Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

FICTION:

Now is Our Forever

by SweetMemoir13 Quill-red

Prologue

 

      'Always', 'Forever', and 'Infinity'. If you count the letters it contains I have exactly place it in ascending order, not that it matters though. But, let's face it; they are synonyms in which each and every one of us dream of having. But, for some people it's just a word anchored with hollow promises enough that it can drown you to endless abyss.

      I don't hate the word but I don't particularly like it. But, this guy came without a certain warning. He came fast like a lightning, swept me off my feet like a whirlwind. He totally shaken my world but nonetheless if he's the ground that will swallow me up, I'll gladly jump in between.

 

 


Posted on: September 15 2014

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POETRY:

rotten eggs

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

Take a minute
to reflect on
the events of
the last year 
it was all too clear 
right out the game
you were about to celebrate it

But your joy was false
it knew no bounds
they realized it and
they've called it something new

Hey better get along
or else you'll find yourself
down the roller coaster
Hurting the dreams
that Larry had about their eggs

But your joyless Falls
Can never have you
you're clinging to a Klingon cross
wash it out
Smile at the dark
and Never mind the lingo
I never knew that secret side of you
I heard the sounds that described
How the delivery
Rested on fields of greenery

I never knew the secret side
The one that was telling me
Not at all good for me
But spoke anyways

Why did we learn

Realistic stories
That sealed the deals of the
Inebriate celebrity

Harvesting the cash crop
Dancing on air
never to forgot the
rotten eggs 

 


Posted on: September 13 2014

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FICTION:

Of vengeance and love.

by HorrorOfLovecraft Quill-red

It was a dark night as the neon lights flashed, the dark alleyway was cold, cold enough to see his own breath. He stood over a body, it had been his latest victim. A rich man, owner of a nice company, but not smart. He had fallen prey to the "sirens call" as many referred to it. All it took was some nice whispers, and he came into the alleyway, handed over his wallet, and killed himself. Not very hard for Alcatraz, he had been doing this for a while. He needed the money, but still enjoyed it. Some called him a psychopath, some just plain demented. He dint care, he did his sins with a grin. he had been saving up, for him and his girlfriend. Now he was just saving for the next night at the bar. She had left him, without a reason and took all the cash he had. They were gonna buy a nice house, he had thought maybe he could settle down, now he hated her guts, and would love to see them on the floor. She always was one for a man with some good coin. Someone else had come and offered a better deal and he knew it. He dint care anymore, as they say, vengeance is a dish served cold. And his cold heart could serve it well.

        He finally got a lead. The new man his former girl was with was finally in his grasp. He was gonna make her pay. Pay for breaking his heart, by ripping hers out. He followed the man for a while, getting to know all his usual places. He usually stopped by a bar, not to far from the one Alcatraz usually spent his nights. There were alot of bars, but the closer they were, the easier this would be. It took time, the man was smart, and in most ways his sirens call would most likely not work. So he waited, and waited, till one night when he got just a little too drunk for his own good. He was vulnerable now, so Alcatraz threw on his special made gasmask and waited.

Don, that was his name. As he stepped out of the bar it looked like he could hardly keep on his feet. It was now or never. Alcatraz concertinaed and let his voice bounce, luring the man in. With a grin the man, in almost a sleepwalking like trance, stumbled into the alleyway. As soon as he was engulfed in shadows Alcatraz grabbed him. The man woke out of the trance but his mouth was already covered. Slowly and with an angry voice he asked him" Where is Molly right now" Don shook his head in defiance of answering the question. Alcatraz socked him in the gut, the man threw up getting it only on his shoes, Alcatraz had moved his hand so none would get on him. He asked again “Where the hell is Molly." As he said this he pulled a long hunting knife from the sheath on his left leg. Pressing it on the mans Adams apple. Don wanted to scream but he knew it would mean death. He slowly spoke with a trembling voice" A-at my house. Its over i-in the Richardson area on west street. Alcatraz smiled " rich boy huh? I knew it. Though drinking at a shitty bar like this makes you look dumb. thanks for the info" And with the last sibyl he slit Dons throat. Leaving him to choke on his own blood to death. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the blood off his forearm. Silently, and with a demonic grin he set out, he had a special date tonight, but only one would be going home.

