Personal Blog: Unfinished Stories..

The Unfinished Stories…

I occasionally dare a glance at the folder on my computer called “Writing”. This is where I keep all the bits and pieces, and hundreds of words of various stories I have either finished writing – or in the tentative process of trying to finish. This is where they sleep like little captive critters.

You see the truth is (as many of us on these blogs know) having a chaotically creative mind can be a dangerous thing. Certainly it can weave tales of wonder and can draw you into a world of your own creation – heart mind and soul… but it also wanders. A lot.

My creativity can be so focused on writing for a while, lost in multiple stories on the go that I could spend hours writing on each a night… to not having the inspiration to lift my viritual pen to the next week. Instead my creativity suddenly comes to realize that other forms of artwork needs my immediate and unshared attention!

You see Writing is one of my vents. Certainly it’s a love of mine. But it isn’t -my only- vent.

I’m in an equally committed relationship with my sketchbooks, watercolours and canvas. Oh the woes of a creative chaotic mind that has a shifting focus like a circling goldfish! (wait, did that rhyme?)

So, as artwork is where my bills get paid.. sometimes my focus draws there and I’m stuck in a cycle of art supplies rather then open word documents.

Really though, looking through my various writing files – truth is we are all probably like this in one way or another. Or at least I like to think most of us do. Maybe it’s because our mind builds stories so quickly we don’t have the actual time or ability to catch up with it? Or maybe it’s just the price we pay for being such creative beings? We get stuck as a slave to our muses and constantly chasing our own written tails? (Tales, hah!)

Ah well. One way or another I will hopefully finish all the unfinished stories and be able to keep a one track mind…

Who am I kidding? We all know -that- isn’t going to happen. So instead let me revise — hopefully one day I can finish far more stories then I start.

That sounds a bit more reasonable…

-Crowskin

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New Story: Untitled – Chapter Thirteen

(We finally continue the story where we left off.. Prime Dean Marthis is royally screwed, but choosing to try and weasel himself out of his own problems the only way he knows how! Trying to get someone else to do it…)

Prime Dean Marthis was a man of considerable wealth, political standing, and fancied himself well gifted in appearance – but what he was blessed with in social graces he lacked in common sense and patience. Therefore the chore of going through various student records to find a choice selection of pawns to bring with him on his journey seemed like a monumental task.

Paperwork was never his thing. Unfortunately he didn’t feel like testing his luck with Jen’Rar by making her do it either.

What to do? It was obvious this little trip needed to be handled immediately, there wasn’t much choice there. It was also obvious he wanted to put in as little effort for as little risk to himself as possible.

Hence why he found himself, folders and all, heading into the bowels of the school after hours. He muttered the entire way. Down a flight of cobbled stairs, into a dusty hallway that wasn’t entirely maintained well. It was trudged through by a very few handfuls of students who were chosen to study the boring and archaic study of Primitive Divination or the intensely rare subject of Physiological Magicks.

It was the former class in which he promptly invited himself into.

Ah.. Dean. What brings you to my dusty hoard?” There was a clinking noise as Jeramiah shifted. His deep raspy voice sent a small breeze towards the intruding man, curling plumes of candle smoke in the air. It made his nostrils tingle.

I see you still haven’t switched over to the more efficient lighting apparatus I mentioned? Seriously Jeramiah, I already told you I could install them myself if you so wished… I am sure your students would appreciate it.”

Jeramiah was one of the few newer additions to the college, although there was nothing about his classroom or his looks that would have ever given that indication. In fact, like most of the Primal Dragons, he looked as old as dirt. And possibly was.

However the esteem of having a dragon actually teaching in his college? Well, that was far too useful to throw away. Not only was it a bragging rite – it certainly gave the school far more character. Even if Jeramiah wasn’t always predictable.

I have no need of your fancy devices. I prefer the simplicity of wax and flame, and methods which have lasted far longer then you – little meat-sack. Now, you come bearing folders, files and nonsense – but I feel that has very little with what is truly on your mind.”

Marthis ignored the twitch in his right eye at the insult and swallowed down a nasty retort. Primal Dragons were amazing creatures – able to communicate and learn swiftly and intelligently. They were remarkable and extremely long lived… but had a tendency to be very bold, brash, and… brutally honest. They had little respect of social constructs or even political endeavours.

