Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [11/4/15]

Questions, skill improvement, and respectful critique involving game writing.
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Hazel-Bun
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Re: Bun's Drabbles [Critique Welcomed] [1/22]

#16 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Here you go Armee ;v;b Because of the delay, I made this one a little longer. It's a little over 1,000 words so your nitpicks can be harsher, seeing as I can't submit it to readwave in its current form. Hope you like it!

* Better version in three parts starting here: http://www.readwave.com/rewind-the-clock-part-1_s21633
<><><>
Rewind the Clock
To when we were young, wild and free.
"Hark ye peasant and observe the mistress of time bidding us good morrow...", the girl with the sandy brown hair and face full of freckles paused with a sigh, her voice dropping to a low monotone concealing something else underneath the feigned accent, "Wicked is the Witch who knows not of her enchanting ways."

Joy Harrison couldn't help but roll her eyes at her delusional friend, leaping and prancing about putting on a one-woman play for her own entertainment.

She was a bit of a history buff in the sense that she liked the way the people sounded and knew little about the actual historical part of things. Skie had thought it fitting to drag her out here and re-enact The Witch of Cedar Point for some odd reason. Joy hadn't complained too much at first because it gave her a reason to sneak out of the house, but now it was getting to be a bit much.

"Aye mi'lady but it's very warm today and you're making me dizzy by just watching you. How about sitting down and resting yon tired eyes and we'll study up on the classics later, m'kay." Joy called out to her friend, condescending in the most light-hearted of fashion, who turned with faked elegance shooting her a huge thumbs up.

"Deal!"

They were sitting side by side now in their little patch of paradise they often escaped to, when the weather threatened to scorch the Earth. It was a tiny grove filled with lush green grass and weeping willows, a small pond to cool off in and the occasional fruit bearing trees to sate hungry stomachs and fill grubby hands.

It was the place that Joy and her best friend Skie called their home away from homes, within the sprawling hillside of the southern country side that confined them. It with littered with salt-of-the Earth type of folks vastly different from them, outside the groves golden gates in the shape of low hanging willow branches. But being unlike those that surrounded them only strengthened their unique bond.

"You're silly you know that?"

"Why, because I'm a dreamer?"

"No. Because you drag me out here every summer and practice your lines for plays you'll never take part in."

"Ouch, Joy, there is such a thing as brutally honest you know."

"It's true though." Joy nervously rebutted as Skie laughed it off. Skie truly was an egnima to her even after years of being by her side. Like her name implied, she spent most of her life a sleepwalker lost in a world much more colorful and exciting than her own above the clouds. Try as she might to understand her, Joy found herself always clutching at straws, an outsider looking in, when it came to Skie's many misadventures.

They'd meet by sheer coincidence and by fate own blessed hand if you asked Joy. She'd been crying and had run away from the biting comments of a recently divorced and twice widowed mother of two when Skie had found her. She'd never fit in until she befriended the quirky girl who dreamed of being something so much more.

Joy had tried in earnest to enchant her with tall tales from the city and life beyond those hills, because why else would the very embodiment of the sun and blue skies befriend a raven haired pale outcast such as herself, if not to get away from here vicariously through her...?

"I can't help it I suppose. I was born to reach for the stars." Skie slumped back and did just that, pretending to capture the sun rays in her heavily freckled hands as Joy sighed away. If one looked closely they could make out tiny scars criss crossing the dreamers wrists, thighs and ankles, so thin and transparent as if to be imagined.

What had become of them?

That question pledged Joy even then, looking to the girl she'd called her friend for so long and hadn't had the faintest idea of her internal turmoil.

Could she blame her?

She never asked and Skie never pressed, so instead they sat and soaked in each other's healing presence while pondering heavy handed "what if" scenarios if only they had been brave enough to ask other what was wrong back then.

"Wouldn't it be magical Skie, if we really could live forever. Just as the book had said, just as we've always wanted to and imagined. Cast a spell and everything be okay..." Joy was referencing the famous scene from the play, when the Wicked Witch revealed to be an angel ascended into the heavens after the spell cast on her had been broken.

It felt like a spell had been cast here too, frozen, time was frozen in that glorious in-between before tragedy had struck lower Eastbrooke.

"Of course Joy but things usually never work out that way. Especially for people like us."

"What type of people are we to make us so different, huh? What can't... why..." Joy spat angrily, hating the fact that she sounded so much like her mother.

Why couldn't they have a chance at happiness too? It wasn't fair...

Skie took a long time to answer, propped up on either side by her elbows, as she looked off into the pink, orange and red distance, melting, mixing, mesmerizing as the sun skimmed low in the sky. Finally she whispered,

"Because we're the type of people that can't let go and get real sad when others pass on. You can't raise the dead but at least you can live assured you'll join them some day."

Skie turned little emeralds towards the glistening coal that was her friends eyes, reaching over to wipe her friends tears away.

