isolde journeyed over the lush green hills. The views were spectacular. She could feel the breeze in her mane and the sun shone down on her warm fur as she walked further across the land. She could see the ocean from the cliffs and looked down below to see a vast land of green grass and purple flowers and in among them different mixes of different flower.
Everything was peaceful here, and Isolde loved it.
She then decided to venture off the hills and wondered down the rocky pathway. Isolde sighed and took in a deep breath of the salty cold air. The sea seemed so close to her now when only a moment ago it seemed so far away.
With further walking Isolde found herself on the sand of the beach now and behind her were the great hills and grasslands that she came from. The sand beneath her paws felt warm and soft, a few other kias were playing among with the light waves.
The sun was beginning to set and the ocean was still. Isolde looked into the golden waters that reflected the glow of the sun and she smiled. She just simply loved her peaceful life here, everything was so relaxing.
After a while Isolde began to walk again. The rocks here all seemed so interesting, even thought they were just rocks. All of them had a great story behind them, like the large flat rock quite a bit in the water which was called the giants foot.
Isolde looked to her right and saw all the marvelous rocks shaped like hexagons. It always made Isolde wonder, how they were ever shaped that way? She remembered an elder tell her that once a long time ago there was a giant who wanted to build a bridge to a land across the sea so he made it from the stones of the land.
Isolde smiled at the thought of giants and all the creatures said to have once roamed these lands before they did. She loved all of the folklore about the place and all of the fantasy stories. She grew up with them surrounding her.
Isolde looked up to the darkening sky, the sun was low and most was silent. A light breeze ruffled her fur as she walked back home as another was finished.
word count: (389/1000 w)
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Post by freakyfeline on Aug 10, 2014 16:12:35 GMT
my username is freakyFeline
This kia is named Meredyth
and the story is told in first person
 I’m falling apart. My dreams are slowly changing and warping into nightmares. They plague me when I am both sleeping and awake. I can feel them hiding in my shadow and they reflect in the eyes of each passerby as I walk down the street. Many say I am paranoid, haunted by my own negative thoughts and insecurities. The doctors have diagnosed me with Schizophrenia. It sounds serious, doesn't it? Well, it can be. But, it seems as soon as people hear it’s a mental disorder and not a physical hindrance, it is suddenly 'my mere imagination’ or ‘not enough sleep’.
Schizophrenia is an illness that will cause distorted thoughts along with delusions and hallucinations. Living with this disorder can make life… Rather difficult to say the least. However, difficult should probably be replaced with much stronger words.
It was a crisp fall evening, the breeze nipped at my nose and the tips of my paws. New York was busy and people jostled to get to their destination on time. I walked quietly; glad, for once, to be invisible amongst the sea of mittens and winter coats. Nobody takes note of dark rimmed eyes or a dull, defeated gaze. Nobody will feel the agitation radiating off of the Kia with ruffled hair and unkempt fur.
Each month or so, I am scheduled to see a therapist. As interested as he acts, he merely sits and asks me -in a detached voice- questions about what I've been doing. He claims that I seem to be coping well with my disorder, but it doesn't feel like I have been. I've had Schizophrenia since childhood. However, the side effects reduced dramatically since I had been put on medication. I learned to deal with my small episodes growing up and it soon became routine. Lately, I don’t know if it’s due to bouts of stress, but in the past six months my symptoms of Schizophrenia have begun to appear again; more severely. At first I met my delusions and hallucinations with panic, as I wasn't used to my episodes lasting so long before. It’s difficult to explain to someone who hasn't gone through the same experiences I have, but I can try my best. Think of it as if… you’re living in a dream (I’m not trying to cast this in a positive light at all.)
Dreams are bizarre and chaotic. Anything can happen; and in normal situations, you wouldn’t be able to control what sort of crazy events take place. Everything seems normal in a dream, you accept everything as reality. The difference is that I’m awake, and my mind can’t discern illusion from what is real. I could be described as ‘out of touch’ with what is happening around me. Everything my mind manifests feels one hundred percent real. My own head has become my downfall. My biggest enemy is myself. The thought of that places me in a constant mood of fear and uncertainty. I can easily convince myself that there is nothing wrong with me, that I am normal and just had too little sleep last night. I have to listen to those around me though; I have to force myself to become aware that my mind can’t function properly, or I’ll lose myself. I turned sharply at the sound of a familiar pitched voice next to me. “Hi Meredyth!” greeted a lively young Kia.
I could feel myself perking up instantly. “Rosie…”, I sighed. “I’ve not seen you for a while, you shouldn't leave for so long… It worries me” I murmured, looking down at that bright face with blonde curly fur and rose dusted cheeks. Rosie flattened ears too big for her head.
"I'm sorry, I guess I got lost or something", she murmured with a shrug.
