|  Author | Topic: Portfolio 26: The Genre Game (Read 817 times) |
The Deonesis
Dion
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« Thread Started on May 18, 2008, 11:26pm » | ![[Quote]](http://s1.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
Apr 8, 2008, 8:46pm, Miss Student Teacher wrote:For this portfolio, we're dealing with genre's. The genre's to choose from are as follows:
Romance - Jess
Horror/Suspense/Thriller - Mandi
Fantasy - Keetra
Historical Fiction
Scifi
Mystery
Comedy - Mel
Tragedy
Epic
Poetry - DJ
For whichever one you choose, write a story in that theme...pretty easy. If you pick the Poetry genre, you can write on any topic so long as it's a poem.[/size] |
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I purposefully left in who chose which genre because at least one person -cough- thought they didn't represent their genre adequately.
So read, and don't forget to leave comments!  We hope you enjoy.
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The Deonesis
Dion
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« Reply #1 on May 18, 2008, 11:28pm » | |
Author's Note: Inspired by Bokura Ga Ita, specifically Yano's character.
Life Cycle of a Denial
By Jess
- - -
“I think... I like you.”
She stutters over the syllables and fidgets with her fingers. He, however, is infuriatingly calm.
This is not love.
But she is a pretty enough distraction so he asks her if she wants to go out with him.
-
“Want to see that movie this weekend?”
Her cheeks are flushed and her tone is unsure.
This is not love.
But it’s alright because he can kill some time.
-
“Do you want to eat together later at lunch?”
She smiles at him tentatively.
This is not love.
But it’s pleasant enough and he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
-
“Listen carefully. I’m only going to say this once.”
He reaches out for her hand and presses his forehead against hers.
This is not love.
“I love you.”
But he tells her otherwise and willingly she believes him.
-
“Who was that guy you were with?”
She looks up at him with confusion in her eyes and tells him that her classmate wanted to borrow her notes.
This is not love.
But that doesn’t mean he cannot have the right to jealousy.
-
“I’m sorry...”
The rest of her words are unintelligible because of her sobs.
This is not love.
But he swears her tears are the one of the few things in the world who could make him feel so guilty.
-
“I’m sorry too.”
He tries his best to look sorry. (It wasn’t that hard to pull off since he really was sorry in the first place).
This is not love.
But he does feel a whole lot better when she slips both arms around his waist and he knows everything is okay now.
-
“Happy birthday!”
She presses a chaste kiss against his cheek.
This is not love.
But seeing her smile—the one especially reserved for him—makes it alright and it doesn’t have to be love.
-
“I love you too,” she tells him quietly.
He arches an eyebrow at her in question. Her cheeks turn red in embarrassment. “It’s because I never told you I love you back so I thought it was better late than never.”
He drowns out the rest of her rambling and slips his fingers in between hers.
This is not love.
But he wouldn’t mind so much if it actually turns out to be love someday.
- - -
Finito.
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The Deonesis
Dion
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« Reply #2 on May 18, 2008, 11:30pm » | |
Troth Vethivrak Throden
By: Keetra
She looked at them. Five perfectly oval green orbs reflecting only slightly in the sunlight that managed to work it way through the dense tree cover. She reached through the acid pool, its hazardous properties unable to penetrate her thick scales. Gently, she turned them, exposing the other sides to the acid of the pool. She knew the eggs were too delicate at this point and needed extra care.
She looked to her mate, worried. The pool, which had started so large, was now so small after the hundreds of days they had watched and cared for the eggs. It was her first clutch, and she wished for nothing to go wrong. Her mate simply nuzzled his emerald nose against her neck reassuringly. He understood her worry and felt is as his own. It was not his first clutch, and he knew the pool was too small. He also knew the eggs were soon to hatch.
But would they hatch soon enough? Would these hundreds of days of care, watching and tending be in vain? Or, worse, would they have to decide which eggs were to live and which would not?
Both parents dreaded to make that decision. But the water was scarce this year, and the pools smaller than they should be. They could only sit and watch every day as the pool lowered little by little, worrying and debating.