"And just like The Witch that had to leave her loved ones on Earth behind, we all have to face the truth someday. The truth that everyone dies no matter how much we try to stop it. Including you and me. We aren't invincible Joy and that's quite alright. We were born to be human and to be human means to be finite. Dust to dust and the like..."

A quiet wind blew over the sunny hilltop cooling the otherwise baking landscape. Joy wept then, wept for her friend, who's smiling face was still frozen as it had been in death.

A smile that could make someone surrender their soul and much more. One that invited, one that enchanted, one too bright for this world and had been extinguished.

She remembered the way, down to the very last detail, she'd smiled at her before she'd come here to meet her maker on a quiet afternoon much like this. The Devil was in the details, he'd surely been the mastermind of the events that had transpired that day.

Had it hurt...?

Had she been afraid...?

The way they'd found her body sprawled on the grass at ease made one believe she'd died carefree. Joy prayed her friend had with the fervor one prayed to saints to ensure their spot in Heaven's eternal embrace.

Turning tired eyes to the rain clouds gathering up above, she remembered those dog days of summer, the heat of her surrender, their sweaty palms pressed together, the gentle laughter that had carried them far beyond those sweltering hills as they concocted mischievous plans behind innocent, doe like expressions.

Ah yes, those enchanting, fleeting, innocent times of their youth. Uninhibited and beautifully tragic in that it would also be the shortest lived moment of happiness in her life. For it truly had been just that, moment, a blink of an eye, in a cast sea of time that seemed to drag on forever.

The days since had passed with little laughter, Joy had become a walking shadow. And for Skie? Well the sky had been confined into a little wooden box, nailed shut, anointed and buried six feet deep inside the Earth.

How Joy wished she could cast a spell and rewind the clock and have an angel deliver her her friend so that sweet memories be relived again and again.

"I miss you Skie..."

And a gentle wind brushed against her tear stained cheeks, playful, before passing through her to the far reaches of the Earth. And she sat alone in that little patch of paradise, a shadow of her former self, trapped in a living hell, still trying to handle the realization that her Skie had left her to pick up the shattered pieces of their forever friendship by herself.
Last edited by Hazel-Bun on Tue Feb 04, 2014 2:11 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bun's Drabbles [Critique Welcomed] [1/28]

#17 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Still looking for prompts just so you guys know! =D

Here's some "poetry" from dA which is around two years old now (WOAH) It was for a writing contest ahaha. And another readwave rip below it, enjoy.
<><><>
Shadow in the Abyss of Self
Round I Theme: Imminent Menace
Suicidal Sunshine's Album "Martians on the Moon" Track One:
Intro

He lurks in the shadows and feeds on my dreams,

He whispers sweet nothings and beats down my deeds...



Chorus

I am nothing,

I am no one,

I am, I am—

I Am!



Verse One

The shadow that hides away,

In the far corners of your mind,

Ever present— All knowing— And the King of Lies!

He waits and waits for what I am not sure of,

But I know the second I cave,

The second I give up the struggle,

He’ll devour me like beast on prey...



Chorus

I am nothing,

I am no one,

I am, I am—

I Am!



Verse Two

He bides his time but I know at any moment,

Any moment he’ll be there and on me,

He’ll be on me and try to control,

The savage of the Depths!

Control, Control, Control—

He knows my every weakness.

My every desire, hopes and wishes—

Dreams! Oh Yes—


Verse Three

He feeds on them and bides his time,

The shadow of my mind.

He cast doubt on my every action,

Takes joy in my violent reactions,

A perversion of the sacred,

Idol to the damned!

Ever present and waiting for the moment,

To strike! x3

To bind! x3

To take a hold and drag me into,

The Depths... x3


Verse Four

(No escape now)

(No hope now)

The world is caving in.

(No escape now)

(No hope now)

Dreams lay scattered by the shore.

(No escape now)

(No hope now)

All that's left is the shell,

Of broken ambition,

The sun sets to rise nevermore,

We have all been but sleepwalkers,

And there's no escaping the inevitable...

There's no hope left in this cruel, cruel world.



Chorus

I am nothing,

I am no one,

I am, I am—

I Am!


Verse Five

Pointless x3

Demon of my own creation,

My sole friend in the darkness,

My worst enemy in the pitch black night.

Shadow in the Abyss of Self x5

He is, He is, He is…

The King of Lies.
<><><>
Finite Infinity

Her name was Amber Gutierrez and I saw a glimpse of eternity reflected in those honey colored depths that day. Like a flickering flame that teased its way around the hearth, she looked upon me all smiles with no warmth.

I didn't care though. There was no need to pander to my need for affection and attention. I just wanted to look upon her and never be noticed. A constant shadow that longed to enter the light.

That year I had finally worked up the courage to approach my butterfly, thinking it fitting as Valentine's Day was fast approaching.

With sweaty palms and tongue twisters filling in for words, I walked to the other side of the lunch room dazed and confused.

She was blinding, as if a halo surrounded her, and I desperately wanted to be next to her then, drawn like a foolish moth to a burning candle's flame.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four.

I'd lost count of how many steps I'd taken before—

Bang.