Rosie is... everything I'm not. She arrived when I had my first break. It's a term that refers to the first episode of Schizophrenia that you experience. Thank goodness she arrived, too! She makes a lovely companion. She seems to understand better than my other friends. As I made small talk with Rosie on my way to Doctor Purcell's office for another session, I glanced up to see Kias glancing my way with confusion and curiosity written in their gaze. I flattened my ears, unsure if they were actually looking at me. I tend to imagine hostile glares a lot. Rosie noticed too and, sensing how I squirmed under their eyes, decided to walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence. I focused intently on the cloud of my cold breath so not to risk meeting someone's eye.
It was too soon before I stood in front of the door to Doctor Purcell's office again. I pushed the door open and held it politely for Rosie before entering myself. I made sure not to look at anyone in case they were eyeing me oddly again. It wasn't a long wait before I was called in. Rosie followed faithfully. It was nothing out of ordinary as Dr.P and I spoke with each other, volleying questions and answers back and forth. To be honest, it felt like he was prying; trying to wriggle into my head and fix the problem from the inside. It was all quite dull until I called Rosie over to make sure she was still in my presence. She bounded over and I sighed, relieved.
Dr.P looked up, an odd look shadowing his features. "Who's Rosie?", he asked, a sudden interest lighting his eyes.
I wriggled in discomfort. "She's right here!", I murmured timidly, gesturing with a paw.
Instead of looking over at Rosie, Dr.P kept his eyes trained on me. He simply nodded
"It's impolite not to say hi", I exclaimed, wishing he would pay mind to Rosie.
"I would, dearheart", he said to me in a gentle tone; reminding me of a parent addressing their child. His next words, although warm and sad, sent chills up my spine.
"but I can't see Rosie"
word count
(1000/1000 w)
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Post by dawnbreeze19210 on Aug 10, 2014 16:14:30 GMT
I have a quick question!
Are we allowed to write in any sort of 'form'? For instance in human, Kiamara, or antro? Since we are describing personality and such rather then physical descriptions. Thank you.
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boxx
New Member
Posts: 6
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Post by boxx on Aug 10, 2014 20:23:17 GMT
username on CS: boxxes identity of protagonist: N story: Hello, my name is well, why don't you just call me N. I don't personally like my name very much and nobody ever uses it anyways, it's always just "you" or "freak". The letter doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my name either I just like the way it sounds. Soft yet with a subtle underlying tone of power and authority hiding beneath its surface. Well I better stop rambling on about letters and get to the point. Now, since anything I may want to hide is much too obvious to shelter from the worlds prying eyes I will tell you everything. Not just the tiny snippets you usually get on a first introduction I mean every single thing about me even though no one ever understands, but who knows maybe you will.
I see myself as a fallen angel walking amongst creatures who have barely even begun to comprehend the vast wonders of life. But, it's not as if I feel the world is centered around me or I am superior to everyone else, don't get me wrong. I am very self critical, even more critical that those who fail to understand. It's because of what I can see that I am certain others fail to see in this life. I see the stars dance on a black stage, glowing strands of wonder weaving around them like an intricate duet as they whisper quietly into my ear. I see into other's minds, thoughts and emotions racing, their delicate dreams whirring around their heads, the aura they radiate so strongly creating a beautiful palette of colors when they stand together. I see in colors and sounds, I don't do well with names instead I know others by color or the uniquely distinct ringing of their voice. The only voice i wouldn't recognize is my own, it's not that I can't speak it's just that I feel no need to, all the things I want to speak to cannot speak back to me. All the things that can speak back to me speak words that I don't wish to respond to but unfortunately I can still hear them even if I don't say anything back. It's funny how much a voice adds to the words that are being spoken, well for me at least. Words just look like lines, put together to form shapes which are used to create sounds, beautiful sounds used to create melodies of sentences and conversation. But not all things in this wonderful world are beautiful, most of the things I see are the dark shadows we try not to notice but, I can't.
Most everyone think of me as a curse, who see's with the eyes of poison. They see my blessing from the stars as an illness put upon me by demons. They just fail to see from my perspective but I don't hold it against them, it's quite nice knowing that they're blissfully unaware of the shadowy nightmares. The sinister laughter that echoes in places of hatred, the bright pain of suffering I see far too often, the darkness everyone holds inside them nervously shifting around trapped in their palace of colors holding their flaws captive and away from everyone else. But here I am, dangling my flaws in front of you just waiting for you to take a bite out of my exposed shadows.
