The Old Man and the Taker 1 by L-Clarke, literature
Literature
The Old Man and the Taker 1
In a forest, there is a tree with a door in its side. It is a small, red door with a golden knob. Should you open this small, red door, you would discover a cramped, dark cottage. In this cottage, there is a pot belly stove, a water basin, a small cot, a small fireplace with a tall pile of wood beside it, two paintings on the wall — both of boats –and a small dining table with only one chair.
These items, as well as this cottage with a small red door, belong to a young man who has no children, nor a wife. He would like such companionship, and will wish for it until the day he dies, but instead he has but a small dog with brown s
Elois was the most beautiful girl Lawrence had ever seen. And he saw her very often indeed: behind his eye lids when he slept, out the window of his small bedroom every morning. If he could finish his chores in time, he’d even see her on his morning walk to school. He was in his final year, three ahead of her, and their classrooms were all the way down the hall from each other. Yes, it was only that one hall, those five rooms on either side, but still. He had to close his eyes to see her again until class ended. Even then, he couldn’t always walk home with her, or anywhere near her, or she’d take notice. And so would all the
Kingdomia’s name does it far too much justice. One expects a giant city filled with people and knights and kings and queens. In actuality, most knights live far up on the mountain base; very few are seen around town.
Tayal and humanoid litter Kingdomia. They live in cream-bricked or log long houses, a couple to several families taking up one establishment. The trees have been spruced up with magic to look beautiful, with multi-coloured leaves and glowing flowers on each branch. It’s renowned for the soft pink road that covers the entirety of the paving within the white-and-black-bricked, three-storey-high walls of the city. And th
In the spring the children run through the forest.
They fly like birds
Through meadows and over rivers.
They catch fish with their bare hands,
And huddle for warmth at night.
They know nothing of our world
And though you search for their world
You trip and stumble through the forest
And get lost in the night.
Hide, frightened, like a flightless bird,
And crawl on knees and hands.
You drown in the rivers.
The children pull your body from the rivers.
Your eyes reopen and you've found their world.
You accept food from their muddy hands.
Your world becomes one with their forest.
They teach you to catch squirrels and birds.
Your body blends in w
Dear Modern Music: A Break-Up Letter by L-Clarke, literature
Literature
Dear Modern Music: A Break-Up Letter
Dear modern music:
It’s not you, it’s me. I mean, I’m just not into what you’re into. For a while I thought you were kind of intriguing. I couldn’t understand much of what you said, and I suppose I found it mysterious. Then I found out you’re all about exploiting women and doing drugs and the gangs you were never actually in. Yeah. That was a bit of a shock. I guess you’re just not the type of music I had originally thought you were.
While you were at clubs, playing for teenage girls who think too highly of themselves, I found a new genre. I’ve been listening to this really interesting, artsy
She couldn’t understand it. She knew she was dying, but how could that be? Master had always shown her such love and kindness; he was a gentle and loving man. Could he possibly have sent her to her death?
It certainly seemed that way. Blondi felt dizzy and her paws tingled. She was a full-grown German shepherd: tall, lean and strong, but whatever Master had given her was quickly taking effect.
She whined and made her uneven way over to Master. She stared into his eyes. They looked as though they were leaking as he placed a strong hand between her ears and patted her head.
Surely he had not meant to kill her. After
Psychiatrist: So, let’s get started. I just want you to come out and say what’s bothering you the most. What would you like to say? Who would like to go f—
Rufus: I shall go first. Lionel here refuses to let me rule the world. He keeps foiling my plans to murder the royal family.
Psychiatrist: Lionel? I don’t seem to have anything on him… let’s talk about each other.
Truman: Yes… well, ma’am, if I could just take you aside for one moment… Yes. Hi. I’m Truman. I told Rufus… actually the entire kingdom I live in… that I am the world’s beloved gallant knight, S
David woke up.
It was Tuesday, so David had to wake up.
David brushed his teeth.
David emptied his bladder.
Davis played with his hair and decided it was greasy. But David did nothing about it.
Hank's Burger Bar, David's shirt told the world in unappealing teal and forest green.
With grunts aimed at no one and nothing David meandered about his house; its filth, it's dust, its possib;e mold, considering eating, considering washing his face, considering mentioning a small pay raise to his boss, and considering human cowardice, wondering why it had chosen to grab him by the balls.
He fed his cat Tweety. On all panes of existance, David was a dum
Just forty more hours. I tell myself that a lot.
I’ve dealt with a lot of morons throughout my seventeen years of life. Most human beings, actually. I think I’m about to reach my breaking point though. Four years of near-perfect grades (save, of course, for ninth grade PE) and I’m somehow still not exempt from doing volunteer hours. I don’t really see why someone like me has to do volunteer hours to graduate high school. People who learn and think the way I do don’t need conventional jobs; we get through university on scholarships and get high-paying jobs where we never need to learn how to socialize.
&
The Old Man and the Taker 1 by L-Clarke, literature
Literature
The Old Man and the Taker 1
In a forest, there is a tree with a door in its side. It is a small, red door with a golden knob. Should you open this small, red door, you would discover a cramped, dark cottage. In this cottage, there is a pot belly stove, a water basin, a small cot, a small fireplace with a tall pile of wood beside it, two paintings on the wall — both of boats –and a small dining table with only one chair.
