Post by Rolo on Sept 19, 2009 19:15:42 GMT -5
Sooo... I got set homework to write a page of gothic writing... on anything I wanted and any style I wanted XD Of course, I used this as an opportunity to write a load of cliche'd plotless mood-filled writing... because plots are overrated and I was going for classic gothic XD And since none of you know how I write, I decided to upload it ;P So... enjoy... if it's possible XD
The sky erupted with a threatening roar, flashes of light flickering across the ominous clouds. The sky was hidden behind a dark curtain of grey, almost black, clouds, making the dusk into a moonless night. The hills were plunged into a thick gloom, so thick that even the lightning did not seem to provide sufficient light in the stormy evening. Heavy rain made visibility next to none; the air so disturbed by the heavy droplets that even it seemed even it was lost in the storm. It was not a night to challenge, for fighting against it was sure to terrorize your mind and put bitterness in your heart. In such weather, you may not just lose your idea of place, but your very soul as well.
Yet, in this destructive atmosphere, one stood in a weak strength. Trembling with cold, a form stood firmly on the sodden ground, his eyes upon a square of black earth. He was motionless, hair glued to his scalp, the rain running down him in rivulets. His clothes were not at all suited to the weather, they were thin and provided no protection from the rain.
The storm disturbed him and calmed him. Though the elements tried to shake him, to make him lose his sanity and resolve, it also soothed him and brought him happiness. The sky felt the same as he. It wanted to scream, to howl, to destroy. Just like him, it wanted to rip the world apart.
But he, though not unlike the wrathful weather, was not a storm. No, he lacked the passion and the unrelenting rage to be a storm. Beneath his fury was another emotion, and it was this emotion that made him weep.
As another mighty boom rippled through the sky, slowly the boy’s composure dissolved into pitiful trembling. Not much time passed before his entire body was wracked with sobs, his tears mixing with the sky’s own. He was an image of complete contradiction, his youthful form sure but pathetic, emotional yet calm. Tears flowed freely down his face, yet his face showed no signs of torment.
After some time, he became serene again, his outburst fading in but a second. He looked down at the ground in contempt. It was not right that the earth separated him and his love so selfishly. The world had taken her from him, taken her to the dark depths of the soil where he could not touch her. He would not allow it, he would get her back.
He drove his shovel into the freshly turned ground, the earth soft and muddy beneath his feet. He tried vainly to tilt the shovel, driving a scoop full of muck upwards out of the grave, but the earth was sticky. It would not budge. His unpracticed body had to be at fault, his heart was surely strong enough. It was wrong that fate disallowed him to touch his love due to something as pitiful as lack of physical strength.
The naïve boy gave a cry of anguish and pain into the howling wind. How cruel this earth was! How he hated! A fierce anger struck him as he tried the handle again, pushing it downwards with all his might. If his body lacked the skill, his resolve
Mockingly, the shovel shifted but a few centimetres before he felt the wood in his hands give way. With a silent crack, the handle snapped tauntingly in his hands. He was struck dumb for a moment before his brow furrowed and he took up a screaming. He howled. The noise was not unlike that of a child’s tantrum, and his actions did nothing to hinder the diagnosis that that was what it was. He stamped at the mud with his feet, rage making every footstep heavy with malice. He cursed the world, muttering hatred into the wind.
Yet, his anger was soon spent for it was the short lived kind, it had done nothing to expel his emotion and made him yet more distressed. A deeper sadness took over the wails, one that had less visibility but was much more passionate.
He wept again, dropping to his knees. He tried to move the soil by hand, movements flailing and desperate with no apparent method. He worked sorrowfully but passionately, a mute determination shown in his thrashing form. However, the soil was much too wet for him to be able to grasp onto any amount of it, it tauntingly slipped through his fingers. He could not shovel it out with his palms; the rain would cause the soil to fall back in as quickly as it was removed. It was a hopeless task and it would sorrow one to see such a figure so fraught with extreme anxiety whilst trying to complete it.
His efforts were unproductive and his floundering slowed, though he persisted for much to long. However, instead of screeching in fury again, this time he let himself fall to the ground. Lying atop the grave, he allowed the mud to sink into his clothes. The earth had beaten him, he was defeated.
He lay there for some moments, silent and as pale as death. It would not be surprising if a passerby believed that he was meant to be in the grave himself. The only signs of life he gave were the hushed tears that rolled unrelentingly down his face, falling to the ground and mixing with the rain.
However, as he resigned himself to rest there that evening, a sound made him alert. He sprang up from where he lay, his eyes wide. His face had suddenly taken on a look of gladness, a feeling of pure bliss that his entire form seemed to radiate an immense happiness.
He uttered one word, the word he had believed he would only mutter in mourning and sorrow for the rest of his life.
Before him stood a ghostly figure. Seemingly restful in death, a look of radiance and innocent prettiness softened her child-like features. She glowed softly, a smile upon her face. It looked as if she had been frozen in the middle of a childish giggle, as if she was laughing at the fraught boy sat upon her grave.
The boy shouted in delight, striving towards her. He ran full pelt, beaming. However, when he reached out to touch the thing he wanted most, the figure left him. It left him standing there, confused, distraught, burdened again.
It was then he knew that there was no hope. She was gone, he was cursed by her memory. She was gone.
XD Does anyone else find it funny that my teacher thought the dude was a werewolf?
Teacher: I found it atmospheric. Like... REALLY atmospheric. And very Wuthering Heights. I also put down werewolf.
