about the author~

we have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.

Oh, hello there. I didn't hear you come in.
Well, as long as you're here, you're more than welcome to browse around.
I am the mastermind behind this page, this humble abode for my writings. I've assembled this page with the help and support of my lovely guild, Crossroads; no one could be better.

So I suppose this is the part where I begin to tell you all about me, huh?
Let's see. I'm a seventeen year old resident of the United States, and have a dream of someday leaving the town where I'm currently living and seeing the world. I get restless a lot, which is sometimes what drives me to write in the first place. My writing, for me, is a gateway and an escape into someone else's life, and honestly, I wouldn't give it up for anything.
My writing would typically fall under three major categories: realistic fiction, historical fiction or free-verse poetry. I always have more ideas than pieces written, which drives me insane sometimes, but hey. Writing scraps are a necessary evil, I suppose. Maybe I'll get to those projects one day...
You want to know some more random things about me? Well, I suppose I could oblige... hmmm. Well, my favorite music genres are hard rock and heavy metal, and my favorite bands (that I can mention on Neo) would have to be Five Finger Death Punch, Disturbed, and As I Lay Dying. I am currently addicted to reading George RR Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series (which is also popularly known as "Game of Thrones.") I would love to be half the storyteller that man is someday; his characters, his style, his plotline... oh my gosh. I love them all. xD
What else am I missing?
Oh! If you ever have any questions for me, or would like to just chat, feel free to shoot me a Neomail. Chances are, I'd be glad for the conversation.


poetry

Note: there will be purposeful misspellings in some of my writings. I tried to make the letters look as accurate as possible, however, so hopefully you can still distinguish the word that I intended to write.
Another note: a lot of my poetry tends to be depressing; I just wanted to give you all a heads up so I don't make anyone concerned or anything, haha.

Empty, I begin to fill
With the darkness pouring
From the hole where my heart should be.

Empty, I lay broken
As the world around me
Swirls and contorts
Revealing images that compound the pain.

Empty, I stand determined
Whatever I have left inside
Will soon be set free
From this hollow shell.

Empty, I lay bleeding
The wound opening
Scarlet drops gracefully counting
The final moments of my mortality.

Empty, I fade
Withering away piece by piece
As the word continues to turn.
For why should it stop for someone like me?

In a steady rhythm, life trickles on,
Like some code no mere mortal can distinguish.
The sands of time flow onward to find their next conquest,
And yet we remain.
Weathered by the storm, jaded by the fire,
We stand in a place that used to be perfect,
Watching it slowly fall into ruinous decay.

Burning up,
Flesh searing,
Adding salt to the wound.

People moving,
Swirling to pieces,
A kaleidoscope of living sin.

Small pleasures,
Always receding,
Syphoning into the abyss.

Frozen stillness,
Dragging under the waves,
Cloying melodies lulling into sleep.

I can feel it in my bones.
The rift between us grows,
A black abyss threatening what we've known.
A candle burns bright in the dark,
Only to be snuffed out before the dawn.
Our souls strain to find meaning,
But not a whisper can be heard.
Surrounded by darkness, wrapped in death's cold embrace,
We bleed.

prose

Note: there will be purposeful misspellings in some of my writings. I tried to make the letters look as accurate as possible, however, so hopefully you can still distinguish the word that I intended to write.

I look up at the sky, feeling my heart pumping the blood through my system, only to have it leak out of the cylindrical hole in my abdomen. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem; people like me, we are trained to mend things like this before they even let us out into the field. But this time... things are different. I am dying. And no one will ever know.
Involuntarily, a single tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. At this moment, I am truly alone. Even the man who had pointed his gvn at me had gone, likely fleeing, as is a guerrilla's tendency. That thought sent another shock of agonizing pain through my body, but oddly enough, I wasn't fully there to notice. I can feel myself slipping away ever so slowly, like a sandcastle eroded by a rising tide. Looking up at the sky, I capture the stars in my mind. And I lay there, unseeing. Waiting for the end, for the blackness to come and sweep me away.

I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the hell that I was about to walk into. The sky was tinged with batches of blood red light as the sun began its steady creep across the sky above us, marking the passage of another day. The battle had finally ended, though, but now, it was time to begin the search for our comrades, our brothers. I surveyed the k!lling field, scanning the horizon to be sure that the enemy was finally out of sight. There were bodies strewn everywhere, the dead and dying intermingled and utterly unrecognizable. Some were crying for water, and some for mercy, but it was the silent ones, gazing with their unseeing eyes, that unsettled me the most. This battle had raged, occasionally either stopping or starting, for the past three days, leaving many of our company missing in action. I was here to find them.
My name is James Benjamin Taylor. And this is the legacy of the fallen.

