A small bit of writing that I wrote back in sixth grade after an odd dream :) These kinds of imaginings come and go. Seldom am I dreaming that I'm asleep, though. (Inception) Anyway, without further ado, here is the story. :D




I feel cold.
Not cold enough to voice a complaint, but just cold enough to shiver. Even if I tried to speak, this strange tug in the back of my throat denies me the choice to do so. So I simply lay on the the firm, chilled floor.
It feels like stone. I feel like stone. My limbs feel as though they're merged to my torso. My vocal cords lack the ability to communicate. Believe me, I've tried for what seems like a lifetime.
I rest in this place, my heart yearning to see light. I long to have the ephoric rays part my eyelids and drink in the sights ofthe world around me, but alas I cannot.
Soft sobbing echos in the medium of damp air. It resounds from what sounds like a rather open area. The sobs are delicate and feminine, like the siren song of a mockingbird remorsing over the corpses of her departed chicks.
Often times the source of the sobbing would approach me when the pitter patter of rain fell on the outside. Graceful, petite hands would brush strands of hair from my face. On other occasions, a stray hand would grasp my lame palm and squeeze lightly. I felt sorrow intermigling with hope radiate from the source, a woman I assume. A very contridictary mix of feelings.
Sometimes, her weeping would cease.  Like a wisp, she would float over with scarcely a sound to my side. She would snake her arms around my neck and prop me upon a softer, warmer surface. When she was doing this, often would she hum the most beautiful of melodies with a voice that shimmered with elegance and tenderness.
Behind the darkness of my eyelids, I would watch her, wistful to inform her of just how lovely she was. My ears perked and tuned my attention to that lucious, beautiful voice. I tried, once, to tell her. I knew it would be to no avail, but I wanted to at least try. But, to my misfortune, all that escaped me was a soft exhale.
On the nights when fortune favored me, she would curl up beside me, a move both brazen and benevolent considering the things I have done. Her gentle breath lulled me to the eternal rest of awarness that I appear to be condemned to. Soft curls tickled my cheeks, but I wished not to blow them away even if I could.
Sometimes, when she awoke, she would regard my sleeping form as though I was concsious. Then realization would wash over her, and her breath would become broken and uneven. She would unsheathe only what I can deduct as a blade and walk away.
I would eagerly await her return during that time. Sometimes I would try to remember what I was doing before I came into this vegatative state. More times than not, I wanted to think of who I was. All I truly remember was that I was feared by many, yet known by few.
When the young woman would return, she would feed me. My gratitude was much, though it was not audibly acknowladged. Typically, she would bring some form of vegatation. It slid down my unresponsive throat easily enough, though it would sting ever so slightly. Every so often, she would feed me an poignant tasting herb. My nose would twitch and wrinkle subconsiouly at the overwhelming aroma.
She would apologize when she brought me it. She would explain that it was to help me escape this hold over my body. And her voice when she spoke... Her tongue was laden in a rich accent foreign to me. I do not quite recall such an accent being heard by my ears ever, and yet I obviously must have known this woman. Yet, If I cannot remember the past, then perhaps I speak out of bewilderment due to my condition rather than true recollection.
And while I was wondering, my mind would disregard the water that cooled my throat and soothed the passing of the herb. It washed away the vile flavor and sent a slightly fresher undertone of taste to my tongue.
Some nights she would beseech to me, begging me in a rather piteous and heart-wrenching tone to wake. Her voice would erupt into sobs, and I even felt at times a sharp sting across my face. Sometimes she would repeat the action,the sounds of livid palms making fast contact with my cheek would echo abruptly and break the silence of the room. Her face would bury in the crook of my neck, and I would try with all my mght to apologize, to wake.

Zeros and Ones

Hello! :D So I know it has been a while since the last post, but here is another story. This one is a little hard to follow sometimes due to the ideas spawning at different times, and the writings are separated by spaces. This is definitely not complete yet, but is something that is extremely fun to write about :) Hope you enjoy!

ZEROS AND ONES

                The night was cool and the air was blustery the day that the executives of the Earth declared the discovery of fresh, potable water on Mars. Billions worldwide listened with attentive ear to the broadcasts, scientists clutched their fellow man in ecstatic haze, and the world itself laughed with joy. Truly nothing could have dampened the spirit of that glorious day.

                The next day, however, was another story.

                The first assault occurred on March 18^th, 2087, when the nations Germany and Russia broke out into a heated altercation over the land disputes and investments in their scientific departments, already seeking to stake out land on the planet. Soon, America, France, Canada, Italy, and Israel leapt into the quarrel, kindling the fire of the dispute. From there, chaos ensued. Progressively, more and more countries began to take sides, be it another countries or their own. The battle of words soon became a battle of fists and weapons, leaving diplomats of six countries dead and hundreds more injured.

                The world was shocked at the news, never before beholding such an outburst in an intended meeting of peace. With the given violence instigated by the planet of war, scientist around the globe decided to fund an underground project: Project Quercus. From it, great innovations were made. The advanced magnetic motor, the solar powered filtering system, and, most importantly, the ship ‘Libero,’ a ship capable of transporting five million people to Mars in an estimated twelve years.

                In order to escape the sinews of a corrupted Earth, twelve million voyaged on the ship, which made two separate trips over the span of two years. Somehow, they had remained discreet, their station at the Galapagos Islands, transporting animal and plant species of practically endless variations.

                Sam’s eyes widened, awestruck at the pure wondrous innovation of the Mech. It stood about twelve feet tall, its appearance angular and sharp, like the blades on its hands. It was painted a deep blue and silver, like the colors of the Quercus flag. Its mask, a horned helmet and faceplate, with dim aqua eyes that had not yet come to life. Sam ran a hand through his dirty blond muss of hair.

                The young man scaled the Mech, wanting to examine the intricacy of its design. He was not an engineer; far from it, actually. He was not stupid, by any means, but he certainly did not comprehend how the hands of men could craft such mechanical perfection. Sam shook his head and frowned. This was a bad thing. A very bad thing. He shouldn’t be marveling at its detail, nor welcoming it on the planet. He should be wary. But somehow, he was too enthralled to really care.

                Sam touched the metal gingerly, his hands brushing the sleek iron of the robot’s leg. His eyes wandered up to its torso. There, engraved and highlighted with dark blue paint, was the name ‘Colossus 303: Decimus.’ Sam smirked at the name.

                “Decimus, huh?” Sam muttered to himself softly. His eyes fell back down to where his hand rested on the machine. Suddenly, the leg jerked, and Sam flew backwards in fright with a startled yelp.

                The robot’s eyes glowed. It looked down to Sam, who now was on his back staring up in shock and fear at the metal being that towered above him. From beneath the metallic mask over its mouth, the Colossus’ voice rasped from its speakers.

                “Hello, companion. I am Decimus.”

                Decimus’ circuits spat electric current, his eyes flashing faintly from the blow. The other Mech, a large, grey robot with a hearty, cubic structure and blazing eyes of yellow and red, bellowed at him, for the robots were sentient, and this one was quite clearly enraged.

                “Why do you assist them?” The Tank crooned wickedly in a low bravado. “When it is quite clear that they shall die? Why do you shield them with yourself when you could just as easily turn and sweep them away with a bat of your hand? Do you not want liberation?”

                Decimus’ voice cracked, his speakers damaged by the force of the Tank’s attack. “We may all have different roots, but we grow together. Together, as a team, we form the trunk that supports the tree boughs, which in turn support the branches, which in turn support the leaves, which one day will flower and bear fruit and a haven for all beings.”