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Purpose of this thread: One of the stated purposes of the CrMoWri is to provide a learning experience for participants as well as help them develop and grow as a writer. Often times, the best way for someone to grow is not to work individually, but to interact as part of a community. As such, this thread exists to provide a place of help and discussion for those participating in the CrMoWri contest.


What this thread is NOT for:

- This thread is NOT for asking general questions about the contest. The thread for that is found at http://www.crunchyroll.com/showforumtopic?id=71750.

-This thread is NOT for posting your finished work. For how to submit your finished work see the instructions found in the rules found at http://www.crunchyroll.com/showforumtopic?id=71361.

-This thread is NOT for asking questions of the official contest judges or attempting to solicit advice or comments from the official contest judges. Because this might be seen by some as violating the judges’ commitment to impartiality, I ask that the official contest judges not post in this thread.


What this thread is for:

-Bouncing ideas off of other people

-Posting rough drafts of your official contest entry for outside comments

-Seeking advice from other writers.

-Posting resources that help writers


Rules of the thread:

-It is assumed that if you post advice, you intend for the author to use it, therefore you waive intellectual rights to that advice. However, if you otherwise steal something from this thread (such as, for example, taking a person’s posted rough draft and passing it off later as your own) that is plagiarism, which violates rule 1 of the contest, resulting in immediate disqualification.

-Do not post criticism unless it is constructive criticism. For example, do not, under any circumstances make postings such as “that sucks.” Instead, make it constructive criticism such as “Paragraph two was confusing perhaps you could make it clearer by…” or “The spelling throughout makes it hard to read,” or “I was confused by how the character ‘Bob’ fit in to the story.”

-Remember, this thread exists to help YOU. People who post in this thread want to help. If someone offers constructive criticism, do not respond in a negative way, such as saying “You shouldn’t talk considering your own bad spelling,” or respond by saying how worthless the advice was. Instead, exhibit a spirit of thankfulness and kindness. After all, we are just trying to help!


Writers’ Resources

-To Be Added
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Posted 1/19/08
Ripple

Was the sun rising earlier every morning? The thought echoed through the mind of Soridan as he woke, though he considered it a futile gesture, waking. Another day, another duel, another victory. On a less philisophical note, his sword remained to his left. Not only his sword, but a part of him and his most prized possesion. Though he had held many swords, few swords were possessed of...it was difficult to describe. A soul, he decided. Few swords have a soul, and none like that of my blade. Upon his touch, it leapt from the sheath. Soridan began the regular inspection of his sword, his eyes moving over it, savoring its every nuance. The pommel and guard were the finest silver, flowing traces of engraving apparent. Inspection of the grip confirmed the perfect fit to his hand. Gazing the slim length of the blade, there was naught but perfection. The engraved wave pattern was the work's name sake, it was called Water. The cutting edges gave no indication of wear, there was no hint of the sword's daily profession. None at all. But then Soridan noticed something that did not belong, a smudge. Tiny though as was, it still angered him. His cloth wiped it away easily. Certain the matter was behind him, he once again peered at the spot. In tiny script upon the metal was apparent one word: cotillion. He blinked. His second glance was met with nothing but cold, blue steel.

Soridan was troubled by the word borne in steel, though its meaning evaded him. Had he heard it before? There seemed no cause for it, it was impossible that metal should be shaped with such speed and in like way unshaped. In any case, he had little time for magician's cantrips. His client was no doubt waiting. Soridan's clients were always waiting, just as they were always rich. The rich were always bored. Thus, they hired Soridan to duel for them. He would fight as his patrons pleased, he held no reservation for killing or maiming, long as his opponent had a blade in hand. Soridan considered himself to be a man of some honor. At least he thought, one of my skill must follow by a code, be it for good or ill.

Finally, he thought the time late enough that he should leave. The morning was busy, but then again, so was any morning. He stopped for a crust of bread at the baker's next to his flat, with a word of greeting and a tossed copper in exchange. He would be satisfied with this scrap, for he knew he would be fed well after his duel; his patrons always insisted to ask about his swordplay. They always asked why he never lost. And Soridan always told them that to duel was to dance, and that he knew that was not the cause of him winning. His victories had nothing to do with himself, it was only that his opponents did not know the dance. This is why they lost.

