zeusfireair's blog

I wrote this in around ten minutes for a prompt I found elsewhere on the internet. The prompt was: We killed the gods. We didn't know what it meant at the time, but now we're beginning to find out. 

I have done absolutely no polishing for this yet, but, here you go!

  Read more »

Authors Note: the ‘bom-bom’s are supposed to be quick and short, like a heartbeat. The ‘boooooom’s are long, low, and deep, almost at the edge of hearing. As the piece progresses, the ‘bom-bom’s get faster and shorter, almost frantic. However, I can’t accurately portray this with just text alone, so at some point later, I’ll try recording it.

bom-bom

boooooom

bom-bom

The sound of my heartbeat echoes in my mind,

bom-bom

Clashing wildly with a giant’s footsteps,

booooooom

Creating a strange harmony to my life.

bom-bom

bom-bom

But is either really there?

booooooom

Or is my mind just fracturing into pieces,

bom-bom

Stealing my sanity and replacing it with these

bom-bom

boooooom

Imagined footsteps, these earth-rocking noises?

bom-bom

Or is it not footsteps, but just heartbeats in tandem,

bom-bom

reaching across eternity, for something else?

boooooom

bom-bom

If it is a heart, thrust into the darkness of space,

bom-bom

bom-bom

Calling out for help, for an ear to hear it,

boooooom

Then I will send my own heart out,

bom-bom

bom-bom

And answer to the call

booooooom

Of the darkness beyond.

bom-bom

bom-bom Read more »

I don’t really like the last stanza.

i.

Flaming death, dashing its way

From the skies, bringing a deathly

Silence behind it.

ii.

Sound of crackling leaves, drowned

By the drums of war on nature,

And silence rules it all.

iii.

Nature warring itself, an unrelenting

push onwards and forwards, and

neither side breaks the silence.

iv.

As one passes beyond, the other

stands unmoving, its cuts and gashes

healing in the silence.

v.

And as the storm leaves the rivers

bloating with its blood, earth will

keep the silence.

I haven’t got a temperature,

My mind is sharp and clear,

And yet I am quite sure,

There’s something wrong up here.

I’m hoping you can help me, doctor,

I’ve got a problem now.

My head keeps getting hotter,

And my ear is turning brown.

I’ve figured out your problem, sir,

Your head pains and your ear,

Are all from one mistake you made,

Before your visit here.

Your mistake of sitting down,

In the fireplace upstairs,

Has caused a chain reaction,

And set fire to your hair.

Here I am, at the bookstore door,

Hoping one day, my books will find its shelves.

Here I am, on the library floor,

Hoping one day, my books will find these shelves.

Here I am, alone and bored,

Hoping one day, my books will find some shelves.

I’m watching the clock on my computer steadily tick its way towards eleven.

My internet shuts off then, telling me, ‘It’s time to sleep.’

Tonight, I do not want to sleep. I’m far too scared to even begin my midnight-honoring ritual of tossing and turning.

I don’t want to hear their voices, screaming in pain as their worlds are ripped apart in an instant. I’m too scared.

I’m too scared to face my own emotions in bed, where my deepest thoughts linger beyond words.

I’m too scared to turn out the light, I don’t want to feel their breath over my shoulder whispering about their death.

I’m given a short reprieve, six minutes and twelve seconds. It always happens now. I’ve gotten used to it, and yet, each time, I keep hoping that it was forgotten, that I get more time connected, and each time my hopes are dashed against a rocky cliff.

It’s not usually this bad, seeing my link to the outside world disappear. This time, however, it nearly broke me.

I truly feel the sudden disconnect from the only people who are willing to listen, rather than my usual annoyance.

And now, I have to listen. And even after this instant of pure terror, my computer’s clock keeps ticking steadily its way towards midnight.

I might record this. 

I stood at the window, watching the red taillights disappear into the inky blackness of the night. I waited, hoping that suddenly I would see the bright whites of the car rushing back down the dead –end road, but as they turned the corner far, far away, I knew that would be the last time I ever saw her.

I slowly turned around, to face my almost empty house. Now that all the big boxes of clothing and furniture were gone, the house seemed too big, too lonely. I walked away from the front window, towards the dining room, where I expected the other occupant of the house to be.