Finally, after several more days, the sky clouded and the blessed rain began to fall. It worked its maze of a course through the canopy growth, dripping from leave to branch to leaf until it finally trickled down to the small pool; and the parents rejoiced, knowing their precious clutch was now safe. They would let the rain fall, filling the boundaries of the pool edge before the rain finally stopped. Then they breathed their chlorine acid breath as one, corrupting the pool for their precious eggs. It would not be that much longer. But was it in time? Was there enough acid in that long delayed time to sustain the eggs?
The green dragon pair roared with joy, days later, seeing the cracks form on the edges of an egg. It was life, and they were excited of it. They crooned, seeing the tiny black head poke out from a hole in the shell and cry its presence to the forest. It did not matter the child had the color of their enemy for now. In time, it would lighten to the fantastic emerald color of its parents and it would be a color to drive fear in the hearts of its adversaries. Not did it matter that it was hardly larger than a domestic cat. It would eat much and grow in size, each year gaining in height and ferocity until no foe could stand in its path and live.
They would raise it and love it until it was old enough to challenge the world on its own. Then they would seek new partners, starting the cycle anew.
But for now, they watched, as the second egg began to crack and another cat-sized bundle of ferocity entered the world in the pool of their care.
*Author note: Troth Vethivrak Throden is Draconic for “Protect My Child Many”, or simply, “Protect My Children”.*
Disclaimer: The Draconic language and the Green Dragons used here are (c) of Wizards of the Coast and are used without permission.
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The Deonesis
Dion
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« Reply #3 on May 18, 2008, 11:31pm » | |
The Pink Mushroom
By DJ
Often melancholic and left to gloom
I am quite like the lonely mushroom
Pretty fastidious and hard to please
Daily activities are coupled with unease
But…
I prefer not to cut myself and bleed to death
I honestly cherish every single breath
Although it is true I brood a lot,
Don’t assume I’ve already made a suicidal plot.
I can be happy too – at the same time as you
Don’t think I just laugh at the wrong things you do
I’m not the usual ‘emo’ kid whom you love to bully every day
I’m just a normal person who releases stress in another way
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to think once more,
And ponder why life is so unfair (and at times) quite a bore.
And maybe I will think of colorful unicorns and ponies once in a while
Just to relish their being devoured by my rainbow-colored crocodile
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The Deonesis
Dion
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« Reply #4 on May 18, 2008, 11:32pm » | |
They Were Accidents!
By Mel
I know I’m in trouble as soon as I arrive. His parents aren’t home and he leads me to the kitchen when I walk in. I automatically sit on one of the stools, making myself at home in his house, but he just stands there looking at me. Glaring is a more appropriate word. He is not happy.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me some more.
“Peter, what is it?” he’s starting to scare me.
“She told me what you did,” is all he gives me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rachel,” he says, and my eyes get wide in the “oh shit” fashion, “now you get it”
“It was an accident!”
“You tripped her at the zoo! She nearly fell over the railing into the zebra enclosure!”
“I got distracted by Baboon Island; you know how much I love monkey’s”
He shakes his head, “why do you keep doing these things?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. I know what he means, but I’d rather not admit it.
“You keep harassing Rachel, and she’s trying to be your friend”
“Peter, how long have we known each other?” I ask, ignoring his accusation for the moment
He calculates in his head, “nine years”
“And we’re best friends, right?”
“Somehow, yes,” he smiles.
“So do you really think I’d purposefully try and drive your girlfriend away? I mean, lord knows you haven’t had that many”
“Yes, I think you are absolutely capable of purposefully attempting to drive my girlfriend away. And you know why I think that?”
“Obviously not”
“Because I know you, Haley. I know us”
“We’ve gotten past that”
He raises an eyebrow. Smug bastard.
“I don’t need to sabotage your relationships anymore because I don’t want you, when I can or cannot have you”
“Really?” He’s skeptical. Maybe with a reason.
“Yes really; we’re 21-years-old, for crying out loud!”
“Right, so why did you give her the wrong directions to the restaurant a few weeks ago?”
“It was an accident; I have a horrible sense of direction!”