I remember pausing, confused by the sound. Shortly after another body had fell.

Bang. Bang.

Suddenly they were coming in rapid succession, a bloody revolution, deafening firecrackers, killing weapons.

One minute, a mere sixty seconds, and blood had coated her once beautiful wavy hair. Stained and matted, her freckled face blown to pieces, and those memorizing eyes grew dull... duller... till the flicker of light, of life, was no more.

I turned, I saw, the barrel of a gun and prayed that my angel would be waiting for me as Death would surely come.

An explosion of light, the heat of the bullet piercing my soul, followed by the most impenetrable of silences, and the darkness had claimed me as His own.
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Re: Bun's Drabbles [Critique Welcomed] [1/31]

#18 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Short Poem :)
<><><>
Wanderlust

The long road home.


Life is full of twists and turns,

Long and often treacherous roads.

Some wind along steep cliffs-

Uncertain.

Filled with broken ambitious and held together by hopes and wishes.

Others go on forever in seems,

Into new and exciting, adventurous territories.

The unexplored infinity that is creation yet to be seen.

But most are simply what you see is what you get,

Dull, familiar, a beaten path.

Only worth traveling along with friends,

Ah yes. What a long road ahead.
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Re: Bun's Drabbles [Critique Welcomed] [2/3]

#19 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Little something to get me into the mood again to write.
<><><>
The Travelers Eulogy: Part One
Riverside Station, Greendale MI. A bad wind blew in from the east.
"No one will believe me, so why bother?"

She'd be punished if she went back home, that much was for certain. And she couldn't find it in her to care past the apathy that had settled and taken root in her heart. It wasn't her home anymore.

Little Annie wandered around the edge of her town alone. The sun sank low, skimming the uneven ground of the ghost town. It had once been a beacon of hope, a fountain of youth and prosperity for the salt of the earth. Hard workers who labored with their hands in the early dawn only to fill their stomachs with their hard earned cash turned into liquid gold come night fall.

That was no longer so.

Golden curls bobbed restlessly around a heart shaped face and pouty red lips. Her face was a shadow of it's former self. Swollen in some places, eyes puffy and red... faded black-blue bruises lined it and trailed far below her dresses frilly collar. Bruises much the same color of her eyes.

Eyes that no longer shone with happiness merely reflecting the lost potential of her surroundings so dim and daunting and meek in comparison to her grief. Eyes that no longer pined, nor dared to dream and wish for the wishes she'd been told to want with a feverish obsession.

A vision in faded white ripped and torn, stained, imperfect. A sweet little girl of only eighteen standing no more than 5'3.

Little Annie wasn't so little anymore.

Turning an unremarkable corner, Little Annie was struck with the desperation of her situation as she made it up the muddy hill towards the town's sole train station. Without a penny to her name and only the cloths on her back and brass locket around her neck, she was without materiel possessions or a place to return to once night fell. All sorts of scum would come to prey on her weakness. But what was worse she wondered. Being mistreated by those she expected evil from...? Or from one she'd trusted beyond any reason or nagging doubt?

Once on the platform awaiting the low whistle of an incoming train, Annie saw something that caused her to surge forward in pain, pausing.

He was a giant of a man came her first thought and then she found herself face to face with the Devil himself.

He sucked in a breath and sighed it out all the same. Irritated. The word drifted into her mind much as the Traveler had with his threadbare two piece suit and an obvious chip on his shoulder even a child like her could see.

With eyes a peculiar blending of the muddy earth and the golden rays of the sun, he skimmed the surface of the worn out city and seemed to see something he did not like. Not like she could tell clearly. His owlish glasses so thick she doubted even he could see out of them, obstructing rather than helping his vision, covered his eyes. Something told her that He was glaring. As sure as it would rain tomorrow she knew too that He was glaring, at her.

Tightness squeezed her throat shut and shuttered the natural beating of her heart. Little Annie breathing was ragged as a breathing attack hit her. Low, itchy, urgent and hot. Unreachable and unbearably hot.

She doubted she could out run him. His limbs were gangly yes, giving him the appearance of a daddy long leg spider. But much like a spider who wove a web of deceit wherever it went, she had the sneaking suspicion that there was something hidden underneath his unassuming appearance.

On a lonely dirt hill with patchy grass, alongside the sun sinking low carrying the hopes of a dead-end town, young Annie Kellenberger knew she was face to face with an enigma of a man, who could prove every bit as dangerous as the nasty scar twisting its way down his jawline.

An unspoken promise, an unreadable threat. It was in his heated gaze for at some point she realized He'd removed those owlish glasses long since. So too had He removed his suit jacket revealing long arms stocky with muscle that shouldn't be there. She longed to touch but didn't dare to.

There was something impish in the way he smiled at her then, slow, lazy, not quite reaching his twinkling eyes like golden halos, muddy stars.

In seconds she was beside him on those lonely rails as he wove a tale much more inciting than any intricate gossamer could have been.

