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Makura        Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| Chapter 1
Epiphany #100: The Tree Loves Me It’s cold, but it doesn’t bother me much. I’d say it’s somewhere around three a.m. and I’m standing outside, feeling the night’s wind caress my flesh. The backyard is dark. It is so dark that I have to lick my lips and rub my fingertips together to make sure I still exist. My mother, father, and younger sister are asleep in our average suburban home. I stare at it, which is pointless because I can’t make out any of its details, but I know them in my head. I stare and I can identify its white stucco and pale blue trim even though the physical evidence is hidden. Even though everything is just black. The details of my average suburban home are of no importance, but tonight in the three a.m. mist they seem very significant. The blades of grass in between my toes seem very significant. The flannel pajama pants that protect me from the chill night air seem significant. Though it is cold, tiny beads of sweat are collecting on my bare chest and in the crevice of my spine. The wind shifts slightly. On any other night I wouldn’t notice, but it sends a tidal wave of goose bumps over my body. The backyard isn’t very big. Tonight it is my world. Tonight the most significant things in this backyard are the massive tree in the corner, the chair that rests beside me, and the length of phone cord I have in my right hand. I do not think to acknowledge myself or anything else in the world. Tonight my world is: tree, chair, and cord. I approach the tree the way I’d approach a priest, with caution and respect, dragging the chair with my left hand, and the cord held tightly in my right. Once I reach the tree, I let the chair rest at my side and slowly wrap my arms around the tree, embracing it. The bark is rough against my skin because I am not wearing a shirt, and it scratches me as I hold the tree close. I like it. I cannot fit my arms around the tree because it is too large and I like it. The tree is telling me it is in charge. It has authority over me, and I like it. With the tree still in my grip, I lift my head, resting my chin against the bark, and I look up at the branch that is about seven feet high. I close my eyes and exhale. A vision swims through my head. I am six years old; swinging from this very branch on a tire swing I made myself. I’d never been so proud. I can see myself sitting in the tire, swinging, letting the sun caress my face without a care in the world. The icy wind of three a.m. strikes again and I am blown out of my reverie. I let go of the tree and it scratches my skin. I still like it. The tree is in charge. I find a place in the soft dirt where the chair is not off balanced by the tree’s harsh roots. The chair sinks into the soft dirt as I step on to it. As I do, the wind and cold hit me harder than before. Up here on the chair I feel isolated. Everything is still. The branch is directly above my head I reach up and wrap my arms around it interlacing my fingers so that I can lift my feet and test if it will hold my weight. It’ll hold. I still have the phone cord and it is moist with sweat. I unravel it and the S-noose I tied earlier is revealed. The cord is thick and I wrap it several times around the branch, using up almost all of the excess length, when I’m through, I’m positive that it is sturdy enough to support my weight. I stand there for an hour. My makeshift noose swings. It’s nearly dawn. Birds are already chirping the songs of eye opening. I do not have much time. All I have to do is step forward place my head through the noose and tip the chair with my foot. I curl my toes around the edge of the chair. The angle hurts my foot. The simple wooden kitchen chair is my base, my core. I slip the noose around my neck and lean out over the air in front of me. The cord is slack around my neck. In a moment it will contract around my throat and cut off my air supply. I’m strangely comfortable with this thought. I don’t exactly hate the idea. My mind drifts to an unexpected place. It’s Christmas Eve, and my home is bursting with holiday spirit. A dozen relatives who I cannot, nor do I care to name are busily swarming around the various fruitcakes and holiday pies. The scents of coffee and hot chocolate are thick in the air like smoke that cannot be fanned away. The aroma is pleasant and sets the tone of the room. This memory is not significant to my mind at any other time, but I see the smiling faces and the joy-glazed eyes, and I realize these people whom I call family have absolutely no idea about the nature of my character. It would be different to say that they didn’t know me, because I have not displayed a false sense of being. I am myself around them. I have not lied to them. To them I am, Son, Cousin, Nephew, or Distant-Relative-Of-Some-Sort. They are the same to me. As far as my ambitions, hopes and dreams, these people have no idea who Arthur Raven Stille really is. I can see them vividly in my memory, staring at me. I know exactly what they see: Five foot ten, sandy blonde hair, pale green eyes, and a medium build. I know exactly what they know. Arthur: just graduated high school last year, doesn’t have to work, isn’t anything special, his parents take care of everything, always have. They’re right. The wind forces the cord to brush against my throat and a quiver is pushed down my spine. The edge of the chair has begun to rub the arch of my foot completely raw. I shift my weight and the sudden change knocks me slightly off balance. My foot slips roughly off the edge of the wooden surface and I’m suspended over nothing but air. The cord is tight around my neck and I can feel the air rush from my lungs. My mouth instantly goes dry and I manage a rough moan that comes from the depths of my being. I can feel my heart beat and batter against my rib cage. I’m sinking, and I believe its death creeping in on me. It turns out the phone cord is stretching from the stress of my weight. In the next instant it snaps and I feel myself fall. My back smacks into the wooden kitchen chair. The chair collapses into a broken wilt on impact and pieces of it fly in every which way. I can do nothing but lay there for a few moments gazing at my death. “Arthur…” My mother calls my name from the window of her bedroom. Whatever may or may not follow my name is drowned out by desperate laughter. * * * * * * As