As I shuffled my way down the long hall, my thoughts started to overwhelm me, and brought me to my knees.

You’re gone. You’ve actually left me, and I’ll never see you again. I can’t make amends for what happened, I can’t just say ‘I’m sorry,’ anymore. I wish I could. I truly loved you, you know. I messed up once, but I’m not going to be able to fix it. I’m sorry.

Darkness began to close around me, as my tears streamed down my face, and I slumped towards the ground even farther. I sobbed openly for the first time in what must have been 15 years. I couldn’t even see the wall in front of me I was crying so hard.

Dear, I only got drunk once, it was only once that I messed up. Why couldn’t you let me screw up, why did I have to be perfect? You do realize that perfection is impossible, and whoever you’re going out with now will not be perfect either. Right? Read more »

‘...’

I’ll tell you a story.

I’ve never been very good at it though.

Telling stories, that is.

I get hung up on it being perfect.

So, this story will be an ugly one.

‘Once upon a time, ...’

Let’s make it interesting.

Stories are more fun when they’re interesting, right?

Interesting should be easy for me.

‘Once upon a time, there was a man who thought he could do anything. He couldn’t. This is the story of his adventures. ...’

There needs to be a ‘good’ guy, right?

‘Once upon a time, there was an evil man who thought he could rule the world. A farmhand decided to rise up against him, and succeeded. This is the story of their adventures. ...’

But the good guy can’t do it alone, can he?

‘Once upon a time, there was an evil man who thought he could rule the universe. A farmhand decided to speak up against him, and he gained some friends along the way. They managed to bring the evil man to justice, just before he could finish his master plan. This is that story. ...’

The good guy doesn’t choose to take the path of war; he’s lead into it by a mentor who appears from nowhere.

  Read more »

A dusty unfinished novella, sitting unloved on my desktop,

Awaits the pause of the cursor, the little feedback high

It gets from a click to open.

Waiting patiently for the cursor to reopen it,

As its ideas gather dust in my mind.

Sometimes, the cursor might hover over it for a moment,

And it will feel loved,

And hopeful for its life to be continued, and fleshed-out.

But its hopes are dashed against the rocky cliff of time,

As memories of plot and characters fade until,

One day, it gets selected again.

Command-Delete

‘...’

I’ll tell you a story.

I’ve never been very good at it though.

Telling stories, that is.

I get hung up on it being perfect.

So, this story will be an ugly one.

‘Once upon a time, ...’

Let’s make it interesting.

Stories are more fun when they’re interesting, right?

Interesting should be easy for me.

‘Once upon a time, there was a man who thought he could do anything. He couldn’t. This is the story of his adventures. ...’

There needs to be a ‘good’ guy, right?

‘Once upon a time, there was an evil man who thought he could rule the world. A farmhand decided to rise up against him, and succeeded. This is the story of their adventures. ...’

But the good guy can’t do it alone, can he?

‘Once upon a time, there was an evil man who thought he could rule the universe. A farmhand decided to speak up against him, and he gained some friends along the way. They managed to bring the evil man to justice, just before he could finish his master plan. This is that story. ...’

The good guy doesn’t choose to take the path of war; he’s lead into it by a mentor who appears from nowhere.

  Read more »

(warning: strong language)

“Hey man, so what you think about—“

snap. crackle. pop. motherfucking rice crispies

“her? She’s kinda strange right?”

I guess she’s interesting.

ripping, tearing, breaking, just like bones

“Right? I thought she would be just your type!”

I didn’t say I liked her like that. You’re jumping to conclusions.

the walls drip with the blood of those long past

“Aw, but come on man—“

Did you hear that?

fear death, for it will hurt forever

“Hear what?”

Something was speaking.

the hunter awakens, they have disturbed its sleep

“Don’t fuck with me, man. This place already creeps me out enough.”

I’m not messing with you. I heard something talking.

it has been too long for the hunter

“Alright, if you aren’t messing with me, then what’s it saying?

Something about the hunter waking. It’s really creepy.

it would seem the prey is aware this time

“What hunter? Like, someone that hunts deer?”

It doesn’t sound like it’s human.

it has been even longer since one who was aware awoke it

“How so?”

Its talking about it breaking bones like rice crispies.

oh, but they are mistaken. i am not the hunter Read more »

            “Mom, I’m going to see Kevin. I’ll be staying late.”

