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Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in
b r o k e nxh e a r t e d's Blurty:
| Wednesday, May 19th, 2004 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 7:55 pm |
Cemetary Spirits brought to you by BZOINK! Current Mood:  calm | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Sunday, June 15th, 2003 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 9:56 pm | The darkness of me consumes the light of my heart and turns it pure black. The fear is taking over me....The coldness is numbing my body ...I am stiff. I am motionless now. What can I do? Lay here in the ground so still and so cold and let my life pass over me like wind in the fall? The fangs of death bite into my neck and drain me from the life I used to have. The fun. The saddness of my life.....All gone, swallowed in a gulp for the pleasure of killing others. My corpse lays there staring into the forever blue sky....The fiery hand of hell drags my soul down to its home that stinks of death and burned skin.... As I run threw my life like it's a race, I can not stop for anything. I must keep running from the fears and saddness of my old life that I had. I must open a new book and start over...Faster and faster I keep going thinking to myself, "almost there". I can not stop now, not since I'm almost at the end of my life. I am getting tired.. My heart is pounding on my chest trying to escape from its prison...Calling to my fears to catch up to me and drag me back to the hell I was in. The coldness of my shadows are reaching to me but the doors are so close to the end...Not now, please not now. The grip of the coldness gets tighter and tighter as I keep going...I'm slowing down...Moving backwards..Noooo pleaseeee!! Tears run down my cheek as I am dragged away by my fears and saddness of my life. I say to myself with my eyes closed and head looking down, "I will never escape my life....". The fears will always catch me in my tracks and torture me forever....I will never be the same ever again.... By: Dan | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Tuesday, May 13th, 2003 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 5:49 pm | Initiation I do not like the wind of this place. I do not like the way it howls through the red sandstone columns. I do not like the shapes of the dust devils. S'drac sent me here, saying that this was a place of testing, a final initiation. It's just an initiation of nerves. It's being a boy again and daring to touch the skirt of the old woman with the evil eye. S'drac is too caught up in ritual. He is like this ruin. I will be a better priest. What? Something glinted in the dust devil. I glimpsed brief eyes in its vortex. Remember the chants, the mantras to block fear. Fear is failure. A priest must accept the unknowable nature of the universe and himself—as a part of the universe, mystery of mysteries. I'll sharpen my khopesh for a while. The trip to Nalror was easy. The common perils of the Waste—thirst, ghuls, and mirages—were absent. At dawn yesterday—or was it today? S'drac is right, time's more than a little jumbled in the Waste. At dawn a cimet attacked. It floated over the white dune as a curtain of living jewels, each jewel a tiny thirsting mouth. The mantras began automatically, saving me from the fascination of the jewels. I struck swiftly and cleanly into the center of the cimet snagging it like a net. I swung the khopesh round and around my head. Small cimet jewels flew into the white sand. Soon the centre of the beast hung from my khopesh. I let the bloody mess slide off and squashed it with my boots. I carefully tracked down each jewel and smashed them. Each jewel can grow into a full curtain. The cimet have gained cunning in my lifetime. Everything tends toward sentience. S'drac says that it is the result of so much magic let loose in the world. The magic keeps forming—building. As even a novice knows, the best way to form is with symbols. The symbols come first. They slowly mold the reality. And for symbols you have to have intelligence. Damn! I'm back to S'drac and his philosophizing. I miss my camel. Initiation rules say that the priest must turn his beast loose when he first spots the ruins of Nalror. Initiation rules say no fire. Initiation rules say do not leave the ruins in the night. I don't know why I'm obeying all of S'drac's rules. Maybe in my heart I believe (or fear) that he's right, the only way to deal with the gods is by very careful ceremony. One wrong step and they'll destroy you. Even the friendly ones. Dusk will come soon. I must make my way through the labyrinth of falling walls and slanting columns to find the altar of Torsh and offer my evening prayers. Oh, good. Company. In the first chamber is a pile of bones; bits and pieces of a ceremonial tunic remain. At least I'll have a fellow priest to spend the evening with. The bones are elongated and slightly melted—the work of ghuls. I'll be sure and ask Torsh for the gift of wakefulness. A cool dry breeze blows in the inner chambers. The sacred paintings are still bright and the walls still stand, albeit at a slight angle. The gold spiral of Torsh adorns the altar stone. Perhaps the ghuls fear her wrath too much to risk scratching off the gold leaf. I find the inner Silence and then I pray. The four ritual prayers connected with the directions come first, then the private personal prayer. At the end of my prayers I pull the circlet of mellar leaves from my forehead and lay it on the centre of the altar stone as a token of humility. I bow deeply and turn to leave. At the doorway I look back at the altar. The circlet is gone. The initiation has begun. Suddenly the wind humming through the roof tiles seems very loud. I make my way to the outer chamber where I'll spend the night. From the nets hanging from my belt I remove the gourds containing the ritual meal. By the time I've finished the dry cakes and honey and drained the last of my waterskin, dusk has fallen. The wind is stronger now, rising off the Waste as dreams are said to rise from the valleys at