On the path to the section of the city known as the Merchant's Quarter, he passed the fountain, as he did every day. It was nothing special, a circle of cut stone and a sculpted sea bass centerpiece. The age of the fountain was apparent, the fins of the bass were each chipped, scrapped, or even missing. Faint text chiseled around the fountain read "Water, time, strength." Soridan drew his sword. He savored the supple, light feel, then deftly dipped the tip into the water of the fountain. The ripples of the water, for a second only, mixed with the wave engravings on the blade. Just small gesture of luck he had taken to, and one he enjoyed. The permanent feel of the fountain assured him that he would live to see another day.

The duelist drifted through the rest of journey. This state 'vagabond mind' was one he achieved before any fight. Soridan slowly worked through his memory, recognize and dismissing what worried or troubled him. No matter if he was leagues above his opponent in skill. A split second of distraction could still mean his death. His debt was perpetually on his mind, except when he dueled. This diversion was one he could eliminate with practiced precision. The woman he had talked to yesterday, well, she was nothing special anyway. His mind was a pristine pond, almost. There was something, the fainted of ripples. Not even that, it was a shadow upon the pond. A leaf falling, yes, that was it.

He was soon at his destination. The door opening, the greeting of the servants, even his patrons emphatic wish for his luck. These things could cause no ripple upon Soridan. His opponent waited in the courtyard, moving through the basic fencing exercises. A fiery spirit, Soridan determined. Likely, he knows nothing of the dance. His quenching will be the knowledge of it, and he will crack with that knowledge. The fencer greeted Soridan, almost politely. His response was only the slightest of nods. The patrons began to gather around what would be the day's arena, one of them coming forward to usher the duelists into position.

"Begin." The word echoed on the hard tile ground. Yet neither duelist moved. Soridan held his blade, Water, straight out, arm extended, while the other took up a similar stance. Silence, minutes passed without noise. Soridan's blade remained a solid fixture, his entire body was as if it had been ensconsed in ice. His opponent's blade quavered, and his patience was exhausted. He moved quickly but with little grace, slicing in a great overhand movement. Soridan's sword moved like its namesake, flicking away the offending weapon as if it were an insect. His riposte was in kind, and almost ended the match. The reflexes of his opponent were swift and traded a slit throat with a light cut to his cheek. Soridan knew the firey spirit would burn its brightest after the first cut, to most young fighters it was a siren call to the offensive. And so he used Water the way a rapier was meant to be, parries light as the carress of a cool stream. Soridan felt his awareness expanding, the world before him slowing to a crawl. His opponent's sword moved as if immersed in molasses, Soridan could see the mark of the forger upon it. He noticed a fraying cord on a patron's vest, the scuff left by a dirty boot on the floor, a cracked tile in the wall mosiac. And a leaf, falling. Its descent seemed an eternity in length, but Soridan could feel the ripple of its landing. He could see it in his mind's eye: cotillion.

How could he not realize the significance of that? It was after all, the last dance.

He felt the cool morning on his face, he was falling. It seemed an eternity, the descent, but Soridan left no ripple.

The last dance...
(fine)
By Ryan, aka Fontong

Hi, everyone. So a bit of background...I was practicing flute like I always am since I have to audition at UCLA in 2 weeks and I'm kinda screwed like that. I was learning this sonata, and one of the movements was labeled 'courante.' I had no idea was that meant. So I opened my music dictionary and skimmed the entries. One of them was cotillion, Definition: French, the last dance. Call me strange, but I find significance in that. So a few days later I find myself exhausted by like 5 hours of practicing flute and on the crunchyroll home page. Banner says 'writing contest.' I was like ok, how convienient, since I can only write while I am tired. So I slammed this out in a few hours.

I'm no writer, I am a musician, hehe. But guess this story is ok, yeah? Plz comment, criticize, review...just feedback in general. I look forward to editting this, and hopefully submitting this to the contest if review is good.
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Posted 1/20/08
Haha it is pretty good if you're a musician, and not a writer. It really did quite engage me, good work ^^

Maybe you shouldn't write "it was difficult to describe".. when I read that I was thinking 'uh'. You could spread it out using punctuation (a comma works wonders), or some sort of other hesitation rather than reading "it was difficult to describe" since it broke the sense of the storyline then.

