Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Jezz's Written Mind

Hehe, hmhm, hoho, hrmhrm, bwahahaha!

JetStream, I, too, have been told! Mwehehe, woohoho, heh!

Who said that? Whazzat?

BWAHAHAHA!

*cough*

*Is crazy tired and waiting for Jess' next story*

What's the name of the poem?

Wait, you're ttly upset Jess? Aww....

*Hugs*

15 pages.... while my thread is dieing in a fetal position.....

I knowssssssss!!! Hehehehehehehehehheheheeeee....

JetStream, I, too, have been told!

Wait, you're ttly upset Jess? Aww

hope it wasnt me that upset you but probably is only part of it right? hehe

This might be my entry for the Short Story Contest... but shhhh. It's okay to post it in here first.
I checked all the mistakes in word, but then realised I couldn't be bothered to c/p it into notepad again and change the symbols.
So, sorry, but this is the one with spelling and grammar mistakes. A draft, if you like.
Sorry it's so long.
Oh, and sorry it's so bad.
Its not excuse to say I rushed it ~

Important Note: I got the idea from a book I read by Sarah Rees Brennan called The Demons Lexicon. It's a great book and I read it twice in Spain xD

Also, if someone could come up with a better title..?

~Residence Ill-Favoured~

"I WANT IT BACK"

The ominous voice boomed through the shallow walls of next doors house and played through the man's sensitive ears. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and he spun on the balls of his feet, rushing for the front door. Thoughts played through his mind... he found me... he wants it? He can't get me. I need to run...
Another older man burst through the door just as the first had touched the handle. The first man sprinted up the stairs, the second man in close pursuit. The first man made it to the end of the hallway and darted through a door to the right. Following, the second man found that this room was rather like a prison cell. White-wash walls and concrete floor, dimly lit. A single chair stood in the middle of the floor and the first man cowered behind it, trapped. The second man let out a short burst of laughter, throwing his head back wildly before jolting forwards and fixing the younger man with a piercing glare.

"You know me?" he questioned the cowering figure.

The man shook his head, hair falling into his frightened eyes.

"You don't remember me. I am a magician."

The man shook his head in disbelief. He judged the space between the door and the magician and make a bolt for it. With a quick snap of his wrists the magician lifted the man into the air and threw him into the sturdy chair infront. He wrapped invisible cords around the chair legs and the legs of the man. The man kicked with all his might but he was bound to the chair by his ankles. The man noticed the magician had many beads and chains strung round his neck, some of which were flowing faintly. The magician kept his eyes on the man as he fumbled in his coat pocket. He whipped out an item, crept over to the man and drew the object to his skin.
The razor thrummed at his throat. It cut a shallow gash in his flesh. The blood beaded then spilled over the magician's fingers and down the man's chest. The man didn't move, couldn't say a word. The magician's magic numbed the pain, the magic rendered him speechless.

The magician plucked the man's words from the air as if they were the fragile wings of a broken butterfly. The magician put a finger to his lips and tasted the words the man couldn't utter. He bent forwards, holding the man's cheek to his own. His lips met the man's ear and he whispered in a voice matching the man's own.
"I'll savour the fear. Your voice churns in my blood and brings it to boil. It gives me such a pang of pitiful sadness to learn you feel no regret."

His hands slid from the man's cheek, moving roughly to his neck and gripping the muscles there, "Well boy, you should."

The magician's fingers tightened their vice-like grip and it's all the man could do not to scream and pry the magician's fingers from his constricted throat.

"I'll tell you what you want to know!" gasped the man, his hands trying to wriggle in the gap between the magician's fingers and his own neck. The magician loosened his grip in momentary shock.

"Theres nothing you can tell me that I don't already know. Don't play me for a fool, boy!" he spat.

The man shrunk into the chair, kicking slightly against the invisible restraints. His eyes widened in fear but the magician wasn't fooled.
He leant in once more to whisper in the man's ear, "I know all about you, son."

The man cringed at the last word and he sensed the old man grinning wickedly. "I know what you did and I know what you took. Who you are, and who you're not."

The man began to sweat, persperation beading on his brow and trickling around his eyes. "I even know your name."

The man cried out, choking on his words, "Please... please tell me m- my name..." he whimpered. He looked up to meet a sharp slap across his face, "I said don't play me for a fool, boy!" hissed the magician, loosing his cool and rolling into a montage of accusations.

"I tell you your name, I set you free." The magician's lips flickered into a grim smile when he saw the man's face reddening even more, wearing the expression similar to that of a deer caught in the headlights.

"Yes boy, I know everything. That night twenty three years ago when you entered my house. Shall I set the scene? ... My wife was laying on the floor, moaning in agony. She'd called her sister and the woman was on her way over. I sat in the kitchen with my good friend, Robert. I sorted through calming charms, soothing charms, relaxing charms, pain relief charms, healing charms, why I even considered sleeping charms! But after half an hour of tense waiting - watching the clock tick and peeking through the door, only to have my wife glare me back in - there was silence. A mixture of joy and butterflies crept into my stomach. Her sister gave me the all clear to come in and my eyes met the most wonderful sight. I sauntered over and sat by my love, peering timidly at the tiny bundle in her arms. A beautiful boy. I shared a huge grin with her sister and asked to hold the little baby. However, my wife frowned. She thought there was something missing. She spent agonising minutes frantically searching the child, checking for something wrong.
That was when her sister asked, "Why is the baby not crying?"
I agreed, the baby should cry. Thats what healthy babies do. Thinking about it now I realise the baby was all wrong. He didn't move about like normal new-borns. Just sat there in my wife's arms. He also had the strangest eyes. Black eyes. I have blue eyes, my wife had green. There are only a handful of brown eyes in our families, and none of us had black. Well, we found it odd but shrugged it off, just happy to finally have a proper family. After 3 weeks of unbroken sleep however, we knew something was wrong. The baby wouldn't do anything. Wouldn't cry. He wouldn't even smile.
"Then one night my wife got up to feed our child. She trudged to the kitchen as I lay half awake, eyes closed, waiting for her to come back. Returning to the bedroom, I heard her clatter about at the foot of the bed. Almost drifting back to sleep, my eyes snapped open as a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence. "The baby's gone!" she shrieked, tears streaming down her face and splashing into the empty cot. I ran to comfort her, dialling 999 as she sobbed into my shoulder.
"To cut a long story short..." the magician paused to study the man's face. The man had been listening intently, staring at the magician's lips as he spoke. Now he cast his eyes to the floor and motioned for the older man to continue.

