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BYOC (Bring Your Own Coffee) - Now With More Coffee!

Aw, dangit! I had feedback written out and I must've fucked up. Sorry, everyone! This week I'll double check so everyone gets something. :)
 
Feel free to post it anyhow. There's no rule says you can't!


Unless you had it written up on RPN and consequently lost the draft, in which case, too much effort. xD
 
here's my entry for this week


To a wandering spirit....

Tell me...


Do the angels treat you right?


do they bring you news of the world?


news of us wasting time, being alive.


of us fooling around,with endless hopes.

Do you from above see the night?


how it spreads the darkened shade.


slowly expanding to swallow the lights,


Waiting silently, for us to fade...


Do you see the shinning sun,


above the sky casting it's rays?


do you feel the gentle touches?


the kind warmth can you embrace?


Or is your spirit too tired to feel


is your grave too dark and cold...


scared we are to face what's real,


for death is a mystery to unfold.


Tell me...
​
 
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[accordion[{slide}The Ghost of Home


{/slide}


[/accordion[
 
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Going to try my hand at a spot of poetry. Do I get extra points for rhyming?


Ordinary Occurences


Passing through the evening glare,


of bright streetlights, dotted here and there,


The phantom seeks, the spirit rests,


The possessors find themselves possessed.


Walking through, none do suspect,


It seems so obvious in retrospect,


Ghostly blood, shattered soul,


Warring spirits, black as coal.


Until finally, all will rest,


Beneath the brightest glowing crest,


The streetlights dim, fade away,


The sun takes it's place for another day.


And all seek shelter, until the night.
 
The Beginnings
She survives the slash to the throat, which seems to her miraculous until she has to live through what comes after. It’s a noiseless shriek, a muffled sob, a grunt of enjoyment, and the scraping escape of a body pulling itself out the window. Her housemate hits the leaf-strewn ground bodily, bolts upright, then runs outside the limits of her frame, able that it is. North, North, North like a chant, North like a hymn. As a glow of flame tints the sky behind her with plumes of smoke, she runs past crop-sown fields and skids to a halt, banging on the farmhouse door.


Knox startles awake, swinging out a fist, knocking over the water basin on the bedside table. Swearing, he leaps from bed, pulling his nightshirt off to crudely wipe up the mess. There is no smoke on the wind. There is no fire in the distance. There is no-one panting at the door. Only water puddled on the stone brick floor, threatening to dampen the plush rug inches away.


The bedroom door opens, and the maid Knox remembers as The Bored-Looking One peeks her head in. “I heard noises, Prince Knox. Is all well?”


“’s fine. Just spilled water, I got it. And don’t call me-”


“Don’t you dare! Oh, and you’ve soiled the shirt, too!” she interrupts. Pulling a rag from the pocket of her nightgown - Are castle workers ready to clean even when they sleep? he wonders - she shoos him away. He sighs and abides, sitting himself back onto his bed. When she finishes wiping the floor dry, she stands, reclaims the basin from the floor, and says, “I’ll refill this for you, Prince Knox.”


“You don’t hafta… And really, don’t call me-”


As she walks out the door, she chirps, “I’ll bring a fresh nightshirt, too, Prince!”


“For the Highest Kings’ sakes, I’m not a Prince!” he calls after her, a little hopelessly.


Whatever else there is, the closing of the door is greeted with relief. He slumps, pinches the bridge of his nose. As if living through it himself wasn’t bad enough, his sleeping mind continues to recreate that night through the eyes of all involved, one by one...
 
Today has been a long day of nothing in particular happening but somehow always being busy. Haven't been able to sit down for more than twenty minutes until late this evening, and now I just lack the brainpower and motivation to put together the turnover. I'll do it tomorrow, folks, sorry. :<
 
For the past 3 weeks I've had half-written stuff saved each time a new prose came up, then managed to never finish 'em.


Good job, me.
 
NUMBSKULL


by SachiGrl


No... no.

Is it something that I wrote?

Unintentional... scolds.

Was it my text or a passing note?

Mysteries... unfold.

As I approach my friends with fright.

Bearings... unload.

As the truth comes to light.

Surprising... nodes.

An enemy reveals her fangs.

Killer... showed.

Words can kill with a bang.

Unmerciful... soul.

My life was at an end.

Lyrical... toll.

These lies! How do I unbend?

Lost... choked.

From losing one of my favorite men.
 
Hey all!


So I did something a little different. When @Anomaly told me about her project here, I was inspired by the idea of the coffee shop and kinda ran with that. Anomaly's already seen it, and she decided she wants to use it as the flavor text to get everyone 'in the mood' for this thing.