"Can I interest you LittleLady in my story?"
Last edited by Hazel-Bun on Fri Mar 07, 2014 6:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [3/2]

#20 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Bun's oven is cooking *shot* I decided to rename this thread because a). I wasn't really posting true drabbles as was pointed out to me and b). I love puns way too much to be healthy.

So here's a real drabble for a change of pace haha It's pretty bad but I'll get better as I make more.
<><><>
Conundrum


Drabble #1: Stuck between a rock and a hard place, always choose lemonade.


There were two doors before him and exactly two keys. Timothy stared and fretted between the heavy oaks blocking his passage, uncertain as to which one he should choose from.

He’d been given no information past a command. Take the keys and pick a lock, open the door and find out what was what on the other side.

He was afraid.

Would one lead to fulfillment and the other become a missed opportunity? Or were they tricks thinly veiled, leading him down a path of darkness?

Both equally important...? An impossible decision.

Timothy flipped a coin instead. He chose lemonade.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [3/3]

#21 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Up before Jesus and all the Saints because my sleep patterns are jacked- Here's a drabble and contest entry, letter, thingamabob as I get out from under the heavy creativity blanket known as NaNoRenO ahaha School start in a couple of hours so Imma go finish that paper now so I can, you known, work on coding the game *is shot*
<><><>
Little Bad Apple

Drabble #2: Without care and affection, even the sweetest apple will turn sour with rage.


She moved with the grace of an eighty-year old heifer, lumbering down the concrete alley without a destination in mind. Tiny specks of red trailed behind her as she held her ribs.

"Abigail, Abigail, dear girl where are you going?"

In the darkness he cried out but she ignored him. What was done was done.

"Abigail, Abigail, dear girl why do you ignore me?"

She wouldn't, couldn't, answer him her red lipstick smeared across delicate cheekbones. What was done was done!

"Abigail, Abigail... dear girl why did you shot me?"

What was done was done... Daddy never loved me.
<><><>
Abstract Reality.
Letters To You II
Round II Theme: Inner Passage
~*~

Big Ben,

I never thought I'd say this but I think this is the end. I've wondered for a long time how it'd pan out but it seems we've reached a crossroads.

The End...


Remember when you said nothing would break us apart? Well you lied to me that day.

You hadn't meant to, never intended to, but it's all the same.

Your pretty words fell on the ears of an unforgiving god. A hard pill to swallow, so bitter it stung, called reality hit me in the gut that day.

And it tore me to pieces, that lie, you see it's eating you alive.


Sitting there in the waiting room, unable to stand the sight of you, I conjured up all kinds of journeys leading to the center of the earth and the farthest reaches of space and time.

I explored the deepest corners of my mind and all those lofty concepts we'd joke about but believed, in our heart of hearts, one day we'd achieve.

I followed the tubes that dripped into your veins with my eyes. I mapped your heart and saw a reflective surface instead. Inside I was fighting right alongside the little medicine men meant to help you.

I believed then in that dream, that miracles could happen... that all our efforts weren't for not.

But you see, it's eating you alive.


Shangri La. That's what you called it. What we'd call our company, to help those that were like us, born a burden, forgotten, given no hope other then flimsy dreams.

The trip that sent you to the other side of the planet and ultimately straight into the Earth. Your grave first a cold white blanket, then a black zippered pouch, before the urn you'd request your ashes be placed in over my couch.


Big Brother Ben, you'll always reach the skies to me. Even when your bones wither away into true nothingness and you are forgotten, I will never forget you.

Ten feet of lousy dirt can't stop you. When your time came, I rejoiced not because I'm cruel nor because I was happy... but because your pain had finally ended.


Those delicate roads we built together and our unbreakable connection are not lost.

Now I'm left with me, myself and I in this world and it's one hell of a lonely pothole, in an otherwise smooth road, to fill.

But you won't be reading this, because It has eaten you alive.


I'd like to believe that all those thin glass tubes and fancy machinery and razor sharp needles gave you some peace on Earth. Shielded you from the pain some, as they snaked their way to your heart.

I desperately hope.

That it wasn't a glazed look, unseeing, I glimpsed on my visits, but one simply in a state of such quite serenity that it did not care to focus or remember me.

The issue, the truth, my emotions, they're getting in the way.

And I'm scared.



Broken bridges, trying to rebuild intangible dreams for a better future. That's all that remains and the memories of you.

But if there's one thing that you taught me that remains true, it is that where there is a will there is a way.

Like the winding hills of the turnpikes we traveled in the heartlands of America, we must stay alert and agile if we want to catch opportunity knocking at out doors.



Doc told me this would help. Getting it all onto paper to better navigate my heart.

I think what I should be doing instead is making our impossible dreams something tangible, a reality and future we can all look forward to. That the road less traveled becomes the hub and oasis of all weary souls.

I started to see the world a little differently since your passing.



Abstract colors mixing into one another. Emotions turned to predicted actions rather than over the top displays.

Plain as day, I take a journey into the inner working of the human mind and came out with one absolute.

Nothing is as it seems.