"Yes. My wife died 22 years ago. People accused her of giving our baby away. They told her that she'd sold it. It was even rumoured that she'd murdered the poor boy! She took her own life because she couldn't bear the accusations. She died for her son, because she didn't know where he was. Of course, I know what happened, son."

The man wet his lips and made a small intimidated noise.

"I know what you did. You thought you could mess with a magician. You stole my son."

"I never..."

"You took him. You took his spirit. You pushed his soul into the deep recesses of his mind and took his body for your own. You could manipulate it to your will. You were not content with merely existing on Earth, no. You just had to find a host. And what better host than one with newborn magical potential? You occupy his body."

The magician's face turned sallow as he gazed upon the body of his once-son, "Well son," he spat the past word from his lips, "I want it back."

The man dropped the innocent facade. He drew a sneer and spoke in an equally snarling voice, "How did you find me?"

The magician laughed a high, piercing note and flicked his eyes to his "son's" face, "Daemons are not hard to find. They might be quick and cunning but they are certainly not intelligent. It wasn't hard to figure you out." He began walking around the tied-up man, heels clicking in the floor as he took slow deliberate steps.
"You see, a daemon's primary goal is to watch the planet burn. Nothing contents them more than scheming, manipulating, crushing and destroying anything in sight, be it a building or a man's life. When I heard of devastating fires and collapsing towers on the news I decided to track you down. I caught and killed many daemons in my search for you, I'm sure you don't care about your brother's lives. I made it my mission to kill you and claim my son back, hoping to destroy others like you in the process. A few were tortured first. I used my magic to all my strength, used and wore down hundreds of truth charms and daemon nets. One or two let slip of your whereabouts, you can thank your good friend Chakarr in the Afterlife."

The daemon in his son's body cursed profoundly under his breath, "Oooh when I get my hands on him I-"

"Enough!" spoke the magician, "I now want what is rightfully mine,. You took my son from me. You took my wife. You took my chance of a new family. You don't regret it; what daemon would? So now, I take your life."

The colour drained from the man's face, leaving it a horrible stony white. He squirmed in his chair, calling for Uzanu.

Uzanu, God of the daemons, save my precious life~

"Precious?!" the magician cackled, "My son's life is precious. You can give it all back."

Uzanu, God of the daemons, kill this man!~

"Uzanu can't save you, son." he cackled louder, his fingers twisting through the chains around his neck. His voice bellowed above his son's, the daemon's;

I call on flames of Tilder, spare this beast no sudden pain~
I call on Gods of thunder, give my son's soul back again~

Uzanu, God of the daemons, kill this man, now! the shrill voice rang out, inaudible over the roar of the magician's.

I call on Sparn the Vicious, cut the life from this tormentor~
I call for you, Liarnen, should your sould decay forever!~

"That is my name... Liarnen... You said my name!" screamed the daemon. The magician snapped his fingers and the chair disintegrated, a roaring fire burned and the man began to writhe on the floor in agony. Englulfed in flames, the man struggled to speak, only screamed. He lay on his back, wrestling an invisible attacker above him. He clawed at the air, teeth bared, eyes wild, still screaming in pain. He suddenly twisted across the floor and slammed into the white wash walls as if someone had tossed him to the side like a rag doll.

Where the man had been there burned an image of an ugly creature, mouth turned down in a sinister sneer. Once the flames died down the magician kicked the ash, destroying the image completely. The magician gazed at his son. The man lay against the wall, face down, chest heaving and shaking all over. The magician crouched and took the man by the elbow, rolling him over and clasping his hands around his shoulders. Taking in the man's bewildered expression, his sparkling blue eyes and his soft, painless face he wrapped his arms around him and sobbed into his matted hair. Once again he drew his lips to the man's ear and whispered as gently as he could,
"Welcome back, son."

That's...a...short...story?
Usually our idea of a short story is 500 or 1000 words less.
That's pwetty long.
I wike the dialogue.

Are you telling me you've read it already, Firetail?
I don't believe you...~

Hehe this one is 2,026 words.
I think the limit is 2,000.
Perhaps.. Nicho could... let in the odd 26 words?

ty for any compliments you just gave me xD

Are you telling me you've read it already, Firetail?
I don't believe you...~

Hehe this one is 2,026 words.
I think the limit is 2,000.
Perhaps.. Nicho could... let in the odd 26 words?

ty for any compliments you just gave me xD

before jolting forwards and fixing the younger man with a piercing glare.

The man shook his head, hair falling into his frightened eyes.

some of which were flowing faintly.

jolting forwards as in... quickly darting forwards? leaning forwards?
like that...
or do you mean I should take the "s" off "forwards"...?

into, infront of.. they're the same thing!

yes.. i meant glowing. I said there were some spelling mistakes!

i just came to say bye to you jess. hehe

In that case jezz, you should fix it before submitting it as an entry.

Jolting forward is fine - and using is avoids an adverb. *bullet dodged*

jolting is a good word. The slight onomatopoeia helps it, too. Keep it the way it is.