Since you don't make reference to this "woman", I think you should remove that line: "The woman he had talked to yesterday, well, she was nothing special anyway."

But I had to read over the ending thrice to get what exactly happened.. Maybe because it was a duel, I was looking for more emphasis on something more physical first - then the recognition.
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Posted 1/20/08
Linking verbs for better flow. Leave unnecessary detail out of story because it does not contribute to plot. A short story is short and everything must be made to ensure that the emotions intended are felt. Clear beginning, a vivid middle, and a definitive end. Less of general descriptions and more specific descriptions.

Potential as a play.
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Posted 1/23/08
This is the start of my story, i might not get done with it in time, but im trying. It probably has many errors and its subject to change. tell me what you think...


“From the distance, the figures seemed as though they were one, sharing heart and soul. But the closer you went towards it, the more you realized the seriousness of the still mass.
“Snow began to tickle the earth. He held her limp and cold body. The king hugged tightly what was left of his world, hoping to keep her soul from touching the light. He was strong, muscles bulging from every inch of his body. And he was handsome; his hair the color of sheep’s wool and his eyes penetrating silver with bits of green highlights. Yet none of this mattered. He was not strong enough to fight the heavens nor beautiful enough to persuade them. Her blood soaked his clothes and tinted the new born snow. The love of his life was dying. ‘Yuki, please don’t leave. My snow angel, please stay. I love you….’ he whispered. But the snow was bled.
“That was eight years ago. That was when King Michio had a heart and cared for his kingdom. Now we constantly make weapons and armor for the war that’s been going on since then. Each day our men die out there and he only pushes more of our men into their cannibal feast. We must rise up and show him that we will take this no more!” These words came from a small old man, with a shiny bald head and faded brown eyes. He was the leader of the rebels, and though he wasn’t young, he was still able to defeat the mightiest of men. His comrades were faithful to him and the cause. His daughter, on the other hand, could care less. She sat in the back of the room, waiting for a chance to escape. The room finally drowned in the voices of the rebels replies and so the girl slipped out the small home unnoticed.
She was 19. Her eyes were honey colored and her hair the hue of sin.
Her name was Yua. She was fearless and always ready to fight any battle. She itched for the chance to fight in the war that had been going in their kingdom. She always wore her fighting clothes; a black fitted top that through the design of wings covered only what needed to be covered. The design went from her back to her chest and then cautiously missed her belly button. Her pants were kind of baggy, to allow for movement, and what protected her feet were slip-ons. She wore a big, black, winter coat that touched the ground. It had a hood that could cast a shadow about her face and black feathers around the edges. Lastly she wore gloves with the fingers cut off, for better maneuverability of her weapons. She was like the angel of death waiting for her next client. Yet, she was not needed in the war, or so her father told her. Rather, she was needed to fight the king. Yua thought this was treason and could not participate in the meeting for more than a few moments. She could not understand how so many people could be against him, after what he had been through. She knew the story of his wife and the traitors. She wanted revenge for the curse they had put on their land. She wanted blood.
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Posted 1/24/08
Nicely written ^^

I like it how instead you describe the feelings you write "But the snow was bled." (p.s. it's "had bled" - past tense)
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Posted 1/24/08

julia_hotcocoa wrote:

Nicely written ^^

I like it how instead you describe the feelings you write "But the snow was bled." (p.s. it's "had bled" - past tense)


oops thank you, its actually not even supposed to have was in it at all. But on another note, I just realized, there is no way, this can be a short story, lol, more like a long movie has been rolling through my head and if i want it to be done right, its going to be far to long for this contest....so now im not sure what to do, write a different one, or just not enter the contest (though the contest is motivation to actually complete it....)
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Posted 1/25/08
You're totally right. It really is hard to find motivation lol.. So just do something for this contest. I've found out that once I wrote something, it can be easily adaptable for everything else ^^
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Posted 1/25/08
heres a part of my story, my stroy is about a rescue mission, in furtureistic warfare