You were with me living and breathing one day. And then you were no more. So to am I no more. The old me died with you that day.

We were always opposites you and me.

You liked to paint a pretty picture, I loved to build sturdy structures. You were an avid dreamer and wonderful poet... and I was and still am a short sighted fool caught in a web of my selfish "truths".

Together we broke down barriers, alone, I'm left to fortify my shelter so that those I pushed away can enter my inner sanctuary someday.



An endeavor worth taking if it means I can be closer to you.



Love Ya' Always,

Little Tim.

CEO of  Shangri La, dedicated to helping disenfranchised youths find the path to a better future.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [3/31]

#22 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Two more drabbles, now off to bed. Will be getting back to writing AtPF now as well as working on BD.
<><><>
They Told Me To

Mommy told me I was a failure, so I didn't try to pass my test.

Daddy said I was his biggest mistake, so I didn't apologize for my own.

Big Brother and Big Sis told me I was a loser, so I decided to become a lone wolf.

My friends at school told me to go kill myself, so I took a bat to their heads instead.

The good doctor said I was chemically imbalanced, so I shoved my prescriptions down his throat.

I told myself I'd do all these things...

But I gave into the words instead.

Living's hell.
<><><>
Paralyzed by Hate


A lone bird chirps as the mid-morning sun burns bright into the afternoon.

Fredrick McCallister is pissed off. He's lying on his king sized mattress, assessing the worth of the potted plant his wife has set on the banister. It's ugly and wilting, sucking up the bare minimum of sunlight and the occasional bottle of beer.

He surmises that it's worthless, deciding to push it out the window. The only problem is, that his legs haven't worked in three years. Mariam, his dearly beloved, is lying in a box underneath Fort's Cemetery.

The nurse comes in.

"Go away, BabyGirl."
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [5/10]

#23 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Hey-O. Here's two more stories and a few drabbles for y'all. Enjoy :>!
<><><>
Mundane I: Laundry
Kane was sorting the Darks from the Lights and he was mighty pissed off about it.

It was such a labor intensive, mindless endeavor, more suited to the lower class. Yet, alas, here he was on a sunny afternoon, doing so.

No matter, he had to focus on the money. It paid well and time was money so, time spent making good money was good enough for him.

...

He hated the fact that he couldn't be working at a bigger laboratory, with better specimen at that. The Lights were so airy and cheerful, the Darks dreadfully boring.

Both bleed-
<><><>
Old Bones and Siren Songs


December came and went with a bang.

I wonder, lingering, pondering, if those old bones laying in the ground can see us now.

We dug for oil under a blazing sun, and in the winter lined our pockets with gold.

Then, that December descended upon us and everything changed.

The oil dried up.

The sun burned hollow.

The weather went haywire.

People gave into their dark desires...

Your Old Girl, Gloria, left you hanging.

And you...

And you.

You changed.

My heart aches-

Her bruised face-

In front of God, on trial, I lied.

It wasn't a mistake.

Greed kills.
<><><>
Wasteland Boogie


"You prefer to boggie or are you a blues kind of gal? Boogie-Oogie get down, all around town! Swing- Swing- Swing baby straight into hell-YOOW!"

"Huh? What kind of question is that? Damn fool...", Thomas rolled his eyes and breathed out a sigh, confused.

His friend's mechanical voice sang out over the red dawn. Plumes of smoke carried by brutal winds clogged the air, and piles of debris littered the streets.

Chaos was everywhere.

Thomas turned to Juke and stared. He was stuttering again.

"Come on man, keep it together."

"Boogie [screech] Ooooogie..."

"Please... stay with me, buddy."
<><><>
Embrace Winter: The Prelude


Come winter and banish the wretched call of spring,

It is cancerous in its sweetness, deception is thy name.

Come winter and kill the grinning gods of autumn,

Who summon brutal- whipping- winds and rolling- thunder!

From sage like mountains that housed our fathers,

Bring back thy children out of the mist.

Come winter with all your fury and vengeance,

Banish the sweltering heat of a summers' day!

There in the rolling hills that blossom, lie the dens of traitors,

Their children sheltered within...

Come winter, come winter!

And blanket the heavens!

Come winter, come winter,

Bring forth thy punishment!
<><><>
Hangnail


There's a hangnail on the bottom of my right pinkie toe. Mama, my step-mama, says it's a blessing from god.

She drinks clear liquor from a red chalice, sobbing and sighing, humming to the beat of an imaginary drum.

She whispers sweetly to no one,

"Come here, my sweet baby girl."

Mama don't realize that I'm Sammy, not Sally, and pulls me to her.

She gives me medicine that tastes like candy and fireworks. I cough it up, along with the nasty "water", but she shoves it back down.

She takes out a knife and cuts that hangnail...

Off.
<><><>
I Hate Summer!*
How the dog days of summer became a pariah in my life.
I hate summer with a passion, and it's not for the obvious reasons I assure you. I love the beach bodies and watching my friends burn up tanning. I can't get enough of magazines trying to see which celebrity has the most banging body. I adore dreaming up fantastical vacations in Mexico, rather than the tip of the Antarctic in which I live in.