            “Mhhm.” She murmured, not taking her eyes off the newspaper, which, in large font carried the headline:

‘ANOTHER REVOLUTIONARY SPEECH FROM ‘M’ STUNS THE WORLD.’ Underneath it, there was a picture of a man, standing tall, with a mask that was completely covered in nonsense symbols covering his face.

            I grinned slightly, and then grabbed my plastic shopping bag as I strolled out of the door. I calmly walked down the sidewalk towards downtown. I let my shopping bag hang loose at my side, as though it was just a bag of groceries.

            I waited until I was at the park near the center of town to duck into a corner and pull out my cellphone. I flipped it open and scrolled through my contacts until I reached one name. Kevin Grady.

            “Hey Kevin, it’s me. You know what I’m calling about.”

            “Alright, I’ll cover for you again, Jamie. I just hope at some point you’ll tell me what I’m covering you for.”

            “You know I can’t do that. It’d ruin the surprise!” Read more »

A/n So, this is totally not finished, I’m going to continue on with it as much as I can.

            From the moment he leveled the gun at me, I knew I was going to die. It wasn’t the fact that I had a three million Euro price on my head, or that the man standing in front of me was the husband of the woman I had killed, no, murdered in cold blood. No, nothing trivial like that. It was that my gun, the one I had pointing at his, was out of ammo. Simple as that. You’d have thought someone like me would have been better prepared, but, I wasn’t.

            “So this is how the Great Snake dies.” He hissed at me, a small, menacing smile lifting the corners of his lips.

            I grinned back, and waited for him to kill me. He wasn’t done rambling, however.

            “Alone, without her little army of rogues in front of her, stuck in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere.” He paused.

And that’s all I’ve got for now. 

~zeus

Alone Prompt

I stood at the window, watching the red taillights disappear into the inky blackness of the night. I waited, hoping that suddenly I would see the bright whites of the car rushing back down the dead –end road, but as they turned the corner far, far away, I knew that would be the last time I ever saw her.

I slowly turned around, to face my almost empty house. Now that all the big boxes of clothing and furniture were gone, the house seemed too big, too lonely. I walked away from the front window, towards the dining room, where I expected the other occupant of the house to be.

As I shuffled my way down the long hall, my thoughts started to overwhelm me, and brought me to my knees.

You’re gone. You’ve actually left me, and I’ll never see you again. I can’t make amends for what happened, I can’t just say ‘I’m sorry,’ anymore. I wish I could. I truly loved you, you know. I messed up once, but I’m not going to be able to fix it. I’m sorry.

Darkness began to close around me, as my tears streamed down my face, and I slumped towards the ground even farther. I sobbed openly for the first time in what must have been 15 years. I couldn’t even see the wall in front of me I was crying so hard.

Dear, I only got drunk once, it was only once that I messed up. Why couldn’t you let me screw up, why did I have to be perfect? You do realize that perfection is impossible, and whoever you’re going out with now will not be perfect either. Right? Read more »

So, this was an experiment. I tried to not use grammar in certain ways, to make it more interesting. Hope you enjoy!

Little-Doll-Family in Big-Doll-House

Matchstick, struck on old matchbox,
Brings warm glow to dark room.

Candle lit, bright small hand seen,

Flame push dark back, lights room.

Boxes, stacked on walls, old and dusty,

Little bits writing, “toys”, “office”, “school”

Small window, in back of room,

Board covered. Little Light escape

Onto big-doll-house squat on floor.

Candle moves to dollhouse, show
little-front-door, Noon-day sun on door.

Big-room-door creak close,
Candle start to circle big-doll-house.

Door to big-doll-house open,

Little-doll-man walk out, off to work

Go to box “office”, climb in.

Big-Doll-House open up.

Little-doll-woman

wake up Little-doll-child.

Little-doll-child stumble into shower.

Go downstairs.

Little-doll-woman make breakfast

Push little-doll-child to box “school.”

Little-doll-woman go to box “toys”

And bring out present.

Candle move across room still,

Circles big-doll-house slow.

Candle reach middle of room,

Little-doll-woman stop, and eat lunch.

  Read more »

I’d like to thank the little girl with the violet eyes.

I’d like to thank you for all that you’ve done for me so far, and will hopefully continue to do.