Everyone always assumes that my "illness" is an oddity yet I feel it is more of a gift that I am proud to have been blessed with. I don't know why they don't understand, I've tried to explain but no one can truly see what I can. I'm just seen as an outcast because of it but I prefer to be alone anyway so having others avoid me is fine. To be honest, I can be quite cold and distrusting of most others, but it's just because I've never really been around friendly souls. Whenever someone is near me I can see their colors turn to snarling beasts and scoffing faces as they pass me by, leaving an awful jeering laugh echoing behind them in whisps of red and black. They make me anxious which makes me bristle up and defend my own pale colors from their prying eyes. I don't want to be like this, I feel like I'm turning into the monster everyone else sees me as but it's hard to ignore it all sometimes, I'm not strong enough. All the resilience I once had drained away long ago after years of hard stone of anger chipped it away into nothingness. Even though it may seem my life revolves around this gift I have, I still am capable of acting like someone normal it's just a strange feeling trying to hide such a big part of yourself.
Well, I tried, tried to explain me, the part of me that only I can truly understand. Everyone can understand the simple things like what you enjoy doing or basic traits about yourself. But, seeing the world from someone else's perspective it nearly impossible because our minds are just remarkably different in a beautifully perfect way. Each of us living in our own little world in our minds but now hopefully you can see a glimpse of what I see in mine.
At the bottom of the letter you see a message written in large scribble handwriting, it stands out from the small neat handwriting the majority of the letter was written in.
Dear reader, I am N's caretaker since N prefers to not use the word "therapist". As you can probably tell N has a mental disorder. We have diagnosed N with a form of schizophrenia although we are not entirely sure since what N has told us hasn't been very enlightening since N only speaks through very brief letters. This time however, N has opened up and we're hoping that you can help us understand. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely, Joanna Price
word count: (996/1000 w) |
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Post by spotted on Aug 10, 2014 20:33:40 GMT
username on CS: Spottedsong
identity of protagonist: Alder
story:
Joining the army was not Alder’s idea. The concept of violence has never appealed to him, not even once throughout his childhood. His father was a single parent- he never knew his mother. It wasn’t something that bothered him; he never had the presence of a woman of the house, so Alder didn’t have anything to compare experiences to. Every day was ruled by a father with an iron fist and a stone heart. What Papa wanted, Papa got, and there was no way around that. So when he wanted to pull his son out of literary college and into the military boarding school, Alder didn’t object.
Writing was his passion- poetry ran though his veins like a rider on horseback. He was able to weave stories out of thin air, tales of goblins and knights and castles in the sky. Nothing was more entrancing to him then the scratch of quill on paper, the elegant webbing of words forming to create something much bigger in perspective to anything that this world could hold. It was Alder’s calling, his reason to be. But his father had different ideas.
Alder Sr. was a commanding officer in the German army. He led his troops with a proud head, the same way he reared his children. He had dreams of his son eventually taking his place, and yearned to whip the lanky, quiet boy into a strong-willed able-bodied man like himself. He ripped up the notebooks, burned the pencils, snapped the writing desk. “Get outside.” He’d growl at his son. “Go play like a real boy.” And Alder would listen like the unsuspecting boy that he was. He didn’t understand that it was okay to say no. He didn’t always have to be submissive and roll onto his belly. But he just listened and never argued.
Don’t see him as quiet and shy, dear reader. He was submissive. He took orders well and never disagreed or said no. But he had a rebellious side to him- one that showed whenever he was passionate about something that burned to be said. This was the part of him that the army school didn’t enjoy. Once he was enrolled, the school realized that this boy was never going to be a good soldier. He was too passionate, didn’t believe in fighting or blood, and liked to vocalize his points about that. He was put into detention, spent hours in the broom closet, and was frequently humiliated and bullied by his fellow soldiers-in-training. Alder was miserable. His father kept in touch with the dean of the school, and used intimidation to keep his son from being expelled.
Alder finally graduated and was stationed in a fort not far off the border of Germany. He was a good soldier, just habitual, so they wanted to keep him in a place where he’d be surrounded by high-ranking generals (including his father). Nothing much really ever happened here, but it still was a dangerous place to be for a young man of his nature. There were weapons everywhere that he might accidentally set off, and places to fall and break his neck. The worst part, reader? He had no outlet. All the paper was kept under lock and key and only allowed during rare times when he was allowed to write letters home. It was a constant cycle of slugging through days half-alive, with little to no reason to live. He was broken, a fallen poet. Words were building up in his mind that he couldn’t contain, couldn’t explain. Alder’s life was turning into something worthless. That is, until the attack came.
No one was expecting it. Relationships with bordering countries were safe, no rebellions were taking place, and there was no forewarning. It was simply a mind-numbing explosion that happened in the busiest wing of the fort.
Walls were crumbling, people were screaming, there was chaos everywhere. He knew that he had to escape, but he needed to help others. It could quite possibly be a suicide mission if he went back in there. Deep down, he knew that he had to try. Sucking in a deep breath, Alder ran headfirst into the burning wing.