So with that in mind, here's my entry for this week.

You walk through the front door and smile as the familiar chime of the entrance bell announces your presence. Before you is a coffee house, one you've frequented many times before. First you see the cafe section, where many tables and seats are laid out in relative uniformity. The tables and chairs are rounded, not a single sharp edge in sight, and they seem sturdier than your standard coffee house furniture. The tables are actually all repurposed spools of industrial size, and have been painted with a deep brown lacquer to accentuate the wood. The chairs sport a soft cream color, and each has a padded seat for comfort. The tables are all equipped with a pair of outlets in their centers for the patron's convenience. Lights hang from the ceiling in an organized pattern, dropping low enough to illuminate but not so low as to risk head injury. The lights cast subtle shadows on the floor, which is a black and white tile of alternating patterns reminiscent of a kaleidoscope.


A warm, sweet scent in the air draws your eye to the main counter. It spans the length of the back wall and is made up of repurposed wood, also lacquered to match the tables. To the left is where the drinks are prepared, and there appears to be no end to the variety. Coffees, teas, hot chocolates, espressos, ciders, every hot drink imaginable is on display. And paired with the hot is of course the cold, as chilled versions of these drinks are easily remedied. Behind the counter, set into the wall in various drawers and compartments, is an assortment of spices and dried fruits to add to your beverage. Mint, cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, cranberry, raspberry, pomegranate, vanilla, cane sugar, each packed away in their own special place with a colorful, hand drawn paper cutout of the contents pasted to the front of each drawer. Beside the drink counter is where the first scent came from, as a glass display case sits proudly beside the wooden drink counter. Inside is an assortment of sweets and other baked goods on display, each more tempting than the last. Cookies, donuts, cakes, brownies, muffins, peanut brittle, even hand dipped candy bars are among the many confections for sale. Besides the smiling baristas with their flour coated aprons, the only other thing of note are three mason jars left out on the counter. Taped to each jar is a little paper sign that reads, "Tips!", all of which have tiny colorful scribbles drawn around their frames.


A sound to the left distracts you from ordering, as you look to see what it was. It sounded much like an air bubble escaping into a water cooler, which makes sense as the first thing you see is a large aquarium set into the wall. It spans the length of the wall, stopping just short of where the baristas work behind the counter. Inside is a quaint scene sculpted from fish-friendly materials. A homey cottage sits on a hill, seeded with fake miniature kelp strands. Its chimney expels a steady stream of air bubbles that rise lazily to the surface. To the left of the cottage is a large sculpture of a weeping willow, with tiny LEDs set into the branches that slowly change colors. Swimming among the scene are schools of fish in a rainbow of colors, each lazily going about their business without a care in the world. A strip of orange lights on the bottom of the tank and purple on top give the illusion of either a sunrise or sunset against the glass. Directly beneath the tank is another cutout section of the wall, though this one has been sectioned off into tilted squares that run the length of the tank. Left inside a few of these cubbies are pairs of shoes from certain patrons, and one need only look to the left to see why.


The left edge of the tank marries well with the right edge of a large, curving arch that separates the cafe from the room next door. Regular patrons refer to this space as 'the cave', simply because they feel they could hibernate here without a care in the world. The tiled floor gives way to a soft carpet, slightly worn but still holding on to a warm red wine hue. Scattered around the room are various chairs and tables, none of them holding to a specific style as they all look to be salvaged from various thrift stores. However none of the furniture looks worn or broken, none have any sharp, square edges, and each has a unique color scheme that gives a fun rainbow effect to the whole arrangement. Various drag marks can be seen in the carpet where patrons have moved and shifted the furniture as they see fit. Around the room, nestled between the skewed furniture, are various 'power towers' for patrons to plug in to. They have been fashioned from PVC pipe, and are painted to resemble freshly cut logs.


In the corner is a massive pile of pillows and beanbag chairs, also of various makes and colors. Some bigger seats stick out to you from this pile, as you can clearly see a Snorlax, a Totoro, and a Baymax seat waiting patiently for someone to claim them. Beside the pillow pile is a large wicker basket, distinctly shaped like a treasure chest, and inside is a veritable horde of blankets. Some are quilted, some are felt, but all are comfy and cozy. Opposite the blanket chest is a series of bookshelves that threatens to take up the entire wall. One half of the shelves has been reserved for various board games and other activities for customers to enjoy, while the other half has a selection of books that one may borrow while inside the room. The walls have been painted a soft forest green, and much of the space has been occupied by picture frames of varying sizes. Some are paintings of scenic landscapes, while others hold quotes from various authors, musicians, artists, and even some political speakers. One in particular, a warm nut brown frame with gold filigree, has a brass plaque that reads "Quote Of The Week." The room is lit by recessed lighting, hidden behind the tops of the walls. The light reaches up and bounces off a low vaulted ceiling, bathing the room in a welcoming glow.


