The Guardians of God’s Soul
Sometimes our loved ones must die before ourselves.
A bead of sweat rolls down Fintan’s wrinkled forehead, his eyes burn boldly like kerosene as he fiercely concentrates on transferring his power to his companion. Toivo lays on his side perplexed as the strange buzz ran through his veins, the magic channelled into his bloodstream. Fintan closes his eyes shut as he falls back in soul wrenching pain, his metamorphic strengths have now been depleted from his body. He grips tightly onto Toivo’s hand, motioning him to listen.
“Knowledge is limited to all we know and understand Toivo,” he whispers. “While imagination embraces the entire world and the truth that lies within.” Fintan’s voice is unusual, one of which sounds very old but very wise with his years.
Toivo looks down at Fintan, his brown hair hanging over his face as he squeezed onto his hand. His voice shakes, uncontrollably as he begins to speak what would be his final conversation to his dearest friend.
“But what if I fall Fintan? Your sacrifice would be for nothing!”
“But what if you fly Toivo?”
Toivo looks down, avoiding Fintan’s eyes. Fintan begins to cough, Toivo holding onto him in concern.
“It’s a dangerous thing when man plays with God. Treat it how you would treat fire,” Fintan croaks as his voice begins to soften, his loss of metamorphic powers weakening him to the lowest form before a traumatic ending to what would be a long lived life.
Fintan begins to shrink, shrivelling like an apple left in the sun. His veins pull at his bony neck, strangling him to his death. The glassy look on his eyes is the utter expression of warrior. Toivo shakily stands up, looking down at his companion. The wind harshly begins to swirl from the skies above, lifting up Fintan’s deceased body with it becoming a fine fluorescent powder as it is blown into the oceans protective care.
“Fintan is the spirit of our souls,” Toivo whispers to himself afraid if anyone was to hear him, a single tear falling down his dirt stained cheek. He clambers into the oak boat that has been resting on the sands grainy surface, allowing the magic to take its manipulative control. The waves take the boat from beneath the ground, sweeping it into the lost and dark unknown.
The ocean waves are demons, ferociously wailing at each other, the boat being propelled into the air as the waves bash together like drummers keeping with the beat. Toivo clings onto the boats oaky side for dear life, praying that he was strong enough. The boat kept following a translucent beam of light in the water, sparkling like highlights in the night sky. He was completely drenched, the salty water painfully stinging his blue eyes. Then he saw it. The Door to Our Lord’s Protectors.
A blue curtain hangs over the frame that is just floating in the water.
“Except it’s not a curtain Toivo,” Toivo says in Fintan’s distinct voice. “It’s only your brain denying the magic is real.”
Toivo takes a deep breath as the boat propels through the portal, into the depths of the what lies in the other world.
The boat completely disintegrates into thin air as Toivo blasts through the portal. The colours are swarming through the skyline, reds and oranges mixing like paint on an artist’s pallet. Toivo begins to transform, his legs expanding muscles flexing, with his arms following their lead. His neck bulges, a mane sprouting of a silky blue. A horn begins to slowly twist from his skull, becoming sharp and a twinkling silver. He stands with his hind legs on the rocky ground, ready to face the dragon that stood in front of him, the infamous Drake from Fintan’s stories.
“So Fintan really did speak of the truth!” a voice bellows from Drake’s demeaning tone, a wave of fire exploding in front of Toivo in a degrading scoff. “For he did find a mortal worthy of his power!”
He laughs evilly at Toivo who stands in rage at the dragon who dare mock his mentor. He begins to strike the ground with his hoof in utter anger, charging at at Drake, the unicorn horn now gleaming as he attacks him, Drake yelling in an anguished pain as he falls to the ground.
Toivo crushes at the dragon and he soars high into the sky, watching the portal wall collapse as the fantastical creature’s swarm into the mortal’s world. He watches proudly as the Griffins and Phoenix’s soar high and the Goblins run like mad men out from their entrapment. For he had proven his worth. His worth of his purpose.
Sometimes our loved one must die before our self for us to truly unlock our full potential.
For my english assignment this term, I just finished writing this for my draft ahah.
What Should Have Been The Perfect Murder (Script) Not finished... for a WtW Comp
A Saturday morning at 10:00 am. Max is typing at his computer, currently troubleshooting code for his new part time job at the local computer store. He is in his own world, headphones in and peaceful music plays through them.