There was a reason it was such a high prize that Prime Dean Marthis could attain a dragon teacher for it’s school… because no other school managed to do it. Or bothered to try…

Look, I don’t care. I just need you to look over these damned files and tell me what students would be best to bring along with me so I can get my errand done as quickly as possible and get back to where I belong!”

Jeramiah’s large golden orbs of eyes seemed to glimmer in amusement as he crooned his long thin neck towards the man more. “Oh, and what pray tell is this errand of yours? One so important it would pull you from your precious hallways?”

…it’s not important. Well it is important but.. look it’s complicated… it’s not the point.” He almost dropped the files and instead fumbled them messily onto a table. “Can you do it or not?”

Jeramiah rustled out another deep raspy laugh as he stretched out – leaning his shoulders forward and pressing his spine in a gentle curve like a cat stretching after lazing out in a sunbeam for a while. His naked scales of ruby and bronze glimmered in the candle light.

Silly meat-sack, you talk and talk and forget what I even am. You forget what I do. You forget because your squishy brain is too busy with lazy devices and silly quick methods!”

That is quite enough!” His cheeks were flushed. “Can you do it or not?”

His laugh was much louder now. It seemed to shake the dust from the rafters of the large room.

You only go to prove my point. I teach Primal Divination, you idiot. I already knew you would come here. I already know why. And I have already made a list for your lazy eyes to see. My old dusty methods and all…” He grabbed a rolled piece of parchment from his side and chucked it to him. It was surprisingly heavy and thudded against his chest.

One word of warning, however. The future is never set in stone, so some things are still obscured to me. You indeed have a list of candidates there, five names of students you could bring. Each one has their purpose and qualities that will be useful. Take only three of them with you, for only two of you will return to this place. Pick wisely.”

His face, previously flushed with frustration now paled a little. He felt a chalky nauseous feeling in the back of his throat. “Are you saying I may die?”

Now the Dragon’s words were slower, his golden orbs glowing with an almost glimmering starlight deep inside. It wasn’t just the voice of the irritating Jeramiah, but the oracle in the dragon’s blood. The hissing sound of blood born divination that went far beyond spells or rituals.

When he realized what was happening, he tried to get out of the room as quick as possible. It was well known that a prophecy only becomes real when it’s heard by another soul, but the dragon’s voice followed him out as only a dragon’s voice can… some prophecies refused to be silent.

From five you will pick. But only three must depart.

Each one faces danger, and each will play their part.

Two will remain, but only two return again.

You had better choose them wisely,

for your life relies on them…”

Great, he thought to himself in a mental whimper. This was the last thing he needed. He made a mental note that when he finally got himself out of this tricky situation, he would fire that blasted dragon.

 

Poem: Unsaid Explanation

Unsaid Explanation

I love you –

I just can’t take your touch.

Losing my connection.

Lacking the corrections –

To make me what you need.

I want you –

But that’s just not enough.

Not when every part of me,

seems lost to this insanity.

Born without the capacity…

…To open up.

I’m too raw inside these walls.

I’m emotionally a catastrophe.

A creature fearing all intimacy-

And inside I’m all messed up.

I fear you.

You make me crumble.

Pointing out my complications –

Questioning my hesitations.

You make me weak.

Believe me…

When I tell you – I’m sorry.

My heart is self destructive,

I ‘m torn from the reconstruction –

But it’s just not me.

I need you.

I want you to understand.

Your friendship is my salvation,

Your words break the isolation,

You give me light.

I love you.

I want you… to open up.

I fear you.

Believe me… I need you.

Poem: Stranger In My Skin

( I decided to take a bit of a break from the current writing projects I have on here. So for the next few weeks I’m going to post a few random poems until I’m able to get back on track. I hope your 2018 is going well so far! )

Stranger In My Skin


Inside this skin something’s loose,

Lost in the corridors with the deepest roots,

I dare not leave it unrestrained,

Though it swears that it would ease the pain.

I know that beast’s not me.

The thing that lurks behind the walls,

In whispered words with sharpened claws,

Even though it persistently does still call to me.

Am I so different from the world?

Such a plague of misfortunes?

Is my blood not the color of crimson,

But something tainted and diseased?

Why is it then you shun me. Change me.

Break out the shackles and cage me?

Why is it every little thing I do –

Is something I’m not doing for you?

Why is it your love is a broken thing?

Why can’t you feel the touch of another being?

Is it possible that everything you fear in me,

Is what the world around you sees?

The beast grows silent, as do my thoughts.

I lay it down, replace the locks.

Inside my barricades I pull within-

I’m a stranger in my skin.