."I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice declared from behind the trees. "Hunting in these parts is dangerous, especially for a lordling with a little-used sword." A well-built boy materialized out of the forest, all blonde hair and azure eyes. He had a face that would be handsome, if it weren't for the layers of dirt and filth that covered his features in some places. A blonde, nearly translucent stubble of a beard covered his chin, barely visible beneath the shadow of the canopy. His eyes gleamed as he drew his sword, a short dirk of questionable origin and quality. The sword made a satisfying hiss as Eiden drew it from his worn scabbard. "Now," he said, "I would advise that you go back from whence you came; our forest doesn't need the trouble of something happening to the likes of you." He fixed the younger boy with a meaningful look, and strode across the path to where the boy sat mounted on his horse, a majestic chestnut stallion arrayed in the colors and crest of some major house. Eiden's plan was simple; deliver a good smack to the horse's rump, and watch it gallop away with the lordling on its back. In hindsight, Eiden realized that, even if his plan had succeeded, it would not have been a good idea at all; in fact, it quite possibly could have gotten both boys k!lled. But in that moment, he didn't realize what was lurking beyond the trees, lying in wait.
Reaching the horse, he turned the dirk, preparing to hit the horse with the flat of his blade. The beast had been silent throughout the whole encounter; but now, it was pawing at the ground and snorting, looking on the verge of panicking. "What the..." Eiden managed to begin before a blinding pain exploded in his left shoulder, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. Looking down, he noticed a single crossbow bolt, the shaft protruding from his flesh, with his own warm, sticky blood running in rivulets down his chest. Uncomprehending, Eiden looked around. He wasn't stupid; he knew that, where there was a crossbow, there had to be a man behind it. Leaving the whimpering lordling to his cowering, Eiden took a step forward... and heard another crossbow bolt being loosed. This one was not meant for him, no; instead, it struck the other boy directly in the chest with the sickening thunk of skin and muscle giving way to steel and wood. A momentary look of surprise filled his face before he fell forward, his scarlet blood beginning to stain the stallion's fine raiment.
A man stepped out from the brush, tall and lean. In his hand was a crossbow; Eiden could only assume that it was the weapon used on both him and the unfortunate little lord. The strange man gave a whistle, the sound high-pitched and piercing. One after another, more figures began appearing from the forest that surrounded them, some short and stocky, others well muscled and scarred.
."Brothers," the thin man called, "it looks like some lord deigned to send his son into our forest. Perhaps he was here to treat with us, hmmm?" With that remark, the outlaws all began to laugh, a harsh sound that filled Eiden's ears as he concentrated on not losing the sparse contents of his stomach while the searing pain rippled forth from his injured shoulder.
."But will we deal with the likes of him? A green boy barely through with being nursed and his," the man stopped, locking eyes with Eiden, "noble companion?" The corner of his mouth twisted upward, forming a smirk on his pointed features. Eiden could feel the familiar rage bubbling up inside of him, begging for release. Gritting his teeth, he slowly shifted his body to try and locate the dirk that had been knocked out of his hand. Good, he thought, I don't think anyone's noticed it yet.
Suddenly, one of the outlaws raised a cry. "Alger, horses are comin', and they're ridin' fast! I think they're some o' the lord's men!" Cursing, Alger, the thin man, whipped around. Noticing Eiden and the little lord still in the middle of the clearing, he began to swear again.
."What should we do with these two?" one of the men asked, gesturing at the two boys.
."They're coming closer!" the outlaw called, a hint of panic rising in his voice. "I don't know about you boys, but I don't want to lose my head for the likes of those!"
Making a decision, Alger pulled out his crossbow. "If yer lucky, Thom, you won't have to. None of us will," he said, smiling wickedly. "Because there will be no witnesses."
Leveling the crossbow with Eiden's chest, he fired of another bolt. Pain laced through Eiden's mind, turning his vision to red and causing a hitch in his breathing. The force of the bolt had knocked him backward, so he ended on the ground, dazed. As the edges of his vision began to grow blurry, Alger leaned down to whisper in his ear.
."You'd best die quickly, boy," he threatened, as everything slowly went black.

characters

This is currently under construction; I need to figure out which characters to work on, haha.

links!

Layout for members of Crossroads.
All content written by me; do not claim anything on this page as your own work.



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