I live for those seemingly endless days of summer, sleeping on the couch till noon and going to "parties", which are often just me myself and I in the living room, with a bowl of ice-cream and a tall glass of refreshing ice tea.

No, none of those poster child reasons are why I hate summer. I hate summer because somehow, in the mists of all the excitement, I'm always left with this laundry list of burning, nagging questions: what am I going to do with my future, what comes next, what am I doing with my life this second and, how in the heck am I suppose to make sense of it all all by myself Mommy!?

School, it's a place a lot of people claim to hate and I'm one of them. Truthfully speaking, it's not school that I hate, nor the structure, nor the teachers, not even that one jerk who keeps running up and scaring me in the hallways. I love my friends there, and I've had a pretty great time all twelve years.

What I hate about school is the big question mark it leaves me with once that three month gap is started. The impression of the doors slamming in my face is the size of the grand canyon, and it takes the form of a feeling I've had ever since sixth grade, when my math teacher said my math skills weren't up to par quite yet.

Anxiety. I fear the word, I live it, I wish I didn't have it. Sometimes it takes the form of panic attacks that leave me crying and wheezing in a bathroom stall before a math test. Other times, it acts as a clamp that keeps me grounded in humiliation, far after an embarrassing event has passed. Oftentimes, it just whispers into my ear that I'm not good enough, he won't ever like me and, why bother, they'll never be your real friends.

Because, when the final bell rings and we pour into the parking lot and lawn like released prisoners, I always find myself counting the steps to my doorway. Once I enter it for the remainder of the summer, I'll have to face that beast called Anxiety all alone. When my phone doesn't ring on Saturday or Sunday, Anxiety tells me not to get out of bed because no one wants me. When I can't find the strength to speak up at home or get my point across on the internet, it tells me that I am useless.

Without the stress of test and teachers, friends who turn out to be snakes in the grass, and cold bleachers after a lost football game... I am without a crutch to fall back on when times get rough. I hate summer because only then do I have to face the fact that only I can change my destination, my mindset, I must fight alone. I can't blame anyone else when wondering why no one will call me and just ask "Olivia, is everything alright?" I just have to smile though the pain and stuff my face. I hate summer is a synonym for I hate myself.

Now I'm entering the summer of my senior year and, I pray that this summer will bring about a renaissance in my thinking habits. That I no longer see this ugly monster called anxiety, but the me that use to run outside and play even though summer brought with it pollen allergies. I want to be free, I don't want to grow up, I'm scared, I'm scared... Oh no, summer's already here.

I hate summer* with a passion, because I've learned to dread what comes after and, if you read between the lines and at the fine print... what I'm really saying is that I'm scared about my future. Like most angst ridden, drama starting, lazy bums called teenagers I hang with, summer comes with that pariah of thought, that we can't seem to shake.
<><><>
Flaming Embers
Prologue: The Sands of Time Stood Still
In the year 2087, humanity has been pushed to the brink. Hilary must uncover the truth behind the lies. Else face the flames alone...


"Death is inevitable; life is a long sequence of longing and regret. . ." - The Council

It was dark outside and the moon hang like a hollow gem in the starless sky. All was quite aside from a restless shuffling below. Jeffery sat alone in his room and sighed, content for now. He was reading an old story full of sorrow and triumph and great terror... as an elderly women was assaulted below.

A horrible ticking noise seized the dim alleyway beneath his apartment building. Jeffery paused, peering down from his windowpane. The women in question was begging for her life.It was no use. Her assailant fired and she fell, leaving a pile of broken bones, bruised flesh and blood.

A shadow darted away from the scene of the murder. Jeffery turned the page in his book absently. It wasn't his concern after all, a curious cat would end up getting skinned alive on these mean streets in The City.

It was just another instance of "vigilante justice". The so called Time Keepers were going to straighten this city out.

Or so they said because, in his humble opinion, their brand of pay back was much more trouble than it was worth.

But, it got the job done and they offered little in payment required for their task. As long as the person deserved it, they'd be happy to eliminate the issue at hand.

Freedom isn't free, and now he was free from the women turned traitor he'd married some thirty odd years ago.

A cool breeze blew in and chilled his already aching bones. Jeffery turned towards his rundown doorway and stared. A message sealed in blood pinned there by a dagger had mysteriously appeared.

He got up and crossed the room in shuffling steps, taking the note down and opening it.

It read as follows:

"She's dead now, the deed is done. Just as you asked we made it appear to be a mugging. Inheritance to its rightful owner.

Payment in full will now be taken. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, one wayward soul for another.

Balance Due: Your life."

Jeffery smiled a twisted little smile and thank the invisible force that had saved him. Smoke as thick and as dark as the night sky began filling the room. Deafening screams rose across the small building as it was engulfed in flames.

. . .