Smoke was everywhere. Debris flew through the air like fireworks, clouding his vision and making it hard to focus. Rumbles ricocheted through his head, and Alder couldn’t tell if they were from the explosions or lack of oxygen. Finally, his feet hit someone (or something). There was someone in front of him, battered and obviously unconscious. Alder couldn’t tell if he was still alive. But it was his duty to help and get others out, so he took a chance. He scooped down and picked up the fallen kia, hoisting him onto his back with a troubled huff. He found his way out and hastily dumped the other kiamara on the ground just as the wing started to fall.
There were screams.
Then there was silence.
Alder made it out safe- it turns out that there was a mine that was accidentally set off by a rookie. Many people died, including Alder’s own father. He felt grief, but it wasn’t as strong as it usually is for losing a family member. Alder was finally able to escape the military life and settle down in a peaceful part of Germany, and spends his days writing poetry to his heart’s content. He doesn’t know what the future will hold in store for him, but he’s going to take it one step at a time.
word count: (918/1000 w)
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froas
New Member
Posts: 5
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Post by froas on Aug 10, 2014 20:52:11 GMT
username on CS: Froas
identity of protagonist: The protagonist goes by the name of Qillaq [pronounced QEE-llaq], meaning "seal hide" in Native American. He is of Native American origin.
story: The young kia bared his teeth, his long black mane falling into his eyes as he tried to help set up the teepees for those who were too old and feeble to do it themselves. He didn't mind though, he felt pride in helping others and hopes he will be repaid the same respect when he is as old. Qillaq sighed as the first of many homes were finished, deciding to take a break and take a look around. The ground was lightly dusted with snow, the footprints of the whole tribe visible. It was only November so the winter storm wouldn't be too far away. Qillaq was nearly twenty years of age, yet still considered nothing but a child to the others, since he had still not went on his first hunt. He despised the thought that the others always looked down upon him, no matter what he does in attempts to make himself look worthy, they are futile. He kicked at the snow in irritation, his short temper getting the best of him. He was determined that he would prove himself to the others, no matter what it took. There had been many rumors of a leopard seal in the area, which was rare since they preferred the icy waters of Antarctic rather than the cool waters of Cape Cod. The though raged in his mind until he couldn't stand waiting anymore; he would leave at dusk.
Qillaq waited until the sun went clear under the horizon before he snuck into the camp, grabbing a long wooden bow and a dagger before setting off into the forest. It was a rather long trip, taking nearly half of the night to reach the cove where the seal had last been seen, but when he arrived, the beast was snoring softly on the sandy beach. His face lit up with triumph as he knocked an arrow, pointing it straight at her, holding his stance for minutes on end. He kept his gaze on the seal, grinding his canines in anxiety before huffing, drawing his arrow back in and cursing quietly. He couldn't do it, he couldn't take the life of this creature just to prove that he was somebody. He slipped the bow back onto his shoulders and sat down, watching the creature. A few moments before the sun rose over the horizon, the seal awoke, her silver eyes drowsy with sleep. She shuffled closer to the water before her eyes darted to where the boy sat. She stared at him curiously before giving a fearful bark and slipping into the water, her rubbery hide sliding through the water like a fish.
Halfway through the journey, he stopped suddenly, a thought coming to mind. "Do I actually have to go back?" he asked himself, pondering on the question for a good while, slowly walking until he reached a solution. No, he wouldn't come back. Out on his own, he has no body that he has to prove himself to and no one to tell him that he's not good enough. He waited for the second evening, sneaking back into the camp to gather some belonging and supplies, grabbed a horse, and left. He has not seen his tribe since and has no knowing on where they may be.
word count: [548/1000]
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Post by dawnbreeze19210 on Aug 10, 2014 22:50:00 GMT
username on CS:
Dawnbreeze10210
identity of protagonist: (name or alias or feature that distinguishes them from others in the story AKA how we will know who to design)
Emilia (mayor's daughter)
story:
It was the year 2863, this is the world where cars can fly, and technology beyond belief has become available.
Emilia sighed shakily as she exited the expensive vehicle, her first day of public school. She had finally been able to convince her parents to let her attend public school. The girl's eyes flickered nervously as she sighed a breath of relief once the black convertible was out of speeding out of sight. She didn't want anyone to know who she was, she didn't want to meet several fakes just because they thought they could get something out of it. This was the problem of being the mayor's daughter, never knew who was just getting to you.
Biting her lip she found her way to the office, it was fifteen excruciating minutes until she finally managed to get out of the office. Her eyes scanned the glowing blue numbers on each locker until she found her scanning her finger print. Sighing softly she set the things she didn't need into the locker before grabbing the clear glass tablet and a notebook. She squeaked quietly in surprise as someone purposely hit her books to the floor.
"*ss hat, get out." The male practically growled, rolling his eyes as the boy walked off. "Dominic." He said, smiling and adjusting the beanie on his head. "... Thank you." Emilia mumbled. Dominic paused, not recognizing the girl. He couldn't help but feel she looked familiar. "Are you new?" Dominic finally asked.