I’d like to thank you for all the help you’ve given me, and for the borrowed courage.

This is my way of thanking you, little girl with the violet eyes.

No one notices her until she’s long past gone, when her work with you is done.

She’s the one who stands behind the curtain, and pushes you out, out onto the stage.

She’s the one who hands you the rocks on the beach, the ones you throw into the ocean because you’re angry at first, but soon you’ve forgotten why, and you just throw them to throw them.

She’s the one who lends you courage to use for a while.

She’s the one who pulls you off the sinking ship onto a floating log, and guides you to shore.

She’s the one whose shoulder you can cry on, when luck doesn’t go your way.

She’s the one who holds your hand, and teaches you to fly.

She’s the one, that little girl with the violet eyes, who teaches you to become who you are.

She may not have a body, but for right now, she’s the little girl with the violet eyes.

She may not be able to hand you the rocks on the beach in person, it may be a sibling or a stranger. Read more »

This is the last thing I’ll be posting for a while. Any suggestions?

~zeus

Colors, and words, fading to a gray alphabet soup, confused and unintelligible.

Every once and a while we make a little burst of color, laugh, or cry.

But soon it fades back away, back to the monochrome of gray.

Actions, and memories, fading to a blur of 1940’s tv, of scripted motions.

Every once and a while flashing up to modern day color tv, with a burst of spontaneity.

But soon it fades back away, back to the monochrome of gray.

Moments and feelings, fading to a cloudy pool of broken thoughts.

Every once and a while one stands out, without warning or reason.

But soon it fades back away, back to the monochrome of gray.

Hey guys, I got this prompt from Ciel, and I thought it would be really fun to write this, so here you go. I wrote note before I wrote the piece, so I don’t know how long it will be, but I have the feeling that it will be pretty long. I might use mature language, but I’m not sure. Thanks for reading it! ~zeus

EDIT: I think I’ll be putting this up in parts, so I’ll give you the first part now, and then go to sleep. Probably get you guys the next couple of parts tomorrow. I think its gonna be pretty different from what Ciel had originally, but I got the original idea off the prompt she posted. ~zeus

Spies

(any idea for better titles?)

Terry Crocker

The First Monday

            I was sitting at my desk, with my feet up on a pile of papers, the obligatory cigarette in my hand, when he knocked at my door. I sat for a moment longer, still absorbing the headline of the Daily News, before I responded.

            “Come in.” Read more »

Yesterday: I left a note in someone’s mailbox, a four-leaf clover, sandwiched between two playing cards (the ace and queen of clubs). I wrote a little note, saying ‘a little bit of extra luck to get you through the day. ~love, the wishgiver’ 

Today: I search for a clover, to give to another, under the same alibi, and will continue for some time.

Tomorrow: I search for the king and Jack of clubs, to sandwich another clover between.

Hey guys, so I just wanted to explain something. I go to a boarding school, so we all have a little mailbox, in the school store, and that’s where I’m putting the clovers.

Thanks for reading!

~zeus

I want to send this to this person, but I wrote it in the heat of the moment so it may be a bit harsh. Feedback?
~zeus

Warning: Mature language

A rant to you: Thanks a Whole Bloody Lot

You know who you are.

Thanks a whole bloody lot. You dissed me, hated on me, and tried to demean me. The only person who can demean me is myself. Not you. I don’t care who you are, what you are, who your daddy is, you can’t demean me. Ever. I’m not laughing, do you see a smile on my face? No. Do I usually have a smile on my face, aren’t I infamous for laughing at everything? Yes. You have hit me in the place where it hurts most, I came here to get away from all that bullying, about my height, my strength, my image as a person. I’ve learned to ignore it most of the time. But from someone who I count as a friend? That’s inexcusable, irrevocably written into my mind. I can’t trust you with my feelings. It’s not me being unable to forget for the sake of it, its because that’s who my mind learned it, even against my will. Since third grade, THIRD FUCKING GRADE, I was bullied about things like that, until I had to start over, here, with new friends, a new life. (I’m in ninth grade now) I’m not asking for pity, I’m asking you to not do that again, or if you do, I can’t count you as my friend. No excuses, no third chances, nothing. I have no tolerance for that type of thing. I have gotten in trouble before for attacking kids who say things like that to me, and I was fine with it. Here, I won’t do that, but I will not have things like that happen to me again, I won’t allow it. I cannot forget that kind of thing. It hurts me too much. Again, thanks a whole bloody lot. Read more »

I wrote this in 5-10 minutes. 