The next day he was found clutching a picture of his dearly departed wife, their faces, all identifying markers, erased...
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [5/10]

#24 Post by Starshine »

Its a pretty interesting storys Hazel, are you going to make any into visuals?
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [5/10]

#25 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Thanks star. Hmm, the only ones I was seriously considering turning into VNs would be "Flaming Embers" & "The Traverler's Euology".

I might consider like a KN anthology of the shorter pieces ^^ though it'd be all CG and BG art lol
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [5/10]

#26 Post by Hazel-Bun »

One six-word stories, two drabble, and a (slightly) longer piece. Night y'all!
<><><>
People, They'll Close Their Ears

Perceived...

my pain,

based on complexion.
<><><>
Cold Feet
I get cold feet when I look into your eyes. They remind me of daisies because daisies are pretty like you.

When you come over and stay for a while, I'm so happy that I think I could cry.

I'd never tell them in person, but I like you more than Mommy and Daddy combined.

Today I decided to tell you all this. Today you brought over some guy named Mathis.

You told him you loved him but that must be a lie! You said that you loved me when you put me down for the night...

"Timmy? Where's Mathis?"
<><><>
Memorial Day Weekend
A car salesman looked out from his dealership, at the dreary sky and hesitant sun, that barely peeked through the thick morning clouds.

It was a slow day in a rather slow, small country town. People didn't care for the slashed prices nor the red, white, and blue decorations he'd so painstakingly put up.

They were barbecuing and mingling with relatives they didn't like. Everything but honoring the fallen.

War be damned, Recession be damned, they'd have fun at the expense of tradition... solider's memory forgotten.

Bob hobbled over to the door.

"Closed."

He went and visited his friend's grave.
<><><>
Watch Your Tone!
"Watch your tone!", my inner voice chides, my parents admonish, the whole world slyly implies.

Because, God forbid I ever show my true self, the depths of my emotions black and white and or gray. God forbid that I express myself rather than hold it all in...

"Watch your tone!", the little English teacher turned coach, on my right shoulder, shouts and I give in. If I want them to like me, whoever "they" they might be, then I have to sound and look and act like one of them.

If I want things to go smoothly that is. Well, maybe I'm a little rebellious by nature because I won't give in.

Perfection. A perfect lie. We're all just people in an imperfect world. Why must I conform to a standard so abstract it's almost nonexistent?

I'll act and speak and dress the way I want to, thank you very much! Atleast... I tell myself one day, someday soon.

Yeah, in the future, when I'm older, and not dependent on "their" rules.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [5/27]

#27 Post by Hazel-Bun »

A little drabble (just hit 50 on drablr yeah) and an excerpt form AtPF, the VN I'm working on. L = Lumeria, M= Melchior, and p= Patch. n is NVL mode and Melchior's thoughts, ? unknown.
<><><>
Thank You For Your Service


Vince scattered the tattered remains of his life on the river walk, everyday, for thirty odd years at the crack of dawn.

He was never fined for littering. In fact, a police officer simply watched him from above. His name was Angel and he was not his father's son...

Many faces, from countless places, sometimes picked up the one-hundred dollar bills he'd thrown down.

At night, Vince collected what reminded and burned it, scattering the ashes on the capitol's doorsteps.

On the thirty first day of the twelfth month, the anniversary of WWIII, he shot himself.

Hail Godless America!
<><><>
<><><>

Murder; Intent; Intentions

End of Act 1

<><><>

Act 2

Day 1: 2081
Complex 49, East of Paradigm City
Borderlands of the New Republic

<><><>
n "I am standing at the edge of a void, looking to the west. Soldiers are camped there, children really, with shaky palms armed with guns bigger than their heads."

n "Fire, a flare, a frenzy of motion, their bodies are now merely verbs in motion, running and kicking, shooting and clawing away from..."

n "What? Some unseen enemy lurks in the shadows. It is a beast that devours the marrow from the bones jutting out of open wounds."

n "Agony. They're crying out but there is no one left to tend to them."

n "A churning is beginning in the pit of my stomach and it makes me sick. Those children dressed up as soldiers at war are dying, and I cannot do anything for them."

? "Atta boy… atta boy… come here!"

n "A familiar face is before me. A young boy wearing a gas mask, with flesh eaten alive by invisible poison. He's smiling at me, I know, behind that mask so dreadful..."

n "And, that little boy is no more. He is consumed by the fires and burns into little more than ashes, scattered on the winds."

n "That little boy is dead."

n "He, a nameless innocent like all the others. The one I killed that day…"
~*~
p "Melchior? Melchior? Are ya okay!?"

m "Ahh…"

"Patch is shaking me quite roughly as I slowly come out of a nightmare. I hadn't seen it in a long time, hadn't dreamed much at all over the years."

"I fight the urge welling up inside me to just let go and drift back to sleep. It would be easier to do so but, easy solutions often prove to be the least effective in the end."

"Despite my urgent pleas, it, the fog that had consumed my mind and knocked me out, takes over again and my body won't respond to my command."

? "Pat, has he woken up yet?"

p "Not yet but, it looks like he's gonna soon."