"First day..in public school." Emilia admitted, wondering if that was a bad thing, looking new here. "Emilia." She murmured, smiling faintly. "You wouldn't have to have music as your first class would you?" The boy asked, when Emilia nodded he grinned. "Really?! I was just making small talk." He chuckled and after a moment placed his beanie on top of the girl's head, "Don't be late." He chuckled quietly as he dashed off to his own locker. Moments later Emilia was staring at the glowing blue school map on her tablet, intense on the blinking dot that was herself. She was already late, and she had never been late before.
Entering the music room she slowly sat down in her seat. "This is /Emilia/ By--" he was cut off as She spoke up. "Just. Emilia." She said firmly, like she dared him to continue. She was nervous as heck on the inside he'd continue, grateful when he just nodded and continued on with the class after introducing her. The teacher explaining that one student was to play a song. The man was explaining purely for her benefit, and the class looked dead bored as he explained. Looking up as she sunk in her seat slightly, she spotted Dominic setting up a guitar. A glass material with glowing blue lines as the strings. "This is a song from the old 2014's called Bully." and the song began. The girl found herself smiling as she listened, even her foot was tapping to the beat of the music.
The song soon came to an end and she found herself feeling disappointed. Sighing she watched as various students got up and went to various instruments.
"Em! Over here." Dominic sighed softly, waving the girl over.
Emilia looked up from her tablet, the girl's gaze looked at the drum with fascination before she got up and walked over, the drum was made of glass rods and flat circular clear disks, that rippled different glowing colours when touched by the drum sticks. She hadn't had anyone call her Em before, it was always Ms. Emilia, Ms, Byrn and so on. She didn't actually know anyone well enough that they'd call her that... But it was nice.
"So, what instrument do you play? The flute, piano, the bass? What's your poison?" Dominic asked, peering up at her as he tapped out a rhythm. Emilia seemed very interested by the blue ripple caused by tapping the clear circle. Looking away as the ripples faded and to Dominic to answer his question. "Well... My Mom wanted me to learn the flute, but my dad wanted me to learn how to play the acoustic guitar.... I ended up learning both." She rubbed the back of her neck.
The boy chuckled, "what do YOU like to play?" He asked gently, becoming more interested in the rhythm. Emilia thought about the question for some time, she rather disliked the flute. Her mother constantly made her play anyway, entering her in competitions and such things. She preferred the guitar. There was more variety, more ways for her to add her own little.. Touch.
"I find the flute a chore.. I like the acoustic guitar." Emilia smiled faintly, "and you like the drums?" She asked quietly. Dominic chuckled, not answering her question. "You still haven't answered mine." He repeated, "what instrument do you like, that you're just itching to try that your parents haven't told you to play?" He asked. Emilia's brows furrowed, she didn't know. Biting her lip, realizing it was becoming a habit of hers she rubbed the back of her neck. The girl was quiet a while as she tried to figure it out, her gaze scanning the various instruments in the room.
"I... I don't know." She finally mumbled. She wasn't expecting it when Dominic grinned, "that's perfect!" He said, his eyes lighting up like a child. "You have this place to try something new! Like the trumpet," he made a trumpet sound. "Maybe sing." He chuckled. "This class, is your musical playground." He grinned.
Emilia smiled slightly, a quiet laugh escaping her. The more he talked about music the more her confusion seemed to ebb away. She liked this boy, and not in the way where you get butterflies in your stomach. He didn't know who she was, and he was genuinely curious about her own likes and dislikes. Maybe this public school year wouldn't be so bad..
"You didn't answer my question."
The girl asked, smiling, this could work out.
word count: 999/1000 w
Credits: Plot and idea is both (dawnbreeze19210) mine and ❄️Jack????Frost❄️ on Virtual Space. Emilia is soley my idea, her personality and actions are my doing. This written by myself with her ideas and inputs added in.
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nörth
New Member
Posts: 19
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Post by nörth on Aug 11, 2014 2:19:31 GMT
Username on CS: ogygia
Identity of Protagonist: The protagonist fo this story if referred to as "he" or "the boy"
Story:
I wonder what it would be like to go back. To go back to the place of my childhood. To visit the one thing that kept me going when I had troubles. To go back and be with my guardian angel once more.
At around the age of six, I was being bullied on the playgrounds. I was terrified. The words that the bully threw at me, stung like sharp shards of glass. Then, the words stopped. In their place, a kind, yet strong voice rang out. It was the boy, the strange boy who was always alone. I looked up into his striking eye. He smiled at me and held out his hand. I took it and then warmth of thankfulness enveloped me. He led me away from the bully and into an amazing friendship. And to think, if I hadn’t taken his hand, I wouldn't be where I am today.
