So, just a few short days before the return to the drudgery of University life. Oh, how gratifying! My Summer is over in the blink of an eye once again! And what's more, I spent every minute of it in England. Not what I wished for, and not something I intend to repeat.
Got dragged to a gig in Brighton last night: Anberlin, Early November and the Starting Line. Anberlin were alright, but I didn't much care for the others, so I sat outside by the starlit sea and penned some more prose. It gets harder every time, but he's my most recent effort:
Mia strode sedately, a smile playing fleetingly around the edges of her mouth. She felt elated, empowered, ready to take on the world as she absent-mindedly twirled a leather pouch around her hand. And then suddenly, a man; his eyes wide as he glimpsed oblivion, blood streaming from a gaping wound in his chest. The blood filled Mia's vision, and she stumbled, coughing. Gone within a moment, the man's horrified expression nevertheless shook Mia to her core. Realization hit her like a wall: she had just killed a man, and this was not the first to have died by her hand in recent days. All the more terrifying to her was the fact that she had been revelling in it: it had exhilarated her. Why had these men deserved to die by her hand? She did not recall being wronged by either one, yet somehow she knew that the man called Ruskan could not be trusted. Maybe he would have harmed her: yes, she had acted in self defence surely? He was definitely going to do the same to her...
As if for the first time, she noticed that she held the man's belongings. Maybe if she searched through she could find a clue to the his identity, and secretly she thought, something to justify her actions and soothe her embroiled mind. The pouch did not hold much, yet she sensed that it contained all that the man held dear. Evidently that was little. There was a small amount of gold, which she tossed idly aside, various sets of knives and what she took to be lockpicks. But what sprung to her attention was a small locket. Her fingers trembled as she clicked it open: at it's heart was a picture, drawn in exquisite detail, of a man and a woman passionately embracing. The man she immediately recognised as the unfortunate Ruskan. Intrigued, she turned her attention to the woman: her hair was jet black and her skin pale and unspoilt....Mia's heart skipped a beat, and the locket slipped from her shaking hands, shattering on the cobbles at her feet. The woman staring into Ruskan's face was undoubtedly an image of herself. Not with her current lifeless eyes, but orbs of the deepest green. Mia felt leaden with shock. Could she have been this dishevelled man's lover? Why else did he hold a picture of her so close to him? And why did she feel so compelled to distrust him? Mia could not feel pity for the man she had just murdered in cold blood. There was something about the thought of him that twisted her insides with fear: knowing that he would not trouble her again made her somehow breathe easier.
Dusk was beginning to fall now, and regardless of the recent disquieting events, Mia knew that she had to make it to the Silver Crescent tavern by nightfall. Pausing to pick up her picture, she hurried away from the scene. Darkness soon claimed what was left of the daylight; bringing her some comfort, because at least in the semi-darkness no one would be able to see her eyes. It was not long before she reached the Silver Crescent: the building was plain and unwelcoming, the sign of a crescent moon hanging forlornly above her head. Mustering her confidence, Mia pushed upon the heavy wooden door, and was immediately assailed by a haze of smoke. To her relief, the place was dimly lit, meaning she could keep her eyes largely hidden behind her hair. Before the door was closed she felt all the eyes in the tavern turn to her, appraising her with barely hidden hostility. She glanced furtively all around, acutely aware of the attention she was receiving. Just beginnning to panic, Mia's eyes finally met those of a young man, sitting alone to her right. He stared back at her unnervingly, a crooked smile fixed upon his face, matching with his impish features.
He made a barely perceptible motion with his hand, and Mia walked gratefully to him, the gaze of the tavern's patrons leaving her as she approached him. Had she been paying more attention, she would have noticed the wide berth the man received from all in the tavern...
Might be subject to much editing, because I'm not entirely happy with it!
Comments welcome!
Got dragged to a gig in Brighton last night: Anberlin, Early November and the Starting Line. Anberlin were alright, but I didn't much care for the others, so I sat outside by the starlit sea and penned some more prose. It gets harder every time, but he's my most recent effort:
Mia strode sedately, a smile playing fleetingly around the edges of her mouth. She felt elated, empowered, ready to take on the world as she absent-mindedly twirled a leather pouch around her hand. And then suddenly, a man; his eyes wide as he glimpsed oblivion, blood streaming from a gaping wound in his chest. The blood filled Mia's vision, and she stumbled, coughing. Gone within a moment, the man's horrified expression nevertheless shook Mia to her core. Realization hit her like a wall: she had just killed a man, and this was not the first to have died by her hand in recent days. All the more terrifying to her was the fact that she had been revelling in it: it had exhilarated her. Why had these men deserved to die by her hand? She did not recall being wronged by either one, yet somehow she knew that the man called Ruskan could not be trusted. Maybe he would have harmed her: yes, she had acted in self defence surely? He was definitely going to do the same to her...
As if for the first time, she noticed that she held the man's belongings. Maybe if she searched through she could find a clue to the his identity, and secretly she thought, something to justify her actions and soothe her embroiled mind. The pouch did not hold much, yet she sensed that it contained all that the man held dear. Evidently that was little. There was a small amount of gold, which she tossed idly aside, various sets of knives and what she took to be lockpicks. But what sprung to her attention was a small locket. Her fingers trembled as she clicked it open: at it's heart was a picture, drawn in exquisite detail, of a man and a woman passionately embracing. The man she immediately recognised as the unfortunate Ruskan. Intrigued, she turned her attention to the woman: her hair was jet black and her skin pale and unspoilt....Mia's heart skipped a beat, and the locket slipped from her shaking hands, shattering on the cobbles at her feet. The woman staring into Ruskan's face was undoubtedly an image of herself. Not with her current lifeless eyes, but orbs of the deepest green. Mia felt leaden with shock. Could she have been this dishevelled man's lover? Why else did he hold a picture of her so close to him? And why did she feel so compelled to distrust him? Mia could not feel pity for the man she had just murdered in cold blood. There was something about the thought of him that twisted her insides with fear: knowing that he would not trouble her again made her somehow breathe easier.
Dusk was beginning to fall now, and regardless of the recent disquieting events, Mia knew that she had to make it to the Silver Crescent tavern by nightfall. Pausing to pick up her picture, she hurried away from the scene. Darkness soon claimed what was left of the daylight; bringing her some comfort, because at least in the semi-darkness no one would be able to see her eyes. It was not long before she reached the Silver Crescent: the building was plain and unwelcoming, the sign of a crescent moon hanging forlornly above her head. Mustering her confidence, Mia pushed upon the heavy wooden door, and was immediately assailed by a haze of smoke. To her relief, the place was dimly lit, meaning she could keep her eyes largely hidden behind her hair. Before the door was closed she felt all the eyes in the tavern turn to her, appraising her with barely hidden hostility. She glanced furtively all around, acutely aware of the attention she was receiving. Just beginnning to panic, Mia's eyes finally met those of a young man, sitting alone to her right. He stared back at her unnervingly, a crooked smile fixed upon his face, matching with his impish features.
He made a barely perceptible motion with his hand, and Mia walked gratefully to him, the gaze of the tavern's patrons leaving her as she approached him. Had she been paying more attention, she would have noticed the wide berth the man received from all in the tavern...
Might be subject to much editing, because I'm not entirely happy with it!
Comments welcome!
In my opinion german lyrics are... well wether it turns out to sound like "Rammstein" like (or at least your audience automatically will put you in one line with them) or it sounds like kind of wellfare-band-lyrics.
Even if our new drummer asked if we could do a german song my answer will be "no", and as long as I am the only one writing and caring for lyrical mayhem it will stay this way.
And now I need some time to feed my brains with your new part of story