It was a quite neighborhood. Most lights were off by now, with it being so late. It was around 1am, all the rich folk were sleeping happily, except one. As he stood in front of the house, he noticed it was the only one with lights still on. He saw her figures shadow in the window, most likely up waiting for her rich hubby. He wasn’t coming back, but if there was an afterlife they would see each other soon. He had picked up the keys off Dons body before he left. He slowly unlocked the door, as he head her rushing down the stairs he pulled his gun. Her face went from relief to pure dread. It wasn’t her precious Don, but Alcatraz standing in the doorway, gun pointed at her. She looked like she wanted to run, but she knew him, it wouldn’t do any good. She sighed heavily" So....he’s gone isn’t he". Alcatraz nodded, having only a blank expression on his face. "I told him you would come, I told him to take someone with him, now look at me and him, he’s dead and I’m gonna be the same soon" Both were silent for a long while, no movements. She came down the stairs, slowly approaching. She looked into his eyes with a soft smile" It was fun Alcatraz, but i guess I messed up. Do it." Within moments a wicked grin was on his face, he had been waiting for this moment. He felt no sadness, no remorse, only a strange amount of content. Aiming it for her forehead he pulled the trigger. It was over, she was dead. He felt more alive than he ever had. As he walked from the house the thought about his future. He had been working on this for a while, what now? He knew what to do. There were people all over. Some wanted someone dead, and now for a modest price it could happen. His eyes seemed to flare with an evil glow. This was his future. Death itself would be his new best friend. And he was happy for the first time in years.

 


Posted on: August 30 2014

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FICTION:

The Life of Jarion.

by HorrorOfLovecraft Quill-red

It was a simple night in the kingdom of Cornel, much like any other. The peasants sat on the street corners, begging for a spare coin from any late night passer. The more well off citizens slept in their beds, unaware of the horror the kingdom was performing, and the king slept in his royal palace, blissfully ignoring the fact that he has issued such horrific experiments on both magical beast and humanoids. Bret Ainsley, royal advisor and scientist, spent his night doing much, much more then sleeping. Not long ago he had acquired a new test subject, an elf man by the name of Jarion. His village, friends, and family had all been shown no mercy when the king raided the small elf village, killing off them all but Jarion to show his people “the might of the kingdom”. It was not might that had one though. No it had been a sneak attack on the small village. The kings numbers far excided the elfs but he knew of their ability to talk with the animals and plant life. He had also heard many stories of the strong earth magic the elfs could use. Summoning towering earth elementals to fight for them, raising roots from beneath the earth to entwine their enemies, and moving large boulders and amounts of earth to crush any enemies near them without breaking a sweat, the might of the elvs was astonishing. The king craved this power. Craved it with every fiber of his soul, and would do anything for it. During the raid the weaker elvs were trying to escape, but were caught by the party of the kings men stationed outside the back gate of the town. It had been mainly women and children, accompanied by a lower class warrior,Jarion. After slaughtering everyone else, Jarion was left, badly bloodied and bruised, with a broken right leg. They tied him up and threw him into the back of a wagon, putting a gag in his mouth and warning him that any noise he made would be his last.

 He now awoke, strapped down to a long metal table, with odd glowing braces on each of his wrist.  They seemed to pulse with his heart; the faint green glow was the only light in the dark room. Suddenly the lights were on; he squinted and groaned at them shinning. A tall man in a dark long coat stepped in the room, “So our new friend is awake finally? Good, now the test may begin” within an instant he recognized the voice, it was the voice who had ordered him to be beaten and put away, keeping him from death, cruel letting him live with the pain of seeing his friends, family, all cut down before him. Jarion snapped back “YOU BASTARD YOU KILLED THEM, KILLED THEM ALL!”. The doctor took his time, when he was standing right in front of the table, he smack Jarion, hard in the mouth with a test tube, leaving small shards of class in his cheek.” You will learn to behave filthy elf, or you will be punished!.  Jarion spat out some blood and glass, glaring over at the doctor, “Fine you tyrant”. It had taken a while but Jarions eyes had finally adjusted to the light, looking around the room he saw many strange objects, scalpels, test tubes, beakers. He was confused, what was going to happen to him? He could only grimace at what hell awaited before him.