Me: *blank look, tries not to laugh*
Teacher: Uh... well... he was just werewolfy, I thought... yeah.
The sky erupted with a threatening roar, flashes of light flickering across the ominous clouds. The sky was hidden behind a dark curtain of grey, almost black, clouds, making the dusk into a moonless night. The hills were plunged into a thick gloom, so thick that even the lightning did not seem to provide sufficient light in the stormy evening. Heavy rain made visibility next to none; the air so disturbed by the heavy droplets that even it seemed even it was lost in the storm. It was not a night to challenge, for fighting against it was sure to terrorize your mind and put bitterness in your heart. In such weather, you may not just lose your idea of place, but your very soul as well.
Yet, in this destructive atmosphere, one stood in a weak strength. Trembling with cold, a form stood firmly on the sodden ground, his eyes upon a square of black earth. He was motionless, hair glued to his scalp, the rain running down him in rivulets. His clothes were not at all suited to the weather, they were thin and provided no protection from the rain.
The storm disturbed him and calmed him. Though the elements tried to shake him, to make him lose his sanity and resolve, it also soothed him and brought him happiness. The sky felt the same as he. It wanted to scream, to howl, to destroy. Just like him, it wanted to rip the world apart.
But he, though not unlike the wrathful weather, was not a storm. No, he lacked the passion and the unrelenting rage to be a storm. Beneath his fury was another emotion, and it was this emotion that made him weep.
As another mighty boom rippled through the sky, slowly the boy’s composure dissolved into pitiful trembling. Not much time passed before his entire body was wracked with sobs, his tears mixing with the sky’s own. He was an image of complete contradiction, his youthful form sure but pathetic, emotional yet calm. Tears flowed freely down his face, yet his face showed no signs of torment.
After some time, he became serene again, his outburst fading in but a second. He looked down at the ground in contempt. It was not right that the earth separated him and his love so selfishly. The world had taken her from him, taken her to the dark depths of the soil where he could not touch her. He would not allow it, he would get her back.
He drove his shovel into the freshly turned ground, the earth soft and muddy beneath his feet. He tried vainly to tilt the shovel, driving a scoop full of muck upwards out of the grave, but the earth was sticky. It would not budge. His unpracticed body had to be at fault, his heart was surely strong enough. It was wrong that fate disallowed him to touch his love due to something as pitiful as lack of physical strength.
The naïve boy gave a cry of anguish and pain into the howling wind. How cruel this earth was! How he hated! A fierce anger struck him as he tried the handle again, pushing it downwards with all his might. If his body lacked the skill, his resolve
Mockingly, the shovel shifted but a few centimetres before he felt the wood in his hands give way. With a silent crack, the handle snapped tauntingly in his hands. He was struck dumb for a moment before his brow furrowed and he took up a screaming. He howled. The noise was not unlike that of a child’s tantrum, and his actions did nothing to hinder the diagnosis that that was what it was. He stamped at the mud with his feet, rage making every footstep heavy with malice. He cursed the world, muttering hatred into the wind.
Yet, his anger was soon spent for it was the short lived kind, it had done nothing to expel his emotion and made him yet more distressed. A deeper sadness took over the wails, one that had less visibility but was much more passionate.
He wept again, dropping to his knees. He tried to move the soil by hand, movements flailing and desperate with no apparent method. He worked sorrowfully but passionately, a mute determination shown in his thrashing form. However, the soil was much too wet for him to be able to grasp onto any amount of it, it tauntingly slipped through his fingers. He could not shovel it out with his palms; the rain would cause the soil to fall back in as quickly as it was removed. It was a hopeless task and it would sorrow one to see such a figure so fraught with extreme anxiety whilst trying to complete it.
His efforts were unproductive and his floundering slowed, though he persisted for much to long. However, instead of screeching in fury again, this time he let himself fall to the ground. Lying atop the grave, he allowed the mud to sink into his clothes. The earth had beaten him, he was defeated.
He lay there for some moments, silent and as pale as death. It would not be surprising if a passerby believed that he was meant to be in the grave himself. The only signs of life he gave were the hushed tears that rolled unrelentingly down his face, falling to the ground and mixing with the rain.
However, as he resigned himself to rest there that evening, a sound made him alert. He sprang up from where he lay, his eyes wide. His face had suddenly taken on a look of gladness, a feeling of pure bliss that his entire form seemed to radiate an immense happiness.
He uttered one word, the word he had believed he would only mutter in mourning and sorrow for the rest of his life.
Before him stood a ghostly figure. Seemingly restful in death, a look of radiance and innocent prettiness softened her child-like features. She glowed softly, a smile upon her face. It looked as if she had been frozen in the middle of a childish giggle, as if she was laughing at the fraught boy sat upon her grave.
The boy shouted in delight, striving towards her. He ran full pelt, beaming. However, when he reached out to touch the thing he wanted most, the figure left him. It left him standing there, confused, distraught, burdened again.
It was then he knew that there was no hope. She was gone, he was cursed by her memory. She was gone.
XD Does anyone else find it funny that my teacher thought the dude was a werewolf?
Teacher: I found it atmospheric. Like... REALLY atmospheric. And very Wuthering Heights. I also put down werewolf.
Me: *blank look, tries not to laugh*
Teacher: Uh... well... he was just werewolfy, I thought... yeah.
We have a cbox again and we're opening the place up as a closed, members only rp