“Okay, and at the little sleep-over you all had last week, why did you pull and knot her hair to the point where she had to spend the next day at the hair salon trying to undo the damage?”
I snort, trying to keep the laugh from escaping, “I’m not a beautician, I have no clue what I was doing”
“And when you kicked her in the knee?”
“Also an accident! She got in my way as I went for the ball!”
“We were playing ping-pong”
“And she was totally intruding on my space, it was on my side”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I really like Rachel. I want her to stick around”
I look at the counter dejectedly, “I know”
“So why do you keep trying to push her away? The two of you are the most important women in my life – besides my mother – and I want us all to get along. I’d get along with your boyfriend if you ever let me meet him”
“No you wouldn’t,” I smile, looking back up.
“Well we won’t know until it happens, right?” he smiles.
“I guess not”
“So what do you say? Will you try and get along with Rachel? Maybe even let her see what I see? Because right now she doesn’t understand why you’re my best friend and I’m having a hell of a time trying to explain it”
I sigh, “Alright, fine, I can attempt to be my usual self around her”
“Thank you, I appreciate it”
“Now should we head out to the theater? We’re supposed to be meeting the group in fifteen minutes”
“Who’s all going to this movie again?”
“You, me, Laura, James, Stacey, Kelly, Michael, Josh, and Rachel”
He looks me seriously in the eye.
“What?” I smirk.
“Do you promise not to punch her this time?”
“Now that one really was an accident!”
“Haley,” he says in a warning tone
“I promise…”
“Thank you”
“…to try”
“Haley!”
“We don’t want to be late,” I say and run to the front door.
He sighs, trying to hide his smile, before following.
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The Deonesis
Dion
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« Reply #5 on May 18, 2008, 11:36pm » | |
Author's Note: It's not completely finished. I couldn't really finish it without it being rushed and choppy and well....not good. It's going to be part one of...however many parts it ends up becoming; probably three, though.
~*~
Noise
Part One
By Mandi
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The rusty sink had been drip, drip, dripping for hours now. Brown water gathered in what used to be the beautiful tile design of the sink. Now it was covered with rust and ashes, the ugly water sticking together in a giant blob near the drain. Hair was scattered around, although no one knew from who or what it came from. But it was hair nonetheless. And it was nasty.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Johnny was outside again, shooting his rifle at the trees surrounding our small home. There was nothing left to shoot at that was still alive – other than the rest of us sitting inside. All the animals that had once inhabited this beautiful wonderland had left long ago. Although, we all knew it was going to happen. After a while, they would get smart and realize that Johnny could very well miss the tree and hit their young infant.
Click. Click. Click.
Mom was clicking her nails against her hard-cover Bible again. Her expression was blank – as it has been for a year already – and I didn’t expect anything new. Her lips were partially open, as if she was waiting for the shooting to stop a moment to say a prayer. But it never did, so she remained silent, her yellow teeth barely visible through her chapped lips.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Ruthie was rubbing her hands across her dress, smacking the dust and bugs off. She never ceased to keep her hands moving. Cleaning some article of clothing, whether it is on her body or not. It did not matter who was around her, either. She would strip in front of Johnny if she wanted to clean her undergarments. And Johnny would look at her the same way he always had.
I shivered, just imagining the look on his face when he would return to the box that is our home. Looking down at my pale hands, I felt cold. Autumn was coming once more, and soon it would be another winter. But what is one more Christmas in this house? It feels as though it was just yesterday Johnny was singing merrily, locking himself and Ruthie into the back room while Mom and I stayed in the living room to hear the screams.
He had never touched us. I have yet to decide if that is a blessing or a curse – a compliment or an insult. I can see why he would choose Ruthie – she is the youngest, after all. With her fair blonde hair and rich red lips. Her body was the perfect hour glass shape, also. However, a small bulge was beginning to form in her stomach. At night, we could hear her heave into the sink. Johnny didn’t think anything differently about her, though. But, I can’t help but fear that it won’t be long until that bulge gets bigger, and he will finally do what he has brought us here for.
Drip. Click. Smack.