His body was marked by scars and scratches that where never there before. The most obvious scar on his body was the one on his face; he received it before he was captured, saving me. He was stripped from head to waste, but on his left forearm to his hand the armor was still upon him. He had his most trusted possession strapped around his chest, his blade. He carried a gun he had stolen in his right hand. He had just gotten done slaughtering all eleven of the enemy soldier like crazed pigs. Even though his body was about fall apart on him, and the look in his eyes where that of death, he kept fighting, with the true will of a soldier.
As he stood there in the smoke that had been romancing about I saw that he was still unaware of our presence. I called out to him “hey where here to help you”. If I would have said “save you” it would have been a lie, he could have saved himself. I looked at him and his face was still, showing no emotion. When we usually looked at each other I always had thought he was smiling throw his mask, but this time he wasn’t just like every other. I walk up to him and said “are you ok?” Like usual he said not to worry and that a little cut never hurt anyone. The wounds that surrounded his body where much more than just cuts, the wounds could possibly kill him. I knew that we had to regroup with the other team but if a where to send out a message, the enemy would know our possession. So I decided that we would move on to the back of the base and there we would regroup with the others.
We used C4 to make an opening in the wall witch had a hallway that lead straight through the middle of the base. The hall way was cover in cameras, so we sent out a Electric disturbance probe or ED Probe. This would knock out the cameras for about thirty seconds. As we let lose the probe and it flew through the hallway we ran through not realizing what we had jus done. It was an armature mistake, now the enemy knew what rout we would take and how to possession their troops. As we ran though the hall way its was to quiet, our foot steps dangled across the walls. As we reached the opposite hanger, we herd the terrine that awaited us.


im using illitrations in my story the one for this scene is in my photos
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Posted 1/26/08
Remember to proofread your story before the final draft. I noticed you have several words that are spelled correctly, but are a different word than what you wanted to use, to name a couple, “waste” instead of “waist,” “where” instead of “we’re,” and “throw” instead of “through.”

Also, there is a section in the beginning where you overuse “he” to start a sentence, making it seem more like a list than a story. Perhaps think of some ways you can change the structure in order to introduce more of a variety. For example, “Gently he cradled a military-grade rifle, no doubt stolen from one of his former guards” instead of “He carried a gun he had stolen in his right hand.”

Hope this helps.
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I'm thinking of writing one of those "trashy" romance novels...because I thought it would be easy..but it's not. lol.

Anyone here have any experience with that stuff?

And how does one find the "patience" to finish an actual novel. I have written short stories only because I can't find the patience to continue writing knowing there is SO much that needs to be added....>_>;;; it's a personality quirk that I need to get over! lol. Maybe I should take a break.

*runs to find some leftover fried rice*
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First section of my short story. The italicised writing and asteriks denote the transition from present to past. Please tell me what you think :)

I must say, I genuinely do hate love stories. It really doesn’t help that I’m involved in one; I feel like I’m a hypocrite to be honest. The only thing which makes me feel better about myself is her.

You know why I hate love stories; because there’s always conflict in the form of the relationship between the two lovers. Eventually they make up, but realistically I can’t see that happening in an actual situation. I don’t like the concept of love being tarnished; it should be two people loving each other, and that’s that, no conflict involved. It might not make for a good movie, but it would make for a good life.
Maybe I just don’t like the idea of an un-academically related, unattainable goal in my sad excuse for an existence; because as stupid and as disgustingly clichéd this may sound that’s all I have that matters right now.

***

I have been married before, twice actually. Funnily enough they both ended the same way; with me. I made this stupid mistake and they just couldn’t forgive me for it.
Before the first marriage, you’re filled with hope, expectations, and love because you have no f***ing idea what an un-financially backed marriage is all about. It’s about paying bills, I’ll tell you right now. Love goes out the door once the honeymoon is over and you realize you spent one too many dollars on trying to buy some happiness. Between the stress filled hours you spend at work trying to make ends meets, the only time you get “intimate” is when your sleeping together in a bed; and sometimes even that goes out the door.
The second time you get married, you’re still filled with hope, expectations, and love because of the optimism associated with love. You know that though the going will get tough, you hope to overcome it with the affection you feel for your partner. When that expectation, or hope is crushed and you’re left all alone in your one-bedroom flat, that’s when all hope and expectation deserts you and you’re left with nothing. I guess that’s about the time I started hating love stories.