You smile as you turn back to the barista and order your preferred spiced drink. A moment later they hand you a mug and a few napkins, and you hand them their due and drop a few bills into the tip jar. With a mug in one hand and your laptop in the other, you kick off your shoes and deposit them in the cubbies before entering the cave and pulling a chair close to one of the wooden 'power towers'. You plug in your laptop, take a sip of your drink, and then settle in for a few hours of casual writing while you enjoy the atmosphere. A few other patrons are in the cave with you as well, one wearing jeans and a t-shirt while the other seems to have arrived in their pajamas. You smile as you listen to soft music playing from speakers hidden among the lights, and the faint clinking of cups and kitchenware from the cafe. You look back at your laptop and sigh in content, then open the file you have been working on for the past few days.


It's time to go to work.


Hope ya'll like it! Any and all criticism would be appreciated.
 
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Tick....Tock

heart beats match the strikes of a clock.

Drool comes out of an open mouth.

Tick...Tick...Tock

Shifting weight between feet he stands.

steady, calm wrinkled sweaty hands.

Tick...Tick...Tock

from behind his tainted glass, gazing.

his numb eyes empty of any feeling,

waking, eating, drinking sleeping,

living almost like a plant,

Tick...Tick...Tock

Cloaked in shadows from the dark,

emerges death, for a final dance,

heart beats slowing to a stop,

clock ticking it's final tock,

Tick...Tick...Tock

​



Childish, I know, sorry!.


I can't seam to escape the childish theme xD XD xD




​
 
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Delilah's Requiem
Let me clarify - the haircut was not my betrayal.


There was no bribe, none that I ever saw, only a handmaiden


who talked too much and a husband


who worked too much. He told me he would not stop


until strength had gone from his limb.


He was a good man.


He laughed, took me into his arms,


kissed my lips, and offered nonsense


when I asked for his secret. I do not think


he would have minded being as any other man -


would have minded living quietly with me.


But he never told me of his vows.


Years passed, and I never asked again.


The haircut was a different argument entirely -


a tangled mess, constantly caught, fraying at the ends.


He sat down and let me trim it as he would anything else,


a twinkle in his eye and a chuckle in his voice.


When I finished he held me like I was precious.


It was never my betrayal, just a man’s acquiescence


to his wife - more significant than I ever knew.


When they blinded him and brought him to Gaza I followed,


and I saw him at the millstone and wept.


He felt my tear-streaked face and knew me by it -


told me to take his love and leave, for he was a ruined man.


This was my betrayal: I did.



I don't like the above, exactly, but I liked what I was TRYING to do. xD
 
Here, have a mostly unedited piece.


Quiet


-----


"He's an idiot," I heard them say, in the evening of that winter day. "An idiot, a fool, a numbskull."


I sat still in solemn silence as I heard them softly speak, my mind racing with the thought their words invoked of futures bleak.


It's as far back as I'll remember, that evening in December, not shivering in the damp or cold but warm by the fire's ember.


I did not stand up or shout or scream, I didn't tell them of my dream, I stood down and let them say their piece, through that I thought they let off steam.


I let them say what they will, don't know if I regret it still, the quiet kept me from harm's way, I let them have their thrill.


-----
 
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It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that I need to start leading by example with the constructive criticism. Lets get that free exchange of ideas flowing, everyone.


And I'd like to remind all of you that constructive criticism can be the things you liked about a piece as easily as the things that could have been better.




Last week's poll results here.

This week's poll here.

This week's theme: Discipline.

@AllHailDago @Grey @ResonantStorm


Let's see more of you next week!
 
Criticism takes time I've not had to dedicate to it lately. Trust me; none of you are safe when my deadlines are slain.
 
Here's something I wrote up while waiting for stuff to download-


B R O K E N S Y M M E T R Y


Boots stomping on the ground outside,


The shouts of hate that I can't abide,


The clanging of weapons ringing through the air,


All those sounds that I just can't bear.


Stuck, hiding, alone in this room,


The chaos outside brings my impending doom.


I listen, shaking in fear of the end,


Here, loneliness is my only friend.


They howl, they yell, but they can't get in,


Prosecuted for committing that sin.


But when did they receive so much power?