-zeus

Will you let me sing my song,

Or will you bind my beak shut and clip my wings short,

Put me in a cage for me to sit around and mope?

Or will you let me sing my song?

Will you let my live my life,

Or will you bind my hand to yours, and clip my independence,

Put me next to you to sit around and mope?

Or will you let me live my life?

Will you let me love you,

Or will you bind me to another, and clip my heart hard,

Put me next to another to sit around and mope?

Or will you let me love you?

Hit me up bartender.

another?

Yesh, I want another. That’s why I saidd it.

yes sir.

Bartenderr?

yes sir?

Did I ever tell you about the time that I tried to eaat a raccooon?

yes, sir, you did. yesterday.

Ohh… Welll did I everr tell you about the time I restlled a bearr?

no, sir.

Ohh…

…

Bartenderr?

yes, sir?

Wheresh my drink?

here, sir.

So I just decided to write this. I don’t know why, I think its actually kind of stupid, but its also something different. It was really difficult to write in the format that I wanted to, because of Autocorrect in Word. But I liked writing it, so here you go. Thanks for reading.

-zeus

Sometimes, I feel that my blood is made of words, words that form and shape themselves into poetry instead of hemoglobin and all those scientific chemicals that supposedly run my body. I wonder why I don’t just drop dead all of a sudden.

I write myself into a trance, a trance of words, and sentences. I lose myself to the drug that is writing, and time passes.

Time, that’s all I need, time and peace. I want to just write in a little cabin in the woods, for the rest of my life. I don’t want any college decree that says, “I graduated from such-and-such university,” because, in the long run, do the trees and animals care whether you were a highschool dropout or you majored in Physics? They treat you just the same. I want to live in a world where I don’t need money to sustain myself, where I can just write forever, and no one will have to tell me “its time to go to work.” I want to live in a world where the only things I need are the sun, the rain, and my writing.

I want to live in the forest, the dark and lonely forest, except its not dark or lonely anymore. There are the birds and the trees and the patches of sunlight on the floor of leaves, and I am never alone when I write. Read more »

Argh. I need to write more poetry. I almost have forgotten how to. And its bothering me because there is no one way to write poetry. Having said that, here you guys go…

Starship of Dreams

Riding on a star, floating towards the heavens on a starship made of dreams,

I sing at the moon, and dance with the stars.

Flying away like a bat out of a cave,

Erratically slip out of myself,

Into the world of dreams.

Float away, towards the stars in the heavens above, on a starship made of dreams,

Ride your life out into the stars and play tag with the moon,

Leave a song as you jump out of the world

On your starship in the sky,

In the world of dreams.

This is unfinished I just wanted to get something out. Also, I don’t have time to work on the revisions of chapter one that I have been meaning to do, but I’ll get to them as soon as I can.

-zeus

Hey guys, zeusfireair here, and I've managed to condense this note down to a single point. I would like this story to be more of an audio thing, rather than a reading thing. For that, I would need some people wiling to read parts aloud. I'm planning on finishing this, but its going to take a while. I haven't been able to complete this chapter because I was being a fool at around midnight, and I wrote the rest of the chapter, but I scrapped it, because it was crap. So, I'd like some help on how I'm going to continue on with this. Thanks for reading!

-zeus

Chapter One

Loren Tarryson of the Barrow

            War. I hate it. Not because many people die, but because many people die. I hate working overtime. I have to hire people to help me guide people, and good, trustworthy people are hard to find, and even harder to pay, nowadays. But that’s neither here nor there. This war was harsh and unforgiving, and many people died. I want to talk about the one who died, but I forgot. It may have been a mistake, but mistakes just aren’t easy to make when you thousands of souls to gather. At least, missing a soul. You know how some people just drop dead on the battlefield, for no reason, or for fear? Yeah, that’s me, gathering up a couple of extra souls, by accident. It’s kind of funny to watch their reactions as they wake up, and find themselves in a totally different universe, parallel to their old one. But I’m rambling again. I do that too often, it seems. Anyhow, about that one I forgot. Read more »

When I tell people that I write,

they usually ask if I'm

a poet, or an author.

