Dead Man's View ~2

Short story part 2~

     Dead Man contemplated as he walked down the road.  Having lost his shadow soon after he woke up in this world, the creatures of the eternal night didn't bother to attack him, giving him nothing to worry about as he strolled down the Black Road.
     The only problem was time.
     Without any light or sun rise, there is no way to accurately measure time in the Shadow lands.  After every sixty steps DM would have to take a swig from his drink.  Around the tenth drink he would have to change out the bottle where his stomach used to be and start drinking from that bottle.  After having done this for so many years of his 'life', he did this without much though.
     His thoughts dealt with a single image.  A face and body.  Something from a far dream...
     Minutes pass, and then hours.  How many passed are unknown since DM didn't count.
     The thought had to be kept.    

     After canyons and petrified trees, DM finally reach the doors to his large mansion made from rock and brick.  He pushed through and walked by his paintings, shelves of bottles, and continued down towards forge.  The fire in the forge still had some heat from days ago and he threw in some logs to start it up again.  After pumping the bellows to where he wanted the heat to be, he grabbed a cupful of broken glass he kept nearby in a pot and dropped them in a metal pot.
     Time passed.  Only the image was within his grasp.  Just heat the glass more in this area...
     Then it was done.
     The glass cooled and figure was finished.  Once again it was a female figure dancing.  The face was smoothed out just like the rest, but the pose was different than the others he had done.  He placed it to the side and looked at it for a bit.
     Why did he do these glass sculptures?  Maybe a hobby at first, but was there a reason?  He didn't understand either.  Just dreams within the darkness of...
     How long did he take a drink?  Where was his bottle!?
     He started rushed to the other side where he placed the figure but he started to slow down.  He looked at the tools he was using for the familiar shape of the glass bottle and found it next to the corner.  As he grabbed the bottle, he could feel parts of him slowing to a stop.  He lifted the bottle to his teeth...
     And the cold took him again.   

     Time isn't real.  What passes in death?  And where does the dream begin or end?

     DM woke up again with an empty bottle.  Something was different.  Dust covered him and his surroundings.  Noises outside the forge were sounding threatening.  And there was the girl in front of him.  The girl looking at him with horror.  The girl with a familiar face...
     

“What are you doing in my house?”

 To be continued in part 3.

Dead Man's View ~1

Short Story time ~

     "Good fight again, Dead Man. At least you left some survivors this time..." The bookie gave away a bag of coins with a regretful look. "Please don't come back anytime soon."
     The bag barely fit into the mechanical hands of the Dead Man. Standing large with metal plates covering most of his body and having most of his organs destroyed by time, with only some bones and wires exposed to see, his face never registered anything the other person said... mostly because he didn't have any skin to make an expression... except for the fiery bluish optical devices inside the large white skull dimming.  DM pulled a bottle from his side and walked away without another word.
     With a swig of tar like wine, he walked away from the Wrath's Coliseum and down towards the center of town.  People saw him and quickly moved away to make sure they were not nearby him.  Some even screamed and fainted as he walked by.  Whispers rose up and talked of the myths that have been told of this Dead Man.  Of how he defeated Death and how he bows to no one...
    But DM was just walking back home and thinking of a project to work on.
    While smashing a warriors spine in the Coliseum, he was suddenly flashed with an idea of inspiration again.  A figure of pure art.  All he had to do was keep the memory fresh.
     He took a small swig from his bottle again.  He pushed back his want to just down the whole bottle this time for the slight chance that an overcharge from his water wheel may cause him to loose the thought.  Time was an issue.  How long was it going to be before he could make it to home?
     The Dead Man made it to the Black Road and left the city to begin his journey back.

Next part soon.  It's 3:15am.
  
      



  "Don`t do it. I know you aren`t like this. You gave up everything for a stupid idea and you lost it all before you could reach it. And you did it because of me. Or with me...  I know you can be kinda dumb sometimes, and you can be hard to follow. But I'll be there with you. You can surpass this. Be stronger than this. I'm here." Sophie

Writing things~

It's weird while writing that I am getting ideas for 2 different stories at the same time. 