***

There’s just something about her…we held hands for the first time today. It’s so embarrassing talking about it because it played out exactly like the generic b-grade romance movie. You know, I’m thirty something now and I felt exactly like I did in the 10th grade.
We arranged to meet at the bus stop just outside the movie theatre. We’re both huge Johnny Depp fans so seeing this movie (Sweeny Todd) was a must. When the movie finished, the dim lights of the theatre sprung back to life, as did the people sitting around us. We just stayed in our seats a little longer and watched the end credits roll. Then we walked outside…and then it started snowing. I just…I don’t know; the timing was just so perfect, so romantic. I looked over at her and she had a tear in her eye. I wanted to comfort her, hug her, but I didn’t think we’d gotten that far so I reached for her hand, slowly, then gently squeezed it.
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TakayamaK wrote:

First section of my short story. The italicised writing and asteriks denote the transition from present to past. Please tell me what you think :)

I must say, I genuinely do hate love stories. It really doesn’t help that I’m involved in one; I feel like I’m a hypocrite to be honest. The only thing which makes me feel better about myself is her.

You know why I hate love stories; because there’s always conflict in the form of the relationship between the two lovers. Eventually they make up, but realistically I can’t see that happening in an actual situation. I don’t like the concept of love being tarnished; it should be two people loving each other, and that’s that, no conflict involved. It might not make for a good movie, but it would make for a good life.
Maybe I just don’t like the idea of an un-academically related, unattainable goal in my sad excuse for an existence; because as stupid and as disgustingly clichéd this may sound that’s all I have that matters right now.

***

I have been married before, twice actually. Funnily enough they both ended the same way; with me. I made this stupid mistake and they just couldn’t forgive me for it.
Before the first marriage, you’re filled with hope, expectations, and love because you have no f***ing idea what an un-financially backed marriage is all about. It’s about paying bills, I’ll tell you right now. Love goes out the door once the honeymoon is over and you realize you spent one too many dollars on trying to buy some happiness. Between the stress filled hours you spend at work trying to make ends meets, the only time you get “intimate” is when your sleeping together in a bed; and sometimes even that goes out the door.
The second time you get married, you’re still filled with hope, expectations, and love because of the optimism associated with love. You know that though the going will get tough, you hope to overcome it with the affection you feel for your partner. When that expectation, or hope is crushed and you’re left all alone in your one-bedroom flat, that’s when all hope and expectation deserts you and you’re left with nothing. I guess that’s about the time I started hating love stories.


***

There’s just something about her…we held hands for the first time today. It’s so embarrassing talking about it because it played out exactly like the generic b-grade romance movie. You know, I’m thirty something now and I felt exactly like I did in the 10th grade.
We arranged to meet at the bus stop just outside the movie theatre. We’re both huge Johnny Depp fans so seeing this movie (Sweeny Todd) was a must. When the movie finished, the dim lights of the theatre sprung back to life, as did the people sitting around us. We just stayed in our seats a little longer and watched the end credits roll. Then we walked outside…and then it started snowing. I just…I don’t know; the timing was just so perfect, so romantic. I looked over at her and she had a tear in her eye. I wanted to comfort her, hug her, but I didn’t think we’d gotten that far so I reached for her hand, slowly, then gently squeezed it.


It sounds like a good start. Let see, well I'm not sure if the word choice "funnily" was on purpose or not but if not, I don't think it's a word. I felt as though you really didn't need the italics for those few paragraphs because they didn't seem to be set in the past, just giving an opinion about past events. Other than that, it was interesting and it would be nice to read more...
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Rayne, I have experience writing trashy stories, I actually like getting descriptive to the point of the reader blushing or having to skip a part. For the most part I usually keep those kinds of things out of my stories because of my audience, but theres been a few occasions where I've been able to include it. I enjoy writing violent stories as well, with grotesque scenes and vicious fights, using minute details is my forte. It helps to have real life experience in things you write about as well.
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I added more, I don't like it, lol, this is what usually happens, I stop liking it so i just stop and never finish....