For many days the experiments went on. Each day, he lost more blood, as it was being used. Sometimes they would cut a vein and let it run out, only sealing it moments before he would bleed out. Sometimes they dint need to. For the first two weeks they tested his physical healing abilities. They would slash at him with swords, daggers; hitting him with battle hammers, ect. Somehow he survived for another day of pain. Two weeks past. Night after night, new ways of testing him were introduced. Finally, one day Ainsley walked in, looking smug and content as ever. “The king is pleased with the work ive done on you. He has given you the luxuries of a prison cell for your days now, but don’t try any magic; the cell has protective barriers for that”. Jarion sighed, as he was unshackled he was led to the cell, tired and still in pain. He lay down on the cold stone floor, and for the first time in two weeks, he slept. He soon regretted this though, for his dreams plagued with the images of his family being slaughtered.  He remembered his mothers head as it rolled away, still with its horrific look on its face. He awoke, frightened by the terrible dream.

The guard entered the small room “Wake up elf, it’s time for more experiments.” Jarion slowly picked himself up off the floor, sluggishly making his way to the door.  As the guard put on his wrist restraints, another guard had come down, telling him to hurry up. In his frustration and quickness, he slapped them on, not locking them at all. The restraints did not glow like usual. Feeling like something had changed he finally understood what they had been. Magic restraints, they had used these to make sure no earth magic was done.  Calmly keeping his head high he began to walk along with the guard. He did not notice, and soon revenge would be his. And this mighty king would see the full magical power and elf could use.

Jarion could feel it finally. His magical energy returning, all he needed now was a plant, or some earth. And he could make his escape. As he stepped inside the doctor’s chamber, his eyes darted around. Over in the corner laid a strange looking plant. Its red and purple leaves showing off its poisonous nature, trying to communicate with it, he seemed to see it move ever so slightly. He took this as a yes to his question. He had asked if it had a way to make the poison airborne. He has seen the small amount of dust on it guessing it was a powder. As the doctor approached him he grinned wickedly. “So how is our prisoner today? Did he sleep well?” The doctor laughed an obnoxious laugh but, in the middle of it, Jarion joined in. The doctor looked confused, beginning to become angry he yelled “ what do you have to laugh about!?”.  Jarion smugly replied”…Doctor, you fear what you do not know. And what you don’t know, is that the guards dint put on my wrist shackles on right” Suddenly Jarion jumped back out from the doctor, holding his breath. The air began so shimmer with glowing dust expelled from the plant. It smelled of sour apples, and suddenly, the guards and the doctor began to choke. For a few minutes they choked, faces red in pain. They fell to the floor heaving and gasping for air. As they slowly died at his feet when the dust had settled, he looked into the dying doctors eyes and said “ Your king is next”.

Jarion stepped into the night. Throwing off his shackles, he looked in the distance to see the castle. He began to walk, and then running, soon he was shifting the earth itself to make his stride longer. He has never felt this rage before. But he knew the king was behind this. And for that, the only judgment was death. The same kind of death he had brought all of his friends and family. Blind, painful, angry death, it was all he deserved. And Jarion dint care if he died too in the process. His mother had always told him revenge was not the answer, but now his mother was gone forever. All due to the kings lust for power. No, it was time for the king to meet his end.

As Jarion approached the front gates the guards stopped him.”Halt! What is your business?” and with a deranged smile he replied “I’m here to kill your king!” As he said this two large branches sprung from his hands, impaling both guards, he went on like this, killing many guards. His branches punched right through their armor, his eyes glowing dark green, he was ready for his revenge.