MAX types at his computer, mouse clicking every so often, along with the printer releasing pages of code. Front door slams. MAX is unaware of JUSTIN arriving back to the flat.
JUSTIN dumps his surfboard on the rack, grabbing a towel that lies over the side of a chair, he heads up the stairs. Passes his new flat mate’s room, the door being left open he pokes his head in.
JUSTIN: Yo dude what are you doing?
MAX feels his presence and removes one headphone from his ear.
MAX: Just coding. Did you just wake up?
JUSTIN: No actually (says with sarcasm) I was a normal person and got out of the house instead of being a nerd over a computer screen. (smirks)
MAX processes what JUSTIN has said. Doesn’t pick up on sarcasm.
MAX: What did you do? Nature Walking?
JUSTIN (throws back head, laughs.)
JUSTIN: No! How dumb are you! What do you think when you see this?! (grabs sleeve of his wet suit.)
MAX: I don’t know what that is. I mean its clothing but what its for I do not know.
JUSTIN: Hahahah you are really as dumb as I thought! (rolls eyes)
MAX stares silently at his computer screen
JUSTIN (walks over towards MAX)
JUSTIN: Who's that? (points in the direction of a photo frame)
MAX (opens his mouth to speak) JUSTIN (interrupts)
JUSTIN: Is that you?
MAX again opens mouth to speak, JUSTIN (obnoxiously interrupts)
JUSTIN: Oh hey, you are the shorter one right. Older bro I am assuming. (nodding to the other person in the picture)
MAX: Mmhm (nods head.)
JUSTIN: Well kinda obvious that you are related, you both look like nerds. In fact, he looks even freakier than you do!
JUSTIN walks out of the room, laughing as he leaves.
MAX sits at his desk, with a sad smile on his face.
MAX: Wish you were still around big bro (sadly smiles as he says this, looking at the picture frame.)
Saturday afternoon, about 15:00. JUSTIN is at the bench, textbook opened but his phone is his main focus. MAX is making a sandwich in the same room.
MAX: What are you studying?
JUSTIN doesn’t hear him, still messaging his friends.
MAX (sighs, taps JUSTIN on the shoulder.)
JUSTIN: Dude! Why would you do that!?
MAX rather taken back, (jumps back a few steps)
MAX: Well, (swallows) you didn’t answer my question.
Meanwhile, LEAH slips in through the front door, unnoticed by JUSTIN and MAX.
JUSTIN (rolls eyes) Oh ok then, (sarcastic tone) I am listening.
MAX (swallows) straightens glasses, moves bread on his plate, aligning each piece.
JUSTIN: Dude hurry up and spit it out! Are you trying to mess with me?
MAX Doesn’t make eye contact with JUSTIN (soft tone) My question (pauses) was what do you study?
JUSTIN (eyebrows raised, smirks) That’s what you wanted to ask.
JUSTIN: I am studying to be a Physical Therapist in Sport. (smirks and proudly states this)
MAX: Well you don’t seem to be studying.
JUSTIN: What is your problem! (stands up yells angrily) Are you trying to make me hate you more then I already do?!
MAX taken back, starts buttering the toast, evidently nervous at the shouts.
LEAH: Um is everything going okay in here? I could hear you from out the front.
JUSTIN (sighs, spinning around on the kitchen stool) You will not believe this guy he is insane.
MAX (ears cock at familiar voice) Oh, hi Leah. (doesn’t look up)
JUSTIN (confused) Wait you know this freak?! (talking to LEAH)
LEAH: Max is what I think you meant to say Justin.
JUSTIN: And you know his name!?
LEAH: What you don’t? You have been flatting here already for two weeks and I came last night! (shocked tone)
JUSTIN (snarls at both of them mainly MAX) Unbelievable. (stalks out of the room.)
Around 19:00, LEAH is cooking a light dinner for her and JUSTIN, JUSTIN is texting his friends on the couch.
LEAH (feeling uncomfortable, breaks silence.) You know, you really should treat Max a bit nicer.
JUSTIN (glances up) Why are you so protective over this Max guy? You only just met him last night.
LEAH (sighs) True. But you did not even know his name until I told you. Why judge him? (stirs diced chicken on the fry pan)
JUSTIN: (rolls eyes, annoyed at her persistence.) Leah just piss off. LEAH (glaring at her brother at this remark) JUSTIN (glances at LEAH feeling her glare.)