Later in my youth, around the age of 11 I was given depressing news. The news, that I would be moving far away. We were so opposed to this, that when the time came for me to leave, we ran away to his tree house. It only last a few days, but it was enough to come to terms with reality. A few hours before we were found, he gave me a necklace. It wasn't one of those cheesy "best friends forever" necklaces either. The necklace was composed of a simple silver chain and a charm. The charm was made from the wood of a white oak tree. He had carved it into the shape of an angel’s wing and painted it with a sealing polish to keep it somewhat protected. I noticed that it looked like the other wing had been snapped off. At mentioning this, he gave me a small smile. The same smile that had kindled our friendship. He then pulled out from under his sweatshirt the matching wing. I was then told that the two wings were made out of the same piece of wood. The wings were split only because that’s how we were soon to be. After that, we just sat up in his tree house listening to the wind whisper to the trees.
At the age of 16, I went out to the city with a small group of friends. We decided to split, find a shop we liked, and then call the others. I ended up getting lost in the many side streets and alleyways. As I tightened my coat around me, I heard soft footsteps coming from the shadows. Eyes wide, I turned away from them and walked in the opposite direction. As I quickened my pace, the footsteps quickened as well. Breaking into a sprint, I ran down the alley. I took a sharp right hoping I'd lose whoever was chasing me. As I was about to turn again, a hand snagged the back of my coat and flung me into the alley wall. The breath whooshed out of my lungs and I inhaled sharply trying to get it back. I heard a knife being unsheathed. My spine prickled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The person came closer and I saw out of the corner of my eye the glinting silver of the knife. A deep voice rasped in my ear. The horribly rank smell of the man’s breath drifted into my nostrils. Suddenly, the voice stopped. I heard a yelp of surprise and then a body thudding onto the ground. Turning around I watched the two men scuffle in the shadows, with my back pressed against the brick alley wall. Soon the aggressor fled. The other man turned towards me. The first thing I noticed were his striking eyes shining in the light. The second, he wasn't any older than me. A kind yet strong voice rang out from the eerie silence asking if I was okay. I nodded. It was the boy. The boy who was always alone before we became friends. To see him once more would be amazing. He was the kind of person to pick up abandoned dogs from the side of the road, help the elder people, and crack an inappropriate joke at a serious time. He was gimpy and quirky in his own way. I remember how shy he had been when I forced him into sharing his writing with me, but how glad he was he did afterward. He saved me from falling out of that tree house more times than I care to mention. From kindergarten to almost adulthood he has been my guardian angel. I wonder when I'll see him again.
Word Count: 780/1000 |
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Post by sweetypie on Aug 11, 2014 2:52:08 GMT
Username on CS:
Sᴡᴇᴇᴛʏᴘɪᴇ
Identity of Protagonist:
Ivy
Story:
She sped up as she neared the fall, and when she reached the edge, without hesitation; she jumped. She fell like a bullet back for the earth, long hair whipping her back. She hit the water with only a small splash, swimming down as deep as she could, and held tightly to the weeds at the bottom until she believed they were gone, her knife still held tightly in her mouth. She is not fearless, she does not have powers, but she has something special; she will always face the things that scare her most. This is Ivy, and she isn’t your ordinary girl.
Ivy hadn’t just been jumping off waterfalls with knives for no reason, she was running, running to save her life. She had just acted against the Society again, and they were after her hard. The Society was by no means the good; they were going to be the ones to ruin everything. She flicked her tail angrily as she emerged from the water, furious just thinking about all they were doing, destroying her town just to “create peace”. As Ivy approached her back door, she ripped off the hooded cape she was wearing indignantly, hating having to hide her identity. She slipped inside, the calming dark of her home enveloping her. She turned to her left and down the hall, her paws padding silently, like they never even touched the ground. She went to the end of the hall, to what seemed to be just a dead end. She reached up, tracing a pattern in the wallpaper. When she finished the wall clicked and swung in, revealing a room.
If this room was ever discovered, Ivy knew she would be dead. She looked up, hanging her knife in it's usual spot on the wall. This wall was covered in all types of tools, not all usually found in your typical shed. Some were tools, like cutters and saws, but others were more fitting to be named weapons, like her Indian bow and her pistol. They weren't kept maliciously, but rather for self-defense and sabotage of the Society's plans. They wanted to get rid of anyone older than 18 because they believed their minds where corrupt, and anyone younger would be put into their "schooling programs," which were really just facilities that would teach the children to follow the rules of the Society. Ivy's 17, but she couldn't let them take parents away from all those innocent children. It didn't matter to her that she never remembered her parents, it just drove her even more to help the children in her town to not feel how she did growing up.