He had stopped shooting. Mom stopped clicking. Ruthie stopped smacking. All that remained was the painful drip, drip, drip from the sink. Almost simultaneously, we all sat up straighter, arching our backs up high and elongating our necks. Our hands were placed neatly on our laps, while one foot was tucked gently behind the other underneath our seats.
The door opened wildly, crashing against the coat rack that stood bare in the corner. There he stood. Johnny. In all his glory. He was tall, dark, and handsome – as much as I disliked admitting. His jaw line was strong and sharp, his teeth pearly white. The only dirty things on his body were his fingertips, blacked from oil stains and only God knows what else. In his right hand was his rifle. His left fingers were wrapped around the neck of a small duck. My eyes opened in surprise, but I quickly repaired my expression before he caught me. Where he was able to get a duck was beyond me, but at least we’d be able to eat something real for once.
He glanced at us like a sheriff would over a crime scene – unsure and cautious. And very, very angry. His brown eyes dug deep into my soul when he glanced at me, holding his stare longer than usual. I held my breath in order to keep my body from quivering. The hairs on my arms were on edge, and I felt a cold chill run down my spine – though I was positive it was not from the open door behind him.
Ruthie rose slowly from her seat, her body graciously lifting and standing firm in a pose in front of him. “Welcome home, Johnny.” She said, her voice soft and sweet like honey. “We’ve missed you.”
“We have indeed,” Mom and I echoed mechanically.
His angry expression left his face, and was replaced by a softer side of him. “Thank you, my dears. Today’s hunt was very productive. I found a lovely duck for dinner. Amanda, would you be so kind as to prepare it for us?”
I blinked, but nodded slowly. He held it out for me to take, and I got up – less gracefully than Ruthie – walked over and took it out of his death grip. As I walked towards the disgusting, molding kitchen, Johnny walked over and wrapped his arms around Ruthie’s small waist. I made myself busy in the kitchen; plucking feathers off of the dead bird, using the knife to finish the job in the harder places.
“Mm, you taste like sugar,” He said after their lips parted. “Come with me,” came the lustful voice that we had gotten to used to hearing. Ruthie knew she couldn’t deny him, so she followed. The bedroom door closed softly, and I turned to look behind me. Mom glanced up at me, and I could see the fear in her eyes.
I knew her thoughts. “Ruthie shouldn’t do that. There is too much at risk now.”
“But there would be more to risk if she didn’t,” my eyes pleaded back.
Her soft screams came through the thin walls, and I bit my tongue to keep from crying. There wasn’t anything we could do. We were trapped in this man’s prison, used only for his pleasure.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
I began cutting away at the duck. First the head, followed by the legs. It smelled awful, but it was nothing compared to the smell of dead bodies that had sunken into the very core of the wood in the kitchen.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
Mom had opened her Bible again, probably reading something in Revelations. She used to claim that Johnny was the anti-Christ. I thought otherwise. If he were to get shot in the head, he would surely die. And what a glorious moment that would be.
But he won’t get shot in the head, because he is the one in charge of the guns, no one else. Not that there ever was someone else – other than us women, of course.
We hadn’t been the only ones in Johnny’s version of hell. Before us there were twelve young girls – well younger than Ruthie. He plucked them off, one-by-one, until each one was pregnant and he could no longer be satisfied. Then, he would take them to the other room. I have yet to discover what lay inside behind the bolted iron door, and a part of me didn’t want to know.
Johnny found us one day as we were heading home from visiting our relatives in Los Angeles. He was very sweet, handsome, and quite the charmer. As much as it disgusts me now, I have to admit that he wooed me. He was polite, smooth, and gentle. He carried our bags into his yellow truck with the fake taxi logo on the door. There weren’t enough seats in the front, so Ruthie had to sit half on his lap while Mom and I squeezed against the door. We only wanted to go to the train station. He took us home – his home.
I haven’t seen my husband in a year.
Bang. Crash. Boom.
I froze. The sounds. The loud, yet hopeful noises that came from outside stopped my heart. Turning, I saw Mom looking outside the small window across from her. I looked out as well, my eyes widening as the sight.
Someone was tearing down the trees.
Slam.
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