Arthur finished the narrative account of what he’d promised himself to be his last Epiphany he came to notice that he was getting way ahead of himself. As he reread the passage he wondered why he’d only written about this one. He immediately new that remembering and writing the first ninety-nine Epiphanies would help cure what he’d learned to call his condition. He stepped away from his desk, exhausted from the night and early morning’s activities, and plopped onto his bed. He drifted in and out of sleep. He’d expected her to haunt his dreams, but he liked the memories of them together. Chapter 2 Her First Epiphany: Bandages Not more than ten miles away from Arthur and his memories, she awoke suddenly, only to find herself in a stark white hospital room. She felt her dry throat rasp with uneasy breath. Figuring where she was, was without a doubt, the easy part. Who she was, was more confusing, and required an entirely different thought process. Somehow, the small room made her feel an overwhelming sense of isolation.. Perhaps it was not the room, but the experience itself. She had no recollection of who she was or how she came to be lying in that hospital bed. Once at terms with her lack of memory she examined herself. Each of her wrists was heavily bandaged. She could feel the stitches in the delicate skin, despite layer upon layer of tape and gauze. As she examined each well-wrapped wound, she imagined the tender skin and how painful it must have been. It was a memory she was relieved that she could not recall. Her mouth began to return to its normal state. Saliva naturally coated the inside of her mouth and throat. She swallowed as it built up. With the movement of her delicate throat muscles, came a sharp blinding pain. She put her hands to her throat only to feel another tightly wrapped bandage. Her eyes widened. She reached for the call button frantically. After a few minutes when a nearby nurse finally trickled in, she could not speak coherently. She recklessly grabbed at the nurse. Even though she could not say it, she wished to demand knowledge of what had happened. In between the hysteria, she saw the needle and within seconds she was in a deep sleep. The sleep was so deep that the dream played out uninterrupted. She did not realize she was asleep. Vivid clips and images played out right before her eyes. The day was one of the last truly good memories she had experienced. If anything was going to haunt her dreams she was glad it was this. * * * * * * She sat outside the busy urbanite filled coffee shop. Oversized headphones blocked out the rest of civilization. She poked her cigarette-butt through the tiny metal holes of the small cast-iron table. Those tiny holes always fascinated her. She remembered when she was only five. Her pinky finger had gotten stuck in a table just like the one that she sat at now. Now when she tried to shove her pinky through the holes just the tip fit through. She shook off the reverie and sipped her ice-blended caffeine substance. She felt someone brush past her and as he did he knocked over a stack of CDs that sat on the table. She thought nothing of it. The man simply picked them up and set them back on the table. She didn’t budge and not a word was spoken. But her eyes followed him through the coffee shop. The glance he paid her was so quick that she would’ve missed it herself if something about him hadn’t intrigued her. His hair looked freshly dyed, a deep jet-black, and his lip was pierced and still discolored from the healing wound. She tongued her own healing lip ring. By the time she looked back his eyes had averted. She’d lost him in the crowd and only saw him again when he made it to the front of the line. As he paid with a shiny credit card she noticed a few tiny red scratches on his arm. “Look at me…” she thought, so intently that she was certain he’d be willed by her mind’s energy. Then, she thought of what he’d see. She was not very tall; 5’6” at the most with a very slim frame, maybe 110lbs. Her jeans hung just a little off her slender waist and they ran down tucked into black calve-high leather boots. Her form fitting black tank top made her look too thin and the long sandy blonde hair that hung down to her elbows was the only thing protecting her shoulders. The soft features of her face were only made softer by her hazel colored eyes. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize the man was at her side again. She looked up to see his lips moving, but still heard the heavy metal vocals that boomed in her headphones. She pulled them off of her head and in a semi-startled tone that was louder than necessary she shouted, “What?” The man took half a step back and repeated himself. “Do you have a light?” She flipped out a charcoal colored Zippo; still startled by the fact he was talking to her. He wore all black, but the clothes hung off of his frame. They didn’t make him look underweight, but very lean. “Sorry about knocking your CDs over,” he said as he blew out a stream of smoke. She merely nodded. “Can I sit?” He motioned towards the chair with the cigarette dangling loosely in his lips. She shrugged mildly. “It’s a free country,” she replied, a bit surly. He could tell that her guard was up, but he couldn’t hide the gentle smirk that swept its way over his face. Once he looked away, her lips formed a smirk of her own. * * * * * * Chapter 3 Epiphany #1: The Long Story Arthur frequently enjoyed the memory of meeting the girl. They had spent hours at the coffee shop talking about things he hadn’t told people he’d known for years. She made him feel comfortable. He marveled at how beautiful she was; he knew she didn’t know it. When she caught him gawking at her, she spoke with exasperation. “What’re you staring at?” Her tone startled him. “I’m not staring.” That was such a lie. He shifted in his seat. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.” He wished that was a lie, but the truth was that he was afraid to ask. She tilted her head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “My name is Angela.” She turned to look him in the eye again. “What about you?” He looked away slightly trying to avoid her gaze. “Arthur.” |
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Pockets Werewolf pockets Since: 10-20-04 Since last post: 5093 days Last activity: 4610 days |
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| Cool. I like it. Very good, kinda draws you in.