As he walked up the last flight of steps he saw it. A huge door at the end of the hallway, with red doors and designs traced in gold, this is where he was. He walked down the path, all other guards laid dead in their armor. As he swung open the huge doors he saw him. A young boy, only 11 or so, playing by the side of the throne as his father laid in wait. “ So, you finally arrive, a guard told me you were coming then returned to the fight. Im guessing he is dead now.” Jarion nodded slowly, an angry scowl on his face. The young boy looked up from his play things at his father “ daddy…why is there a dirty elf in here?”Jarions face grimaced, this king, this horrible man, had already taught his son the ways of hated. As he thought about it he wondered if his father, the king before this, had taught him the same way. It was sad, knowing that this hatred was taught to innocent kids. But it had to be stopped, and there was still revenge to be had. With a quick flash of his hand the boy was dead. I small wooden spike piercing his throat. Jarion look sad for a moment, then the king spoke “ Come now elf. You did not come all this way to gawk at me did you?” Jarion shook his head, coming closer to the king “ Just tell me why you did it” He mumbled. The king sat back in his chair and frowned “ We humans fear what we do not know, and crave what we do not have.” Jarion nodded knowingly and with a quick, wave, his arm was covered in a branch, what had impaled the king straight through the heart. It was over, but he felt no different. They were all still dead, and there was no going back. This was his life now, and it would not change.

 


Posted on: August 27 2014

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FICTION:

