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The bittersweet rhapsody of crickets singing through the summer night calmed the boy as he lay awake in bed for the third night. He felt more at peace with himself in his reverse-comatose state, as if he had finally connected with the universe’s constant turning and the energy of all life. And as the world turned, the sun rose on the horizon, sleepily painting the sky brilliant hues of gold. Its rays reached deep into the crevices of the land which was a great expanse of wooded wilderness and flat plains with mountains shooting up from the earth’s breast as arrows piercing armor. Terra, the earth, shifted to face the sun Like it, the little prince arose from his bed and in his night dress he slinked out of his room and into a hallway so vacant he could hear a moth sigh from between the curtains.
Eveian, son of the 11th king of the northern territories, commonly called the Frozen North, moved lithely through his father’s home, his small, fair feet cutting distance on the carpeted wooden floor from his bedroom to a set of stairs which he climbed down with practiced ease. The prince, five years and small for his age, pretended briefly he was greeting a crowd of nobles at the foot of the stairs. He touched his soft chin to the air, took an indignant sniff of the musky atmosphere, and marched down the stairs with his back straight and his head held high, a tiny fist clenching at the hem of his lily-colored night dress as so that he did not trip over it which- to his father’s embarrassment- he often did.
Eveian hopped down the final step with a soft thump, and turned again through another hallway, touching his rounded fingertips to the wallpaper as he walked by. He lifted them as they met the seam between two sheets of it, and dropped his hand to his side as he entered a vast and empty dark room with a vaulted ceiling. The arches supporting the structure were like wooden ribs of an ancient beast, and a great chandelier bedecked with crystals lit them from a distance, giving the place a gloomy look. This was the dining hall, Eveian’s least favorite room. He trotted over to the center where a long, sturdy table sat with great, intricately carved chairs with depictions of wild beasts of both fiction and physical form. With some effort, the young prince pulled a heavy seat from the table and climbed into it, knowing that at any moment someone would enter the room.
Eventually.
Upon sitting, he realized how great his exhaustion was. A crushing weight settled upon his eyelids, and the shadow of the room sung him lullabies. With no second thought, a void opened up and demons danced before his eyes, tearing about the room, bearing their fangs and laughing. Booming voices from somewhere in the distance echoed, followed by something softer. The monsters in his mind vanished as Eveian jolted awake in the softness of his mother’s lap.
we had to write a poem based off another poem and i based mine off of one of tumblr user aishahugs’ poems and theyre (a) fantastic writers(writer) (i dont know pronouns????)
you should go look at them they have a link to their writing blog on their main page
poem rewrite
Dear You, and You, and You
Hey, friend.
Remember that thing you said?
Don’t go back on it.
Remember how I told you
How amazing you are?
How talented you are?
Every single thought you have
Long and rambling
Twisting and turning like a massive
Intricate
Vine
Inspires me to
Write and create.
And if you ever stop, friend
I don’t know what I’d do.
Just because you feel wrong;
Just because you feel as if
You crush every dainty butterfly that lands on your hand
Doesn’t mean you’ve crushed them all.
And it doesn’t even mean you’ve really crushed them for good.
I’m here for you, friend.
I forgive you,
If that’s what you need to hear.
We all make mistakes.
Some more than most
and
It makes you no less human.
No less wonderful,
No less bright,
No less funny,
No less deserving of friends,
No less deserving of love.
You are:
Thinking,
self-aware,
A multi-celled organism
With its own identity.
With its own brilliant mind.
You are allowed to feel,
You are allowed to have an opinion,
You are allowed to have a brilliant,
Blossoming thought
You are allowed to share it with me,
Or not with me.
You are allowed to share it with the world.
(But only if you want to)
You are allowed to hate and fear and feel like shit,
But remember,
You are never, ever, ever shit.
No matter how low you think you are.
You are strong and brave.
You are golden as the goddamn sunrise.
You will be okay.
angel adventures 2 the return of the big tall guy with the nose
“I brought food,” the young man began, his voice was quiet and gravely as if he were ill. He looked sickly, too, his skin was grey tinted and looked even whiter in the light and beneath his terrible eyes lay dark circles.
the leaf i thought was a large insect sitting on my leg
you are trouble
kool-aid promises
a small shriek of surprise
escapes my lips
but what i thought was crawling
wasnt
its dead
long dead
it wasnt even the right species
of
“creepy
crawlie”
the only exoskeleton
shields its dead cells
full of gushy green stuff
to change light into food
the shriek echoes through the house
mom yells
shut up
from her bedroom
that seems lighyears away
and the shriek
just as quickly as it came
fell silent
ive got to actually write at some point
gently flips a small plastic table over
i dont know where to start tho rip
She brushed his hair gently, knowing that doing it too roughly or quickly would make him cry.
“You have good hair,” she noted, playing with the waving, curling locks of her little boy. He fidgeted as the bristles snagged a knot and tugged it free.
“Is it done yet?” the little boy asked, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.
“No, you stubborn little baby.” She kissed the top of his head, laughing, “How are you going to be king if you can’t wait for your hair to get brushed?”
“If you’re king,” the boy began, “No one cares if you have your hair brushed or not.”
His mother smiled, running the brush through his hair again.
“You’re very smart, Eveian,” She held him close, playing with his curls.
(dumb)
Eveian awoke from one of his nightmares with a jolt that felt as if his brain had been plunged into a bath of cold fluids and his spine shivered in turn, eliciting a cold sweat from every pore on his body. He breathed at the pace one might had they ran a mile, his bare chest fluttering, his ribs stretching with each breath and shifting under his pale skin like the body of a moth wriggling within its cocoon, preparing to emerge into the open air. After his breathing slowed and he calmed himself, the young man of sixteen sighed and ran his fingers through his messy, dark brown hair. With a sigh, Eveian rubbed at his face, pulling at his cheeks, attempting to banish the exhaustion from his form. Sleeplessness was the only thing he had not conquered; he thought with a bit of satisfaction, he scoffed at his helplessness for something so very insignificant. He rubbed at his eyes, who’s color was a dark red, the mark of a royal line produced from generations of inbreeding for purity and- as it was whispered by many- the blood of the men who were forced to fight in territorial wars of manifest destiny. Their bizarre color was paired with a genetic curse that would often times cripple one’s sight and render their inexplicable, unnatural eyes useless. They might as well be useless, Eveian thought as he plunged his hand into the blurry world of the morning and searched blindly for his spectacles on his night stand. He found their familiar shape; smooth, bronze frames with lenses two centimeters thick. After stretching his arms he scratched just beneath his ribcage, cringing a little as his fingernails ground against smooth, burn-scar tissue that ran mostly along his right leg and was placed chaotically around his body. His right hand, too, had been burned on his palm. Examining his body again, Eveian recalled what the nightmare had been about. The fire, it was always the fire.