One question. Why Angela? |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable  Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
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| Wow, very good with the imagery... though I think that in the first part it would do better to indicate the gender a bit sooner. The title's funny by the way, how did you come up with that? | |||
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| I picked Angela because there is a play on the name I was trying to think of something with the initials ART and Angela Raven came to mind. I'll only use it if I have your permission.
I also changed the first part from average home to million dollar home because he is much wealthier than I was originally planning. |
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Pockets Werewolf pockets Since: 10-20-04 Since last post: 5093 days Last activity: 4610 days |
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| By all means. You can use the name I don't mind. I was just wondering why you'd
thought of that. You're shaping up to be an exceptional writer. I'm very proud of you, I hope you know. |
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| I don't know about being exceptional, but I like what I write and that's all that matters.
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
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| Indeed... now, speaking of that.... when are we getting our next installment? | |||
Savedox Berserker You put a bullet in my head, Till black turns to red! This could all end in tragedy!  Since: 08-20-04 From: Read \"Real Name\" Since last post: 4546 days Last activity: 1635 days |
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Originally posted by Elara I agree.. I am interested about what will happen next |
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| It isn't much, but I re-wrote Chapter 3..
Chapter 3 Arthur frequently enjoyed the memory of meeting the girl. They spent hours at the coffee shop talking about things he hadn’t told people he’d known for years. She made him feel comfortable. He marveled at how beautiful she was; he knew she didn’t know it. When she caught him gawking at her, she spoke with exasperation. “What’re you staring at?” Her tone startled him. “I’m not staring.” That was such a lie. He shifted in his seat and hesitated for a moment. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.” He wished it were a lie, but the truth was that he was afraid to ask. She tilted her head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you have to know my name?” As unusual as the question was, Arthur new she was serious. “Well…” The fact was, he couldn’t think of a real reason. “I guess I don’t have to know your name.” She sat up in her seat, now reassured, and spoke just to kill the awkward silence. “I mean… aren’t things better without names?” He shifted once again, uncomfortably. “Well… I have to know your name. That’s the only reason I approached you.” He cringed after realizing what he had said. It was at that point that Arthur new he had to tell her about his sickness. Throughout the time it took for him to gather his thoughts the girl merely sat with her knees to her chest, obviously confused. (Last edited by Makura on 05-05-06 02:02 AM) |
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
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| Interesting... so is that all of chapter 3 or is there more? I like the increased info about Arthur. Could be a bit more detail of the setting, but otherwise it's good... focused on the characters. | |||
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| It's the same setting as in chapter two, it just shifts perspective. That isn't all...I'm just sort of stuck, but I have an idea of how i'm going to get passed it. | |||
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Pockets Werewolf pockets Since: 10-20-04 Since last post: 5093 days Last activity: 4610 days |
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| Are you still planning on using Angela, or are you thinking of going with the
original idea? |
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| I'm going with your originaly ideas but her name is still going to be Angela just much furthur down the line in the story. I know what I'm going to write to get myself unstuck I just haven't written it yet. | |||
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
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| Well, write damn you... how goes the unsticking process. | |||
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Makura Since: 01-22-05 From: The restaurant at the end of the universe.... Since last post: 5889 days Last activity: 5154 days |
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| This can be closed. I'm re-writing completely. If anyone is dying to read...my e-mail is sl.hoagland@yahoo.com | |||
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Elara Divine Mamkute Dark Elf Goddess Chaos Imp Penguins Fan Ms. Invisable Since: 08-15-04 From: Ferelden Since last post: 102 days Last activity: 102 days |
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| I am... you have my email.
But yes, as requested *does the close* |
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