Childish Things

by TheTravellingLemon Quill-red

FOR SOME REASON THE PARAGRAPHS AREN'T SHOWING UP. I'M NEW TO THE SITE DOES ANYONE KNOW WHY THIS MIGHT BE? When the pixie stepped out of the rhododendrons, Abigail gave it only the barest attention before she returned to the half finished daisy chain snaking in the grass before her. She saw fairies in the garden all the time. This one didn't look very interesting. She might talk to it later, if she had nothing better to do. Pixies only startle people who don't expect to see them, otherwise it's just like seeing a rabbit, or a butterfly, or other common garden creature. This was the sixteenth pixie Abigail had encountered since moving to the new house. She knew, because she'd counted. The house in the country had been her father's idea. Something about bracing country air and living in green and not grey. Abigail hadn't really listened. It didn't make much difference to her where they lived, so long as wherever it was had books and pencils and big windows you could stare out of and watch people through. The new house had the books and the pencils and even the windows, though there were no people to watch through them. The new house also had a garden. It was green and had daisies in it and there was a beehive in the corner which you weren't allowed to go near in case you got stung. There was a bush which scratched your arms and your face if you didn't take care. There was an apple tree you could sit in and read your book, if you promised not to tear your clothes. There were animals which dug under the fence and stole the vegetables and the strawberries. There were also fairies. Abigail liked talking to them at first. She liked people and fairies were, basically, just very small people. The difference was that when you got bored of people and asked the to go away, they did. The fairies in the garden stayed until they were bored, talked when they wanted to talk, threw apples at you if there were apples to be thrown and so disrupted whatever you tried to do. They laughed if you asked them to leave, politely or otherwise; and adults never noticed them, so they didn't move for them either. They left only when they wanted to. The best way to get rid of them was not to give them a reason to stay; so Abigail usually ignored them. She was going to ignore this one. The daisy chain she was making was a long one, thirty one daisies and one clover she had put in when she wasn't concentrating properly. She scanned the remaining flowers carefully, looking for the biggest, the thickest stalked, the one which had lost the least petals. The cough was a quiet one, muffled by a small hand, but in the still morning, broken only by bird song and the lazy buzzing of bees, it was loud enough to be heard clearly. Abigail knew it came from the pixie, as she knew it was meant for her, but she ignored it. Her eye had just alighted on another perfect daisy. The cough was louder this time, sharper and there was no hand to muffle it. Abigail reached out and squeezed the daisy stem between finger and thumb. I don't want to talk to you, she thought to the pixie. You're boring. Please go away. The kick came as a surprise. None of them had ever kicked her before. The foot that delivered it was incased in a small, pointy, steel capped boot. The pain in her calf was sharp, there would probably be a bruise. A big, purple black one. She cried out slightly and as she did, her arm jerked. The daisy stem between her fingers broke, right below the flower. She wouldn't be able to use it now. "Look what you did!" She shouted to the pixie, before she could stop herself. "Well you wouldn't listen would you?" He said. "I didn't want to." Abigail scowled petulantly, crushing the flower in her hand. "I want doesn't get." The pixie taunted. "Do you know it's rude to talk to someone with your back to them?" "It's rude to kick people, especially if they haven't kicked you first, especially if you don't know them." Behind her, she heard the pixie blow a raspberry. This one, Abigail thought, was annoying. He was going to be persistent, she could see that. He didn't plan on being ignored. She opened her hand and let daisy petals trickle through her fingers like sand grains. A small shadow was cast over the grass in front of her, as a miniature figure flew from behind her to hover in front of her nose; hands on hips, lips stretched in an impish grin, wings pushing gently at the air with a slight buzzing sound. Abigail wrinkled her nose. "What are you wearing?" He sighed theatrically. "Would you believe me if I told you it was traditional dress among my people?" She shook her head. "No. They usually wear leaves and flowers stitched with grass, or something. That," she said, tipping her head on one side, considering, "is a nightie." The pixie's face had gone slightly red. "Look, I don't like all that flowery stuff alright? Never have, but proper material's very hard to come by." Abigail grinned. Aside from the nightie, the pixie didn't look much different from others she had seen. Short, silver blonde hair, eyes that changed from sky blue, to sea green, to hazel, depending which way you looked at him. He had a sharp chin, pointed ears, wings that resembled those of a dragonfly. He must have been about five inches tall, bigger than many she'd seen, even if she could still send him flying with a flick of her finger. The boots which had left her calf still throbbing were dark brown leather, with shiny silver caps. "Why'd you want to talk to me so much?" She asked him. "Who are you anyway." "My name is not important." He told her "I'm bored." "Read a book." Abigail turned back to the daisy chain. "Don't like books." "Draw something." "Don't like drawing." "Talk to someone." "I'm talking to you." "Talk to someone else." "Don't like anyone else. Don't like you either, but at least you make a change." Abigail sighed. "Do you like anything?" The pixie who's name was not important shook its head. "Nope." She rolled her eyes. "Now you're just being difficult." With great care, she picked another daisy from the lawn, split its stem and, with a flourish, added it to her chain. Thirty three flowers. Finally. "Do you want to play hide and seek?" The pixie asked. She considered. She did quite like hide and seek, but she didn't like the pixie she would be playing with. Besides, she had a daisy chain to finish. "You're too small, you could hide anywhere and I wouldn't find you. You could hide in the flowers, or the compost heap, or the hollow in the apple tree or even the bee hive and I wouldn't see you, because you're too small. You'd always win." "I would." Said the pixie, satisfied. "I wouldn't hide with the bees though. Very nasty. I don't like bees." "I do." Said Abigail, watching his shudders with amusement. "Buzz." "Stop it." He muttered. Abigail only smiled wider. "Buzz." The pixie aimed a kick at her nose, but she dodged to the right. "Buzz." The pixie tried another kick, this time to her chin. Abigail winced as the boot connected with her face. "Stop it." "You stop buzzing." Said the pixie. "Shan't" She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry, then "buzz." The pixie lashed out again with his foot, digging the point of his boot into her cheek. It stung. She felt a drop of something warm and wet trickle down her face and drop into the grass. "You made me bleed!" She exclaimed, but he just grinned. "Go away." She told him firmly, but he didn't budge. "Shan't." A second drop of blood was following the first. "I warned you." She told him, quickly dropping the daisy chain. Unsure what she meant to do, he was too slow to get out of the way. A lazy flick of the finger sent him tumbling through the sky and down again into the blackberry bush. A strangled moan floated through the air, but nothing else followed. The morning was still again, filled with twittering birds and the smell of apple blossom, with not a pixie laugh or cry. Abigail lay back with a sigh and watched a ladybird crawl through the grass, each new blade a mountain to be scaled. She reached out a finger and lifted him up. She liked holding insects. The movement of the ladybird's tiny legs made her hand tickle pleasantly. She had a ladybird and a very long daisy chain, it was almost lunchtime. The annoying pixie was gone and probably wouldn't come back, though you never knew with them. She would get a plaster for the cut on her cheek and the bruises on her calf and chin, which still stung, but not for much longer. The bleeding had stopped. The sun was shining. All was right with the world. She never thought she might have hit him too hard. In the tangle of brambles in the corner of the garden, a tiny, winged figure lay broken and still, as a dark liquid leaked into the soil. In the flower bed from which he had emerged, three pairs of eyes stared malignantly at the girl in the grass.


Posted on: August 22 2014

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