These items, as well as this cottage with a small red door, belong to a young man who has no children, nor a wife. He would like such companionship, and will wish for it until the day he dies, but instead he has but a small dog with brown s
Elois was the most beautiful girl Lawrence had ever seen. And he saw her very often indeed: behind his eye lids when he slept, out the window of his small bedroom every morning. If he could finish his chores in time, he’d even see her on his morning walk to school. He was in his final year, three ahead of her, and their classrooms were all the way down the hall from each other. Yes, it was only that one hall, those five rooms on either side, but still. He had to close his eyes to see her again until class ended. Even then, he couldn’t always walk home with her, or anywhere near her, or she’d take notice. And so would all the
Kingdomia’s name does it far too much justice. One expects a giant city filled with people and knights and kings and queens. In actuality, most knights live far up on the mountain base; very few are seen around town.
Tayal and humanoid litter Kingdomia. They live in cream-bricked or log long houses, a couple to several families taking up one establishment. The trees have been spruced up with magic to look beautiful, with multi-coloured leaves and glowing flowers on each branch. It’s renowned for the soft pink road that covers the entirety of the paving within the white-and-black-bricked, three-storey-high walls of the city. And th
In the spring the children run through the forest.
They fly like birds
Through meadows and over rivers.
They catch fish with their bare hands,
And huddle for warmth at night.
They know nothing of our world
And though you search for their world
You trip and stumble through the forest
And get lost in the night.
Hide, frightened, like a flightless bird,
And crawl on knees and hands.
You drown in the rivers.
The children pull your body from the rivers.
Your eyes reopen and you've found their world.
You accept food from their muddy hands.
Your world becomes one with their forest.
They teach you to catch squirrels and birds.
Your body blends in w
Dear Modern Music: A Break-Up Letter by L-Clarke, literature
Literature
Dear Modern Music: A Break-Up Letter
Dear modern music:
It’s not you, it’s me. I mean, I’m just not into what you’re into. For a while I thought you were kind of intriguing. I couldn’t understand much of what you said, and I suppose I found it mysterious. Then I found out you’re all about exploiting women and doing drugs and the gangs you were never actually in. Yeah. That was a bit of a shock. I guess you’re just not the type of music I had originally thought you were.
While you were at clubs, playing for teenage girls who think too highly of themselves, I found a new genre. I’ve been listening to this really interesting, artsy
She couldn’t understand it. She knew she was dying, but how could that be? Master had always shown her such love and kindness; he was a gentle and loving man. Could he possibly have sent her to her death?
It certainly seemed that way. Blondi felt dizzy and her paws tingled. She was a full-grown German shepherd: tall, lean and strong, but whatever Master had given her was quickly taking effect.
She whined and made her uneven way over to Master. She stared into his eyes. They looked as though they were leaking as he placed a strong hand between her ears and patted her head.
Surely he had not meant to kill her. After
Psychiatrist: So, let’s get started. I just want you to come out and say what’s bothering you the most. What would you like to say? Who would like to go f—
Rufus: I shall go first. Lionel here refuses to let me rule the world. He keeps foiling my plans to murder the royal family.
Psychiatrist: Lionel? I don’t seem to have anything on him… let’s talk about each other.
Truman: Yes… well, ma’am, if I could just take you aside for one moment… Yes. Hi. I’m Truman. I told Rufus… actually the entire kingdom I live in… that I am the world’s beloved gallant knight, S
David woke up.
It was Tuesday, so David had to wake up.
David brushed his teeth.
David emptied his bladder.
Davis played with his hair and decided it was greasy. But David did nothing about it.
Hank's Burger Bar, David's shirt told the world in unappealing teal and forest green.
With grunts aimed at no one and nothing David meandered about his house; its filth, it's dust, its possib;e mold, considering eating, considering washing his face, considering mentioning a small pay raise to his boss, and considering human cowardice, wondering why it had chosen to grab him by the balls.
He fed his cat Tweety. On all panes of existance, David was a dum
Just forty more hours. I tell myself that a lot.
I’ve dealt with a lot of morons throughout my seventeen years of life. Most human beings, actually. I think I’m about to reach my breaking point though. Four years of near-perfect grades (save, of course, for ninth grade PE) and I’m somehow still not exempt from doing volunteer hours. I don’t really see why someone like me has to do volunteer hours to graduate high school. People who learn and think the way I do don’t need conventional jobs; we get through university on scholarships and get high-paying jobs where we never need to learn how to socialize.
&
I'm here to write! And favourite cool pictures and drawings. :P I'll be posting short stories and scenes weekly-ish, and I'll eventually do commissions and contests. This is all practice and experience for hopefully getting published some day. WOULDN'T THAT BE SWELL?!??!
Oh, yeah. I love to draw but I'm terrible at it. I won't make the internet suffer that. I'll keep to written art on here, most likely.
Favourite Writers
Hunter S. Thompson, Neil Gaiman, George R R Martin
I remember when summer actually got to be a vacation. Now, it provides extra hours for work, and less time to write. I had to take a small hiatus from my story, and it was killing me! But now, Truman's back every Friday (including today!).
The new chapter is here: http://my.w.tt/UiNb/0Rzbdum0ww
Every couple of years, I remember I have this account.
With my book up and running (right here, just sayin': http://my.w.tt/UiNb/0jZILRWjlt), I'm hoping to have this page for art and little teasers of what's to come, though. So if you love fantasy/comedies about drunks, look no further! Well, other than clicking on that link, of course.
I forgot about my DeviantArt account. I'll start posting my stuff here, too, and joining communities and such.
My WordPress: http://lindsaypclarke.wordpress.com/