? "Alright then, stay away from the windows and pull those curtains in once we get back. They say it's a raid, shootin' in the capitol by those fundamentalist lunatics!"

"I feel my body lifted into the surprisingly strong arms of a women. I don't know why I know it's a women, she doesn't have much of a… chest to speak of. But, I know somewhere deep down inside it is."

"Maybe it's the voice so sweet and dripping in venom all at once? Maybe I'm still dreaming... I don't know and can't summon the will to care."

? "Ups a daisy! Now come and... Pat! Grab his... yeah, that's it... move him. Bam!"

p "Man o'man, Mista yer heavier than ya look! Big Sis where we gonna put'em?"

"A hatch lifts and closes. My body is laid out on a mattress of sorts, lumpy and old, smelling of cheap booze."

"I must have been in the back of some sort of vehicle. If my theory is correct, Patch's Big Brother Ben and this... Big Sis must have some connections. Civilians don't just get their hands on them for free..."

"How else could they have dragged me clear across the desert by themselves…?"

? "They don't know what that black ash is made up of but, it killed a couple people last week-"

p "Killed!?"

? "Calm down! They think it made them sick is all. It's a good thing I showed up when I did… is this the flower man you've been yapping about for days?"

? "The one you don't want Ben knowing about?"

p "His name's Melchior! Mel as in-"

? "Ya, ya, ya. I'm not your teacher, Pat, you don't gotta sound it out for me."

p "Oh, okay. Wait, sssssh! I think he's waking up…!"

"When I open my eyes finally, pushing away the pain radiating throughout my entire body, I can't believe who's face is in front of me."

m "Genesis…!!?"

? "Genna who? What's he talking about Pat?"

p "I-It's his girlfriend."

? "Girlfriend?"

p "She's dead."

? "...Oh. W-Well damn. You think he's hallucinating- I mean seeing things? How much of that black stuff did he huff before I came?"

p "Not a whole lot! He started freakin out before that though, when the sirens went off."

? "Strange. Hey Melcherry or whatever your name is, WAKE UP!"

"She shakes me fairly roughly and I push away from her, staring into their bewildered faces."

m "..."

p "..."

? "..."

m ". . ."

p ". . ."

l ". . .This is awkward."

p "Tell me about it!"

m "Indeed."

l "Might as well get introductions outta the way I suppose... Hiya stranger! The name's Lumeria, and welcome to the gates of Paradise! We don't get to see the inside though."

l "Consider this purgatory, us your family from now on, it's a step up from hell and be glad we didn't leave you for dead out there in the wilderness to fend for yourself."
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [7/18]

#28 Post by Hazel-Bun »

Two more drabbles for the day!
<><><>
Fight or Flight
Tyler is singing a lullaby to the brand new baby girl. She whimpers, softly, nestled in her crib. Downstairs, there is screaming, as Mommy and Daddy lay in bed.

Or so young Tyler imagines but in reality, they're throwing lamps, punching walls, threatening each other with fists and words.

One letter has changed it all. The house is now up for sale. Daddy lost his job...

Mommy takes up the bottle and a lover, and their happy marriage falls apart.

A fairy dressed in cobwebs and rainbows knocks at the window.

Tyler takes his sister, and learns how to fly.
<><><>
The Fog Of War

She held my hand as the last barricade fell down. Purity and Chasity cried out, lambs for the slaughter that we chose to free.

Why must the animals die by human hands? They have been loyal, they do not deserve death.

Massacre veiled in fog...

My Mother was beside me and all around us were generation after generation of my ancestor's ghosts.

Drumbeats rose from the west. The sun sank low, only torches were left to illuminate the sky.

Tears poured from the faces of men and boys, as they marched out to confront Goliath in the form of WAR.
Last edited by Hazel-Bun on Thu Jan 29, 2015 1:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [10/15]

#29 Post by potouto »

Have a question here, when are you going to finish all your freaking games and ideas? Because I'm dying over here Bun, dying because you have no game's release. I love the Thank You For Your Service and The Fog Of War, I read them all but I can see improvements in your newest writing. You did a fantastic job, Liv.
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Re: Bun's Oven [Critique Welcomed] [10/15]

#30 Post by Starshine »

Josie wrote:Have a question here, when are you going to finish all your freaking games and ideas? Because I'm dying over here Bun, dying because you have no game's release. I love the Thank You For Your Service and The Fog Of War, I read them all but I can see improvements in your newest writing. You did a fantastic job, Liv.
I think it will take Hazel quite alot of time, she's most likely very busy in real life as are we all... but she is definitely onto something, with her talent she should write books, or become a journalist, trust me i played that "Pretty Flowers" game and it was "lush" meaning it was perfectly planned, and keeps you hooked 'n how. :)
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I'm not resting until I find
What would make your eyes
Glisten like mine
With loves divine!

Boo-Boo I couldn't aspire....to anything...
Higher...than to fill that one desire to make it
My own....Bop-Bop-a-Dop-Boop-Oop-a-Doop honey?

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