JUSTIN: Just chill out a little, there is no need to get so worked up about how Max and I get on. Besides you really shouldn't be telling me how to behave, don't forget what your currently doing.
LEAH: (eyebrows burn with anger, her eyes pierce through JUSTIN, she turns off the cook top.)
LEAH: Don't ever bring that up Justin. (says through gritted teeth.) It was you who had the idea and used me as the person to get your dirty work done! (glares again at her brother with outrage, stalking out of the kitchen and slamming the door.)
JUSTIN sits stunned at the bench, not expecting Leah's outburst.
JUSTIN Oh Mum, (says aloud) Why did I do it?
LEAH annoyed with JUSTIN puts on her shoes and shuts the door front door behind her. She begins to walk down the garden path and up the hills. (Night has now steadily approached.)
LEAH (glances down at her phone) Where is he? (mutters under breath)
LEAH stands underneath the fig tree at the top of the hills. (reloads her messages to see if he has left her a message.)
LEAH: Of course he's late.
MAN: I don't think that's the right way to be talking to the person you're trying to get out of debt from Leah.
LEAH: (jumps in fright spinning around.) Oh it's you!
MAN: Yes Leah, your intelligence is killing me. Do you have my payment?
LEAH looks guiltily at her pocket and reaches into it. Yes (she says grabbing an envelope.) Its all here.
MAN reaches out to grab it from LEAH and rips it open, skimming through the green paper notes.
MAN: Very well. You know this meeting place now. I expect to see many more of these. (begins to walk away from LEAH)
LEAH: When can this stop?
MAN: Until your brother realises that he needs to turn himself in. Tell him when he stops playing these games with me, your mother will return.
LEAH: Is she alive? (fists are clenched in her coat pocket.
MAN: Alive yes. But forever tortured? Also yes. (smiles at the look of fear on LEAH'S face.)
MAN (walks away but turns head back towards LEAH) Oh and tell Justin something from me, (says in a overly nice tone) your uncle. He should have never left your mother's side at your fathers funeral, he says eyes narrowing with an evil gleam.
LEAH shudders at the memory of the funeral. Of the day her mother disappeared.
MAN: Murderer's should never play games Leah! You were always the smart one, at least that's what my brother always told me. His golden little girl. (says with a laughing cackles that echoes through the hill tops.) I would have thought you would have told your brother that when he told you his plans to protect his mother. How unfortunate it was that I found out, for you would never know be a thief along with an accomplish to murder.
i still remember the day i fell in love
sunny day standing apart from the rest
the day my love started to decompress,
sand in the cotton of my summery dress,
i remember your hair, a total mess,
your eyes caught mine, capturing a smile to your face,
the minute i saw you i was utterly obsessed,
love had begun its exciting torturing test.
those that left their families and went and fought,
the men who made up our anzacs,
those that the gift of protection is what they sought,
sixty thousand men who were in the war’s fateful attacks,
we stand to give our thanks.
april twenty-fifth is a commemorative day,
the day our anzacs landed at gallipoli,
fighting for our freedom of a rightly say,
young men protecting us voluntarily,
we stand to give our thanks.
our gratitude for them is worn on our chest,
while we stand freely on our land,
we are aligned, everyone best dressed,
for we are free as we raise our right hand,
we stand to give our thanks.
the brave men who sought to fight for us,
to protect us from the worlds harm,
these were the men who willingly died for us,
who's only source of protection was a fire-arm,
we stand to give our thanks.
footnotes: an anzac day narrative poem.
heart shaped shamrock coloured leaves, highlighted veins with a deeper green. the lime colour thinly divides each leaf into rectangled segments. they drape over the forever rotting fence, with every downpour becoming a deeper hue. a distinct stench of mould, yet still the fence manages to stand, sometimes the weak can be the strong. continuously, it seeps into the heavy chalky soil, becoming lost as it enters the ground. minuscule termites, their back coloured with a hint of orange, ooze from the fence in upmost enjoyment, digging their teeth into the mouldy wood. rays of sunlight beam onto the landing, golden streaks of sunlight appearing on my face, accentuating my freckled cheeks. the air is moist, i can feel it. rain starts to slowly fall from the calm sky. the rain drops are falling lightly, yet the sun is still shining bright. a golden paradise, with the rain creating a rainbow. the blue sky surrounds the rainbow, the colour now becoming stronger as the sun and rain begin to work together, the rays becoming more and more golden while the rain falls smoothly; like paint on a canvas. the clouds are soft, just pure magic with the sky a gorgeous blue; pure and even more magical then the clouds. my ginger haired cat begins to purr softly at my feet, curled up with love. this is my harmony.