nightfall. I sit with my back against a wall and practice quick drawing my khopesh. The wind whispers half-words. I do not like it. Through a hole in the roof I can see my first star of the evening. It is Aaaz, the demon star; not the best of omens. The beginning of fear calls up the mantras and my attention spirals inward. The wind blows in a sudden gust. Something fell off the roof near my left foot. Before I can examine it, it scuttles over to my foot and bites through the boot leather. I pull the cimet jewel off, hoping I haven't absorbed any poison. I crush its thin, glassy carapace with the pommel of my sword. The muscles of my left leg begin to relax. The poison. I've got to get up, pace around, stay awake. I think of the priest just beyond the wall whose bones were stretched and melted...ghuls can keep a victim alive for hours. Pace to the eats wall, turn, pace to the west wall. Every left footstep leaves a drop of blood. The left leg is numb, but the effects seem localized there. Pacing to the east wall, I hear someone clear his throat—in the doorway behind me. I turn. In the darkness I can make out the orange of a sacred tunic. The Waste gleams white behind him. Perhaps he too has come for initiation—riding from a further village, unable to reach Nalror by day. I say, "Greetings in the name of Torsh." He is silent. He steps in. Even in the dark I can make out his features. He is I. He wears a glittering cloak of cimet jewels. They feast upon his back. All I can hear is their noisome sucking of his blood. He raises his khopesh in a gladiatorial stance. I charge and thrust. He parries. We exchange blows for seconds, minutes, hours...as S'drac says, Time is lost here. He is my perfect equal at swordmanship. Neither of us has connected. Something glitters near my feet. It's a cimet jewel. I raise my right foot to crush it. As I shift my balance, he disarms me with a sharp twist. My khopesh flies out the temple door. It is only four, maybe five feet from the entrance. Surely initiation rules could be bent for four or five feet. If I charge him I should be able to pass on through the door. His cloak is beginning to detach itself from his back. I charge. I glance away from his side, a wave of nausea welling up as I feel several tiny mouths brush my bare arm. My momentum carries me two feet beyond my sword. I turn and snatch it. And the Wind snatches me. It's been waiting all this time. As I'm hauled into the air I see the glint of a smile on my opponent's face. I beat at the Wind with my Khopesh. It's taking me to a great height. It rushes all around me. It rushes inside me. I feel light, tenuous. I am spreading thin, blowing over the dunes of the Waste. I do not like this place. I am the Wind. Written by: Don Webb Current Mood:  contemplative | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Wednesday, April 23rd, 2003 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 7:18 pm | The pain of loneliness Is a secret kept inside The weight of stress Is everything despised. Call my name And tell me that you care Take away my shame Your emotions couldn't compare. Surrender your soul To free me from the dark Things you'll never know Hidden like my marks. Scars of pain and anguish Such a gothic rage You try to distinguish Such a shadowy sage. Reject my thoughts Make me like a fool You may not see, but I have you caught You thought you were so cool. Demons are coming You can't escape Thoughts of death are numbing Your words were too late. The demons grabbed you from behind Never a chance to flee Thoughts of me are nothing but, A dark reverie. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Friday, April 18th, 2003 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 5:36 pm | The battle of Heaven versus Hell. Purgatory wins. Mortals die. Vampires come back, although it won't be Dracula leading the army..it will be his son, Alucard. Evil will triumph. They all glide down from the floating towers in the sky. They come at night and only night, when we are not awake. They look for good servants for themselves. They kill the others that fight or are too weak. They aren't push-overs. They can lift us up with their own strength with a breeze. They grab our faces and throw us around like rag dolls. Not all humans are push-overs. Those who ran back into the woods live only because the vampires that went into the forest never came back out....Well, not alive at least. Only thing strange about these things is that if you stand outside the forest you can see their blood-red eyes moving around...Staring at you. You hear little children's voices inside your head telling you to go into the forest. Some went in, never to be seen again, while others ran and were shortly found by the vampires. The Vampire Shamen made a powerful magic source to make the moon shine and not the sun...Well, that was good for both the Kills out there. Some flew over the forest and tried to see whats down there...but it's always foggy in there. The creatures were getting smarter, so they climbed the trees, waiting for some of the vampires to just glide right above them. Then, they would leap fast and quick to them...then drag them down real fast to the others waiting below for the food to drop. But that vampire was supposed to get caught to be transported to their base to see what this thing is calling all the people. So, it arrives. Their still eating the vampire. Gray, dark hair with sharp, spiked teeth. You hear a voice in the back whispering to someone "it's a Warewolf!". The Shamen grabs it by the throat with its magic, choking it to death. While it's floating in the air, they examine it. They put the morning light on it...POOF! Back into a weak human.. To be continued.. Story by: Dan | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 1 tear | cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Monday, March 31st, 2003 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 12:00 pm | ACCESS DENIED Current Mood:  blank | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| cry for help | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||