 I say no, and tell them that I'm not

An author or a poet.

 I tell them that I am an

artist of words,

and I tell them that I am

a duelist.

When they ask how I'm

a duelist,

I tell them that my

sword is a pen

and my shield is paper.

They then interject,

saying that I must not

make a good fighter.

I agree, but tell them that

I win a lot of duels.

They look confused,

so I elaborate.

I tell them that when I bang

my sword

on my shield,

it forms letters,

and words,

and sentences,

and paragraphs,

and pages,

and stanzas,

and lines,

and words,

and letters again.

I tell them that

these are the

Ulimate Weapons

a human can use.

They are stopped short.

I tell them that they

just proved my point.

  Read more »

Hey guys, zeusfireair here. I had this idea, and I wrote it. If it goes over well, then the next chapter I post will have a much longer note that I’ve already written explaining some things about why I haven’t written a lot. Just please enjoy this as best you can and remember, this is a very rough draft, so… its not the greatest work I’ve ever done. Don’t judge me to harshly on poorly developed plot/typos. I’m currently writing more, I just wanted to bounce this idea off you guys. Thanks!

  Read more »

A gaggle of random thoughts.

Look into the sun, stare it down to the edge of the world, go blind,

But as long as you’re at my side, I’ll be fine...

Understanding love: Its like… trying to drown a water strider {without any water}… its impossible to explain… and nearly as impossible to do [but if you try hard enough you might be able to, though it’s impossible to do without snapping its delicate body (thus defeating the point of the exercise)]

Understanding love: its like… all the confusing parenthesis in the previous statement {Expect more so}

Understanding love: its like… finding that one patch of sunlight in a dark forest (Expect its not as easy)… {or as simple as anything I’ve said before}

I will be putting up the first chapter {of my story} at some point (I haven't forgotten). I just wanted to get this out [for I had an idea].

-zeus

Hey everybody, SO sorry I haven't posted the first chapter of my story yet, but its taking longer than i thought it would. I didn't have nearly as much time this past week as I thought I would. Im going to post this prompt up here only because I had the idea and then get back to work on the chapter. enjoy! -zeus

Imagine. 

You can now pick a few scents that embody who you are, and you can write them as a poem, or short story.

I am the wolf who never speaks to those outside. I am the campfire, roaring and sparking, but can be snuffed with a foot. I am the sunlight on the forest floor, there but you can never catch me, not without the right net. I am not the lilting voice of a songbird, but the rough voice of the wild deer, rare but profound.

I almost didnt post this... just so you know.

I definitely know this is not one of my best pieces so I would appereciate feedback!

also gg, if you're reading this, Im having problems with typing straight into the blog submitter, what im typing keeps jumping up to an earlier place in the text, so i have to type it twice. Is this just my computer?

-zeus 

A/n: Hey guys, I know its been a while since I last posted to this story outline, but I just haven’t had time. I finished this last night in the hotel room. I’m going to be in London (IM SO LUCKY) for the next week, so I may or may not be able to get any of the actual story WRITTEN by then. I probably will find a spare moment here or there to start, but honestly I have no idea (or very few) on how to start this story. I want it to be good, so please be patient!

edit: all credit for this character sketch outline goes to summer gal and this blog post: http://youngwritersproject.org/node/65977

Name: Lily Descarte/Dagford (A/N: Descarte is a modified version of Descartar, the Spanish verb meaning to discard.)

Age: 16

Gender: Female

Race/Species: Human

Hair Color: Solid Black

Skin tone: Slightly tan remnant from when the sun was safe, but otherwise pale.

Height: 5’ 4½”

Weight: 92 lbs

Shoe size: 7½- same deal as bro

Favorite Outfit: A pair of jeans, and a sweater, made for her by her boyfriend, before he died, and she and her brother got separated. Also wears a locket similar to her brothers, but made out of a silver metal. Likes to wear whatever fancy boots can come her way. If she can, she’ll wear a dress instead of the jeans and sweater.

Personal Matters

Family: Got lost from her brother when she was 11, currently living with the Descartes, a rich family who was in power before the Catastrophe. Current whereabouts of the Descartes is unknown to the reader, as is the fact that she is still alive. Read more »