another untitled piece
the second people hear the word "disorder" its like they immediately want to remove you from your life. they wouldn't dare to be seen with you, that would completely ruin their social life. they have made their strong hatred filled opinions. they have began to add to the everlasting stigma about your existence.
existence. my existence. it has suddenly been deemed as "irrelevant." you will receive the smirks and then constant undertone which is of course never seen by your teacher. you will be ignored, left out, completely removed from apparently a community school, which everyone is supposed to feel they fit it. i never cared about not being popular. but what got to me was constantly being ignored, being "the outcast."
why can't people accept the fact that you function differently?
this has happened to me my entire childhood.
by the end of grade six, i was sick of that crap. of being the weirdo in the class who nobody would want to be friends with. i had one really good friend, my best friend, who was two years older. it didn't matter she wasn't in my grade, she was my neighbour. she was the only person i had. yet sadly, she died. of cancer.
i don't want to talk about that. it is too sad, that a fourteen year old girl died because of her illness. that chemotherapy didn't work. just too young.
i went to high school with no friends and only kids that went to my primary school knew me. my grade all through primary consisted of about 100. about 75 of them now go to my high school. my year consists of an unbelievable four hundred arrogant adolescents. i am no good with numbers but there's a far chunk of people who don't know me.
a new beginning. that's what i thought. i kept my secret as all people do. i don't look at my disorder as bad, i think its my superpower. yet the rest of the world except those who have it don't.
i tried to get through grade seven and that went okay. i had six kids in my class from primary school, all of them i didn't know overly well, and they didn't know me either. i struggled but i managed. year seven was a good year.
then there was year eight.
one teacher had to honestly ruin my life. i was clicking as i always am. and she totally lost it at me. the second day of eigth grade and i had managed to get in trouble. the words she said, they will stay with me.
"i don't care that you have adhd! just when your in my class, either contain your issues or just don't come at all!"
yep. she said that.
and the cat was out of the bag.
it the present, out of my class of 28, about eight of those acknowledge my existence.
i thought that being an outcast would just be a past memory, a thing that was in my childhood.
i guess i was wrong, this is my life.
caress me in your muscular arms
forever love me,
you kiss me, shivers power through my neck.
i feel scared but rebellious.
whisper into my ear, tell me that i am who you love.
I never write romance so writing something like this was extremely weird but idek I felt like it. Maybe I might write some more....
you were their from the beginning. the laughs, the jokes, the good times and the bad ones too. we shared tears and secrets. we shared everything.
when your heart gave its final beat, my mind felt it too. your photo that is in my locker makes my heart shatter, like a china tea cup when it breaks.
you were my everything. my friend, my sister, my hero.
your voice is something i would recognise wherever i go. i still wait in my bed everynight hoping you will come by and tuck me in, kissing me on my head with a soft goodnight as you turned on my night light. i have done it from the day you died.
you have never come. but i still wait.
a laugh, unique - like a fiddler and his fiddle.
anyone who you met, you made them feel amazing. you made everyone feel amazing.
when times were hard for me, you were always there. when i skinned my knee when i was four years old, unsure of what the red runny liquid was, you were there, explaining to me what it was.
but now i am older then you ever got to be. when you passed away, as i have grown older i always have thought about what you did when you were my age. but you never got to be 14. i am scared, with nowhere to go.
For Samina's comp on WtW but would like some feedback from others too.
Personal piece, please be kind x
the moon twinkles through the stain glass window, a mysterious echo surrounding the cottage. it is a continuous echo that is a calming and soothing to the human ear. the moon is majestic, a creamy sphere filled of magic, with talents that have great power. a charcoal black fills the night sky, the stars act as little highlights scattered throughout the forever lasting darkness. it is a mystic harmony, the moon a twilight mystic dream, the stars glowing with twinkling energy. the cottage is old and rustic, - almost vintage. its built on jagged rocks that protect it from the ocean, receiving an occasional sea spray on the brick wall that protects the inside of the cottage. the rocks surround the cottage, like guards at a queens palace. the salt water is like a swirling a dangerous whirl pool, it moves with strength and the upmost speed. i stand on the wooden jetty, hanging on to the post with all of my strength hoping that the cottage will protect me, just like the rocks do for it.