Everything in the room was meticulously cleaned and organized, absolutely pristine. She left the room, not leaving without her black bow and quiver slung over her back. She always had her braces on her arms, so she didn't need to grab any. She flipped up her hood, her weapon concealed under her cape. As she came around the corner of her home, she saw a flash of fur dart under a bush. She approached slowly, peeking in. It was a small Kia, and she seemed to be quite afraid. "Are you Ivy?" She asked quietly. "Yes I am, come out sweetie, it's alright." She emerged slowly. "Is everything alright?" Ivy always spoke softly, her voice always quiet and soothing. "I can't find my mom." Ivy's heart fell, knowing that the Society had taken her mother. She was so young, barely old enough to even be away from her mother. "I'll help you find her, I promise. Do you want to come with me?" The little girl nodded, and Ivy shifted her bow to the side, swinging the little girl up onto her back. "What's your name?" She laid down, murmuring a response. "Sapphire."
Ivy ran swiftly, darting from shadow to shadow, getting closer to where she had seen the most soldiers. She could start to see them, surrounding what looked to be a house. She reached under her cape, pulling out her bow. The arrows were blunt, but she had dipped each needled tip in a toxin that would put her target to sleep for a few minutes, stunning them. She shot quickly and silently, dropping them all without a sound, she moved quickly, opening the door and slipping inside, Sapphire still on her back. She padded down the large hallway, a door at the end that was slightly ajar, shedding a small stream of light. She peeked in, seeing only a desk, a chair, and a guard on either side. In the chair sat a small kia, older but rather small in build. Ivy picked up her bow, hiding Sapphire behind her and throwing open the door.
Ivy shot silently, taking down both guards. The woman at the desk froze in shock, but quickly regained her composure. Ivy was puzzled, but then heard a squeak behind her and turned. A guard stood behind her, holding Sapphire with a knife to her throat. In the corner sat a kia, who seemed to be Sapphire's mother, a look of fear glistening in her eyes. "Take me." Ivy laid down her bow, holding out her hands. "Don't hurt them, take me." The lady at the desk stood. "How intelligent of you, dear." The guard sat down Sapphire and she ran to her mother; that was a big mistake on the guard's part. She slid a knife from her sleeve, immobilizing the guard. She turned, swiftly picking up her bow and hitting the leader with an arrow. The moment she let it fly, she realized what she had done, it wasn't one of the arrows with the toxin; it was a regular arrow. Ivy didn't look back, grabbing Sapphire and her mother and running out of the room, out of the house and into the woods. She always asked herself, what would be the price to pay to save all these innocent kia's? Now she had her answer.
Word Count:
(998/1000 w)
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Post by soulbridge on Aug 11, 2014 4:02:19 GMT
Username on CS
soulBridge.
Identity of Protagonist
Calogero
________________________________________________________
Story
A throbbing pain thudding in his skull had kept Calogero up the whole night. Those pesky, excruciating headaches seemed to come at the most inconvenient times. The night was exceptionally quiet, and he desperately longed for the silence to be ripped apart by the steady pitter patter of rain. It never failed to soothe his headaches. He burrowed his head into his pillow, trying to transfer the pain to the pillow, but it didn't work, it never did, not even when he was little and he thought everything was possible.
With a frustrated growl, he hurled the pillow toward the wall, and lurched out of bed, furiously pounding his fist on his head as he scrambled toward the bathroom. His hands trembled as they desperately tried to unscrew the cap of the pill container. After managing to rattle out two pills, he popped them into his mouth and downed them with faucet water. He really hated those pills, hated having to rely on two tiny pills, but sometimes the rain doesn't come at the right times.
After standing hunched over the sink for a few minutes after taking the pills, Calogero sauntered back to his bedroom and slumped into his chair. A pair of headphones, a microphone, and an FM transmitter lay on the desk before him with a few notes scribbled down on various mediums. Napkins, post-its, all notes that will one day enlighten others. But not yet. Not now.
Calogero sighed and turned to face the bedroom. All his clothes except for the ones he planned on changing into tomorrow morning were thrust inside a battered suitcase kicked to the edge of the room. Other than his gear and notes on the desk, he was practically packed. Tomorrow, the only thing he would have to do is throw on some clothes and grab his gear and pill container before leaving this house for good, for the government was after him. Again. His messages were too provocative, they said, he'd be the downfall of this nation.
But what do they know? Did those pampered bigots know what it was like to be watched, as if anything they did that even barely hinted upon harming the government in any way would be punished severely? They didn't. Calogero did. He had seen one too many instances where his friends, family were harassed because they were themselves. A collective mind that was insensitive to an individual's feelings was unacceptable in his eyes. He aimed to fight for the individual.
Calogero's eyelids started to grow heavy, but his eyes flickered toward the digital clock that read 4:57, and his eyes suddenly fluttered open. Looks like he wouldn't be getting some shut eye, yet again.
Damn headache, keeping him up.
Anyway.