I'm certain it grows close to my final hour,


I remember, we sentenced them all to death,


But the joke is on us; it's our final breath.
 
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Just another short from the adventures of Michael Kinnane. This time, before he was the famed Magus of modern day. Over 100 years ago, when he was only a young man, and still dealing with his training.


The ending is a tad abrupt this time, being one of the few things I really found myself disliking about this little piece of free-writing. If anyone has any suggestions on bettering that, I could REALLY use them. (As well as some critique on the dialog exchanges. Not sure if they're really 'up to snuff' just yet.)


Enjoy~


Training - (Another) Otherworld Outcast Short



"Let me guess," I growled through a mouthfull of blood, spitting it to the floor (along with a tooth) before continuing. "I lack discipline."


Edward Forrey, my Grand Magus and teacher, snarled and cracked the gnarled wooden staff into the side of my face again. It was hard enough that everything went black and white for a second.


"Wrong. What you lack is respect, boy. You have plenty of discipline, yet you continue to hide your potential behind this unamusing jester act instead of taking the old teachings seriously."


The older man spat on the ground and the spittle partially landed on my left knee. I nearly recoiled, but I was using most of my strength to try and stay conscious and heal the damage he'd already done with that damnable stick of his.


"I'd be more serious about it if I wasn't so god damn stir-crazy down here, Eddie," I fired back with a crazed giggle, trying to wipe the gore from my face with my good shoulder.


It was difficult, hands bound behind me and all.


"These teachings are hundreds of years older than you, you insignificant mongrel! If you had any respect for the wizards that came before you, you'd kn--"


"KNOW WHAT!?" I roared, cutting him off. Fury, bright and hot, pulsed behind my swollen eyes as they widened to stare down the older Magus.


"Know that I've done more than any of them for our cause? Know that they only think they can hold power over me? Know that they forced my parents to abandon me to YOU of all fuckin' GOOPS?!"


The staff came down again, this time at the bridge of my nose and I heard a crack like a gunshot. The thrumming of my heartbeat was replaced with a dull ringing as I collapsed face down onto the wooden floor.


"I was wrong about you, Michael. You are not disciplined in the slightest," the echoing voice of the Magus spat bitterly.


"You are simply an animal... one that must, and WILL, be broken."


Before I could shoot back any more smart-mouthed replies, everything went dark.


- - - - -


I finally woke, in a large stone bathtub, half submerged in some sort of glowing iridescent sludge. When I tried to move, I found myself stuck - though I couldn't be sure if it was the muck I'd been placed in, or my body simple refusing to obey me. Pain roared to life as I tried, and I groaned, fighting to keep consciousness.


'You should lie still, child,' a familiar voice whispered in my head, its owner coming into view slowly from the shadow of the room.


The figure was tall and beautiful, black hair woven behind her back carefully and in a tight knot. Clad in clothes of a huntress, she moved with a predatory grace, sliding up to the bathtub and sitting along the edge carefully.


"Are you here to guide my soul away, Disani?" I croaked, throat straining from lack of use. "Or simply to have a chat while I'm stuck?"


Her eyes stared deep into mine, but she said nothing at first, just watching.


A beat passed in silence and I tried my best not to get agitated. I was stupid, sure, but not stupid enough to mouth-off to a goddess.


Calmly and carefully, she moved to set her quiver and bow on to the stone floor, then turned again to meet my gaze.


'I am only here to comfort you, child, as I always am. For all the days you live, I shall keep my promise to your grandmother.'


"I don't need comfort, I need an escape from all this," I scowled, then blinked and took a sharp (agonizing) breath.


The goddess only raised one black brow faintly, a hint of smile gracing one corner of her lips.


'You know you must continue this, Michael,' her voice sang in my head, hypnotizing and soothing. 'There are greater things ahead for you, despite your current short-sightedness.'


"So you keep telling me," I murmured bitterly, annoyed at how much I sounded like a spoiled child. "But the Magus only seem to want me to bend to their wills. Become just another puppet for them to drag around by the strings."


A laugh echoed in my head, an otherworldly chime of unimaginable glee. My eyes widened again at the disconnect of her calm face and the giddy joy that filled my thoughts.


'They have been like that as long as I know, Michael. There is little that can change that, in all of this realm and beyond.'


'However,' she continued, words growing more serious. 'It is not the slavery that you fear it will be. In all things, good child, there is choice. Heed these words, and remember them, for when the time comes.'


She stood and gathered her things, vanishing with a rush of cool air.


My consciousness vanished with her as my eyes closed again and I slept...


 
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