To you, the baker.
You might remember me from when I was a child. My family actually. My mother, she was pretty woman. A twinkle in her eye would enlighten everytime she spoke, a strong ember. My father, who back then, was still the con artist he will always be till his dying day. The man who acted as the perfect father, husband and a successful business man that the entire city sees him as. Even his own wife and son were tricked. And me. The round faced two-year-old, eagerly grabbing the iced bun that my father would buy from you, my childish laugh would bring a smile to your wrinkled face.
I am now 14 years old. You wouldn't recognise me anymore. Do you ever wonder what happened to me? To my family? Yes, Marcus Highland is still the most successful buisness in the United States, but no one has seen him or my family for years. Yet he his buisness is still operating, the Highland Corperation being number 1 on the US charts, although no one actually has seen us for years.
When I was five years old, that is the day that my world was changed. The day my mother found the dark secret my father had so well hidden from the world. She confronted him, maybe the worst decision she could make. And so, my fathers incredible con-artist skills, they dissapeared, only for my mother and I of course. My mother and I, held captives in our own house. The horrible memory of watching my father rape my mother, and if she resisted, he would threaten to tie me up making my mother watch me die, her being next.
The time had passed on, and my mother and I malnourished but the twinkle never left her. She is the one who has taught me to write the words I am currently putting on this page. My father would leave a candle in the corner of the cellur. "So I can see your faces, how scared you actually are." My mother would hug me tight when he would say this, and I would bury my face into her chest. He would leave, bolting the door with us no way to escape. Every night when he would leave to attend to his business, she would whipser the same thing. "One day Elijah," she would tell me, running her hands through my uneven knotty mob of hair. "Some one will find us. We just can never lose hope. One day, our story will be told. And that is why you will learn to write."
And then came the fateful day where my mother had grown to weak. To weak to keep holding on. She was sick, being raped for hours on end each day by her pshyo husband. I remember that day too well. I was nearly eight years old. My father had was standing near one of the walls in our confined captivity. My mother, her eyes torn and broken with pain. She started to look uneasy and fainter then she already looked. I stood up, intending to go to her, wondering why she had collapsed yet my fathers course voice echoed. "You move and I tie you up for a week." The silence reigned on. I remember how my mother stared at me and I knew to stay put. I kept one eye on my father, one on my mother. She tried to open her mouth. But she collapsed. That was the day, the ember went out.
My father looked down pitally at her and kicked at her. She was a rag doll on the floor, lifeless. I remember the shock, reaslising she is gone. I know if I cry, it will be worse. My father spun around, smiling evily at me. "Now boy, he said with a smirk that gruelled at me. "Now, it is your turn."
For seven years, he has tortured me. Daily beatings, being raped, the unthinkable just everyday. Until last night. He let his guard down.
I knew this was my chance. To escape of course. My father had been down with his belt, and I knew the drill. I lay down on the cold cemented ground, my skin being practically sliced everytime he hit me. "Up!" he growled at me and I obediantly roll over, jumping up as I know if I don't I will get kicked. He looks at me with a evil grin and comes over to me, undoing his belt. You can guess what comes next.
A few hours pass until he finally lifts himself up. "I'll be back," he says grogily, the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
He stands up, pulling his briefs over his hairy legs. I lay on the floor, staring up at him exhausted, no energy to respond.
This was my chance. I hear him go up the stairs that lead to the main part of the house. But he didn't lock the door. I stand up cautiously, peeking out the doorway. I know the house from the back of my head. My insticnt took over. I ran.
From reading this, you know I escaped. I now am writing this at the edge of the park. I am free, I could start my life over, I could go to the police and get my father arrested. But I have given up. For me, I want to be with my mother.
Now on to you. The Baker. Of Treats 'n' Things on Wilmont Street. You are the only person who knows my story. Knows the real truth about my father. And what life has been for me and was for my mother too.
Are you going to do anything? Or are you going to throw this note up, into the trash and pretend that you never read this. If you do, that is best, but I needed to tell someone, and you is who I trust.
The power is in your hands... What will you do with it?