*******************************************************************************************
“From the distance, the figures seemed as though they were one, sharing heart and soul. But the closer you went towards it, the more you realized the seriousness of the still mass.
“Snow began to tickle the earth. He held her limp and cold body. The king hugged tightly what was left of his world, hoping to keep her soul from touching the light. He was strong, muscles bulging from every inch of his body. And he was handsome; his hair the color of sheep’s wool and his eyes penetrating silver with bits of green highlights. Yet none of this mattered. He was not strong enough to fight the heavens nor beautiful enough to persuade them. Her blood soaked his clothes and tinted the new born snow. The love of his life was dying. ‘Yuki, please don’t leave. My snow angel, please stay. I love you….’ he whispered. But the snow bled.
“That was eight years ago. That was when King Michio had a heart and cared for his kingdom. Now we constantly make weapons and armor for the war that’s been going on since then. Each day our men die out there and he only pushes more of our men into their cannibal feast. We must rise up and show him that we will take this no more!” These words came from a small old man, with a shiny bald head and faded brown eyes. He was the leader of the rebels, and though he wasn’t young, he was still able to defeat the mightiest of men. His comrades were faithful to him and the cause. His daughter, on the other hand, could care less. She sat in the back of the room, waiting for a chance to escape. The room finally drowned in the voices of the rebels replies and so the girl slipped out the small home unnoticed.
She was 19. Her eyes were honey colored and her hair the hue of sin.
Her name was Yua. She was fearless and always ready to fight any battle. She itched for the chance to fight in the war that had been going on in their kingdom. She always wore her fighting clothes; a black fitted top that, through the design of wings, covered only what needed to be covered. The design went from her back to her chest and then cautiously missed her belly button and flared out into the air at her waist. Her pants were like stocking attached to her skin allowing easy movement, and what protected her feet were slip-ons. She wore a big, black, winter coat that touched the ground. It had a hood that could cast a shadow about her face and black feathers around the edges. Lastly she wore gloves with the fingers cut off, for better maneuverability of her weapons. She was like the angel of death waiting for her next client. Yet, she was not needed in the war, or so her father told her. Rather, she was needed to fight the king. Yua thought this was treason and could not participate in the meeting for more than a few moments. She could not understand how so many people could be against him, after what he had been through. She knew the story of his wife and the traitors. She wanted revenge for the curse they had put on their land. She wanted blood.
This night was a big night for everyone.
The King had sent orders to collect five hundred men from the kingdom. The sky was inked in black clouds as the army crept from the castle like little roaches. They could only return with another man in clanking chains, or not at all.
Her father led the group called Backlash. They had waited years for this eve to come. They were targets of the kings’ army, but nothing could stop them. They were saturated in the ghostly white, to blend in with the snow. They too crept, crept through the city, hiding, waiting to attack.
Yua ran through the putrid underground hollows followed by Mitsu, Kioshi, Iku, and Asuka; they, and they alone, were her army. They were the curse laid upon the earth.
Mitsu ran beside Yua. Her short, pale turquoise hair fluttered around her face, and her light grey and green eyes focused on the lit tunnel. She was the monsters eyes. She carried the curse to see the near future and the ability to take the light from the eyes of her foe.
Kioshi knocked close at their heels, his sea green hair hung in small braids to his lower back. He hid his olive green eyes behind his eyelids, and used his ears to see. He was afflicted with the monsters ears. Kioshi could hear into the bowels of earth, he could hear your thoughts, he could even make you hear what wasn’t there, but his favorite was to render the ears useless by taking sound from the world.
Iku brushed the side of Kioshi, as he ran. His bald head caught the light Yua held. His red eyes followed the dancing light. He was haunted with the monsters mouth. Iku could speak all the languages of the world, even those forgotten, but his appetite was to be feared, he could engulf a human being like that of a snake, choking a mouse, inch by inch, down his esophagus.
Lastly, Asuka ran behind them all, his spiked white hair swished about his head, and his brown eyes kept contact with the light. Asuka was condemned to carry the monsters nose. He had the nose of an animal, smelling a flower from across the world, but he was deadly. He could take your breath away, literally, letting your lungs collapse within you. They all followed Yua.