It was better to go now anyway, since barely anyone would be out at this hour. And he'd also be out before some official came to his doorstep.
He cautiously peeked out the front door and slowly rolled his suitcase out to the front, anxiously trying to keep the noise down to a minimum. No one was out, thank goodness, he thought to himself with a relieved sigh. He rounded the corner to a dumpster, hoisted his suitcase in (resulting in a loud thud that made him jump a little), and promised it to return to it later. He then dashed into the house once again to grab his notes and gear, hiding them in his tattered trench coat, and set off toward the nearest radio station he could find.
A small radio tower sat on the top of the three story building, beckoning Calogero toward it. It was a quaint place, just a little local radio station. One day, though, he'd do better than disrupting local radio stations, but we all have to start from somewhere. He peered over his shoulder, scanning his periphery for nosy passersby. Luckily, no one was out, save a few cars, and the radio station didn't play until six.
He scowled as he set his equipment down in the corner of the alley amidst old cardboard boxes abandoned next to the radio station. The stench was aggravating, making his head spin and making him lose focus. No, no, he couldn't let another damn headache get in the way of what he was trying to do. He meticulously set up his equipment, tinkering with various wires until he finally had his system set up. He peeked out from behind the boxes, straining his eyes to spot a figure walk into the building where the radio show was hosted.
Finally, a small figure walked into the building, and Calogero whipped out his FM transmitter, ready to disrupt the signal. He'd give such a fright to the audience. One moment, you're listening to some upbeat music to start your day, the next moment, you're listening to an ominous message. And just like that, the voice disappears, and the musics starts playing again, as if nothing's happened. The listener would be left with an eerie feeling, and that's just what he wanted. He needed to be remembered, how else would he make any kind of impact if he wasn't?
He slipped on his headphones and held the microphone close to his face, like holding a warm cup of coffee to feel the wisps of tickling warmth on his cheeks. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the static of the radio to reach his ears, signaling the start of the station's schedule. As the first few notes of a song flowed into his ears, with a flick of a wrist, he turned the knob of the transmitter, and with that, a wave of silence hit him and his potential listeners throughout the vicinity of the city.
"There is no greater power than the individual," a deep, resonating voice escaped his lips. "If you accept that as truth, then this truth will set you free."
A click.
And the station picked up back to its music.
[ word count: 999 ]
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Post by snownina on Aug 11, 2014 4:29:03 GMT
username on CS;; snownina
identity of protagonist;; Referred to as "She"
story;;
She was an explorer. An adventurer. One who could never sit still. Travelling around the whole world was her ultimate dream. Nothing could get in her way. She never stopped. She had a whole plan planned down to the minute. She never missed one flight. She read only non-fiction books that would help her on her journeys, and she never had patience for fiction.
Everything was fine, except for the time she went to the Amazon Rainforest. Now that was probably the only thing that ever stopped her in her daily routines.
She loved the Amazon. It was the No. 1 place to go to on her 101 Places to Visit list. It was just as beautiful as she imagined it would be. Everything was just simply perfect.
Until a thunderstorm stroke.
It was a great experience, right in the middle of a thunderstorm in the rainforest, and she was quite ecstatic right then. She was in her happy place until she realized that she lost her backpack, which included a GPS to help her find her way back.
She didn’t panic. Yet. You don’t panic in a thunderstorm. Now that would be totally uncalled for, not to mention dangerous. So when the thunderstorm stopped after five minutes, she started to panic.
She still had a plane to catch that night that would take her to Ethiopia! And now she would miss it because as a Kiamara with no sense of direction, she had no idea how to get out of the rainforest, let alone to the airport.
After hours of blindly trying to find her way, she sat down to rest. The sky was getting dark, which meant that she had less of a chance of getting out. She would try tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep. If you count sleeping on dirt with ants and snakes and whatever there was as sleeping. More like putting your life in danger.
Just as she began to drift off, she heard cawing and tweeting and whatever sounds birds made. She looked up, and saw parrots, toucans, and other tropical birds flying above her, looking magical from the setting sun that shone through the lush canopies.
A feather of a parrot fell down and landed next to her paw. She put her paw over it, and as the group of flying birds began to disappear, she felt content, for once in her busy life. For the first and only time in her life, she felt what it was like to be truly calm.
word count;; (421/1000 w)
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segie
New Member
Posts: 2
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Post by segie on Aug 11, 2014 4:55:16 GMT
Username on CS:
Segie
Identity of protagonist: The protagonist, who is gendered male, goes by many names, which is made clear in the story. His real name is Kitsune, but this is something that only a select few know. Kitsune has no pronoun preference.
Story:
Word count: (__/1000 w)
I would personally like a short extension, maybe a day or so. I have had a busy past couple of days and I have been struggling for hours now to right a decent story without success, and its really late so I should get to bed. cx
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