On one side I'm working on a part where the Traveler is seeing the 4 main characters of G.  Having just met Guile (the brains and sniper of the group), I'm working on the meeting of Surive and Sara.  Surive (who is described by the Traveler as a large stone-like man in black with a large fresh looking scar across his face) is sharpening his scythe blade (which makes no sence to the Traveler because it is heavily rusted).  the Traveler looks at Surive and in a brief instance sees something else...  A mechanical version of Death adjusting his laser scythe... and then back to normal.
Sara is doing her morning exercises and praticing her elemental control...

On the other side, Scare is having his last cigarette while facing the Wild Witch and her Army of Shadows.  Nul and DM have fallen and he asks the Witch one last smoke before he dies.  Thinking that nothing else can stop her, she allows the time and talks to the patchwork  smoking man.
She asks why would an idiot die for Sophie?
His response?... Cause she has hope.

"You think this place is Hell? Have you read The Divine Comedy? In it, Dante travels through the three levels of the afterlife. The first is Hell, then Purgatory. There they are tortured horribly until they change their ways and `hopefully` after time be accepted into Heaven. I find that much worse than Hell, because they can hope for a slim chance into paradise. The Shadowlands are full of hope in all this despare. Now hope doesn't have to be a bad thing, but it's painful to have sometimes. Luckily for me, if in Hell or not, I don't mind pain so much."
~ Scare

Hope is for idiots... and Scare is a full on idiot.


So yeah...  back and forth, back and forth...  And wanting to paint and talk to some people... sigh... 
Sleep time.

Happy Valentines~

Going to be a busy day tomorrow.  But I got some pics done.  Have a good one.  :)

Return again

Been awhile since I have used this, since the fire in fact.  In time, I need to be able to write once a week on this again.  But for now, a simple message.

For a long time now, I've been trying to finish writing the story I've been calling Shadow Kings.  However, I've been stuck on the same spots for more than I wish. 

Here is the problem- Writing in first person is very easy for me, in fact it is the best way for me to write cause it's just like me talking.  But, for describing situations that are not present to the characters, it is difficult for me to write them.  

Shadow Kings can not be written first person.  

At least, that was the problem I thought I was having...

I've been reading from other writers that it could also be that I have a block from my first story.  The first story you have in your head is clouding all the other stories that you try to create.  With that in mind, I have at least 5 stories in my head.  Shadow Kings, Scarred, Wolf, Black Coffin, and my first story.
I wanted Shadow Kings to be my first completed one because it's the shortest by far.  

Scarred is going to be controversial and I don't feel like being attacked for it yet, 

Wolf can keep going till I tire from it but I need to do a ton of research and may need help with it, 

and Black Coffin can be from 4 to 12 books long. 
My first story though... doesn't have an ending.  If I start down that road now... I could be on it for a really long time.  Let me say it like this, I started on the story when I was 14.  It is now 13 years later and it can still grow. 
So... what is the point of me writing this?  

I need to go back to it.  

Be a character interacting with them so I can give them room to be free.

I need to write a short story about that world.

What’s most interesting about this is looking back at these characters.  I’ve upgraded them so much in there looks and started so long ago, that I almost forgot what they originally looked like.  But while flipping through notes and pages I have written though the years, I got the plot points down.

Now, I need to push through.  

Back to G.

A year has passed and it has pissed me off~

So, it has been over a year since I have been able to do anything.  Mostly its been because of helping one person and then trying to do all these things at once and being full time worker.
But now... Fuck it.

I need to get back into this.  I need, REALLY NEED, to get back to writing.

I've come up with some new ideas and been writing some small things, but it's time to get them out to the public...
BUT I STILL NEED TO FINISH THEM!  ARGH!!! 

Until then, lets add some pictures~

Hmm...

So... LONG delay just happened and so much stuff has happened.
My guest finally left last month, and she is now doing very well and back on her feet (and her kids are doing well too, thankfully).  Very busy at work, a new roommate added (Matt's girlfriend), and just constant delays with life.
...no thanks to Skyrim and Netflix, but still very busy!