Yua was flexible, strong, and the embodiment of anguish. With one touch, the joy of heaven could wash over your soul, but on the other hand, the pain of the entire world could itch about your flesh. Yua was the body of the monster. The monster called The Plague.
They would kill the war. Kill all the men in it. Yua had to get past the barrier before her father was dragged across it.
The Plague reached the small entrance to the castle. It was beneath the animal holding chambers and smelled of waste. Asuka was weakened by the smell, as it was a million times worse to him.
“Keep up Asuka, we haven’t time to waste,” Yua hastened him.
“If you only knew what it was like to live in a horses butt and you wouldn’t be so quick to say that,” he moaned.
“Come now, Asuka, quit being the weak link and keep up,” Kioshi teased.
“Who’s the weakest link?!” Asuka raised his voice.
“Quiet, we must be invisible,” Yua reminded them.
Asuka doubled his pace and Kioshi faltered.
“Keep up Kioshi,” Asuka laughed.
“Stop…footsteps…” Kioshi warned them of the approaching guards. Asuka showed himself before them and before they could speak Asuka balled his fist up and twisted it as if ringing out laundry. The air from the guards’ lungs seeped from their body and they fell to the ground.
“Continue?” Yua asked Kioshi. He closed his eyes and picked out the sounds within the castle.
“Yes,” Kioshi replied. They slipped past the horses, past the cows, past the elephants, lion, monkeys, and other animals usually used for the ongoing war. They reached the door. Yua slid the door open and ran through the silver tiled hallway, followed by her army. They made it to the stairs that lead to the inner walls.
“Stop…”Mitsu whispered as her eyes glowed like the sun, signaling that she was seeing the untouched present.
“What do you see?” Yua demanded as her eyes turned black and her body prepared itself to fight.
“Your father and his men…the king’s army brings death…”
“That doesn’t matter. My father’s men can hold their own. Don’t stop us for useless things; we need to get out of the kingdom…” Yua hissed as her eyes darkened. She turned to continue moving through the castle. Iku grabbed her arm, pulling her into him. He gently held her with one arm and with his free hand, he tilted her head up. Her eyes were still seeping with black poison.
“Yua, we will make it out soon enough, but if we don’t turn back now, they won’t.” Iku watched as her eyes returned to normal.
“Then make you moves like precise and quick.” Yua ordered. Iku bent his head and gave appreciation with his lips as they touched hers. Mitsu looked as they melted together, her love kissing another. Jealousy slithered into her heart, tonight was her night.
“Let’s go.” Yua ordered as she broke from a delicious kiss. They all headed back into the snowy purgatory that begun to drink the blood of thousands. They would precise and quick as they were told, dissecting skulls, piercing hearts, and leaving behind them a permanent stain of crimson.
Yua and her army traced their steps, quickly and unnoticed, back into the kingdom. They stopped at the palace entrance to see the devil’s work at hand as their own people fought one another.
The ears heard the whistling sound, the eyes saw it, the nose smelled the dripping blood, and the mouth tasted death in the air, but the body, Yua, felt the spear as it pierced her father’s head, through his left eye. Yua fell to her knees. Before, she was reckless and blood thirsty, only thinking about the task at hand. She believed her father would make it. Mitsu told her he would.
“You lied! Mitsu, how dare you let him die?!” Yua screamed. Yua stood up, and and grabbed Mitsu by the throat. “What did you really see?” Yua’s eyes began to turn into darkness.
“I can’t breathe…” Mitsu struggled to speak.
“Let her go Yua,” Iku yelled.
“You know the future is always subject to change!” Asuka reasoned.
“We haven’t the time to turn on each other! If Mitsu said he was to live, then that’s what she saw!” Kioshi added on. Yua dropped her and Mitsu fell to the ground, holding her neck and grasping for air.
“Mitsu, I will kill the men who dared come against my own, but you, I will deal with when it’s over.”
Yua, ran into the fighting men. She flung some across the field, she strangled others. Yua touched men with her finger tips and they screamed in agony as the pain of the world ate at their souls. Those who were not dead, watched, and soon died by her sword. At her back was Iku, his mouth stretched around two men, his teeth sharp as blades punctured their bodies, and he swallowed them whole. He did not stop at two but continued on, men ran away from him, but as they ran, Asuka yanked the air from their lungs, killing them in full stride. Kioshi made those who were left, paranoid and suspicious of their comrades by making them hear what was never spoken. Those men were the worst; they looked at friends as if they were demons, and killed them without a second thought. Mitsu forced herself to recover quickly. She ran into the pits of falling men, and blinded those who wore the armies design, and left them for the others to finish off.
The Plague was merciless.
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