Euclid Member
The Portmanteau Professional
- Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Euclid
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 222 (0.06 / day)
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- Euclid 11 yrs ago
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i ttly wil
Larfleeze said
Pies are for losers
No pie for you.
It's Pi Day. Relax and eat some pie.
Naturally, have some pi(e) to celebrate. :)
"Better than what you have done for me," spat Bellua, writhing in the chains. "We both get what we want, and far more expediently than the current method." The dust from the cavern walls slipped seamlessly to the uneven floor as the captive watched his only chance at freedom place its shirt back on. He breathed, waiting for the release from his bonds. Time was all he had at the moment, the seemingly endless hours of his captivity passing him by without a moment's notice. Bellua couldn't remember the last time he was free to walk his realms, or if he ever had the chance to do so in the first place. "What say you? Release me from my detention and you will find the blood of your enemies at your feet when I return."
Kaga said
Writer of the Month. It's a writing contest that was held on the old Guild, and now myself and the other WOTM staff have finally managed to get it running again. It's a bit less robust than the old WOTM, though, as it's lacking some key features we used to rely on, such as on-site polls, a contest forum, and moderator powers for the WOTM account, but we're working around those things for now. So long as WOTM gets enough activity for now, the contest is sure to develop with the rest of the Guild and start to resemble its old self.You're absolutely welcome to enter if you so choose! The whole thing runs on friendly competition, amateurs welcome! You don't have to be the best writer on the Guild to have a good time in the contest.
I remember this. I won the last one, though I'm not sure how. There were some pretty great contenders.
The beast rested, wrapped in chains; eyes to the ground as he hung a few feet from the ground of the cavern. Long, tousled black hair overshadowed and obscured his face from view only moments before he rose his head at the GM's words. His creator was lost - there would be no revenge, no retribution. His eyes, irises a brilliant blood-red, met the figure of GM, who was now shirtless. He spoke, his deep voice flooding the cavern.
"You were to bring my creator here, so that I could slaughter him and revel in his blood, but it seems that this is not what happened. Instead, you come empty-handed." The chains moved slightly as he shifted. "You expect my assistance with your trivial matters, but you do not fulfill your part of the deal, so I put forth a proposal."
"Release me," Bellua's voice grew more forceful. "And I will remove your obstacles. The hindrance shall be no more."
Euclid leaned against the wall, clutching his chest as he struggled to find his breath. There was something very wrong with the situation at hand. Leon and Rose were attacked, and that man could have taken him next. Running his hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and tried to figure out his next plan of action. He had no idea where the other two would be, and he had to be careful in case GM were to show up out of nowhere. Without hesitation, he moved and entered the first door he came across, putting him back in the library. At least it was a location he knew.
From here, he could reach the main hall and the main entrance. Maybe Leon and Rose were there. Maybe GM was. The only thing to do was find out. Taking large strides, he moved to the other side of the library, taking care not to step on the glass that covered the floor, where he initially landed. His wounds seemed to be better than before; blood loss was to a bare minimum, and the pain in his ribs was now dull. He wasn't sure how he was healing so quickly, and he kept that question in mind as he gripped to the handle of the door that led to the main hall, waiting for any signs of movement on the other side.
"You were to bring my creator here, so that I could slaughter him and revel in his blood, but it seems that this is not what happened. Instead, you come empty-handed." The chains moved slightly as he shifted. "You expect my assistance with your trivial matters, but you do not fulfill your part of the deal, so I put forth a proposal."
"Release me," Bellua's voice grew more forceful. "And I will remove your obstacles. The hindrance shall be no more."
Euclid leaned against the wall, clutching his chest as he struggled to find his breath. There was something very wrong with the situation at hand. Leon and Rose were attacked, and that man could have taken him next. Running his hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and tried to figure out his next plan of action. He had no idea where the other two would be, and he had to be careful in case GM were to show up out of nowhere. Without hesitation, he moved and entered the first door he came across, putting him back in the library. At least it was a location he knew.
From here, he could reach the main hall and the main entrance. Maybe Leon and Rose were there. Maybe GM was. The only thing to do was find out. Taking large strides, he moved to the other side of the library, taking care not to step on the glass that covered the floor, where he initially landed. His wounds seemed to be better than before; blood loss was to a bare minimum, and the pain in his ribs was now dull. He wasn't sure how he was healing so quickly, and he kept that question in mind as he gripped to the handle of the door that led to the main hall, waiting for any signs of movement on the other side.
This is, more or less, just something for me to do to pass time. If you like what you read, feel free to PM showing support; it's always appreciated. I plan to update as the thought comes, as there's not really a set schedule. Not all of it will make sense, I admit; at this point, I'm just jotting down random things.
Wednesday
I sat on the roof as I watched the world come to an end, smiling as the cities erupted in fire and were consumed by the resulting ash and carnage left in the wake of an abrupt apocalypse. I saw my skin blister miles before the inevitable, felt the pain root itself in the marrow of my bones. This everlasting agony was unique; it was my own, something I could rightly call mine. Having held no place in the world until now, I could claim nothing to my name - but, a death? This was mine, and I took it gladly, and every time I died was another notch on the belt of things I truly owned. Every time I died, I woke, and it was Wednesday. Today marks the hundredth day the world comes to an end. I've grown tired of dying. but they say time waits for no man.
I've often thought about the others; people caught in the same predicament. Maybe, they weren't, that it was all just a figment of my overimagination, that I dreamed of something terrible - that I'm not even awake.
"Are you alright?" they ask. I don't know how to answer them. I take my cup and shuffle off the mortal coil to a rooftop, all to watch the spectacle unfold.
Today, I have a visitor. Her name is Lydia. Sweet girl, but naive, always talking about tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Every day is Wednesday. It was when the car flipped. It was when she died. It was something I wouldn't let go of. Why won't I let go? Why do I refuse to save myself from extinction?
Today, I was the shown the body of my victim, mangled and bruised and cut and forever asleep. I cried. It broke me. Nighttime was never a great time to drive. It was too late. I was gone, lost behind closed eyelids to a world of dreams, only to be jarred from sleep by the sudden lurch forward and the sickening crunch of metal and bone. A car horn never spoke to me so much with the voice of insanity, one that told me it was all my fault. This was my apocalypse. My mind was gone, and now all I have is a rooftop and a view of the end. Lydia, I miss you.
I woke up in a bed. The orderly guided me to the recreational room, where I sat in white, disheveled and eyes puffy. Every night's the same. I dream of Wednesday, I dream of Lydia, I dream of the end, and I wake up in tears. This facility is my apocalypse. This facility is my rooftop. This facility is my end.
I don't get visitors. The ones who loved me once have all but forgotten I exist. I call home, but they don't answer. I've been ignored time and time again. I reach the counter and stare off into space, looking past the orderly behind the protective glass and picturing a road behind her. I'm waiting for the car. I'm waiting for Lydia, but she never comes. "Are you alright?" the orderly asks. I take the cup of pills and shuffle off to my seat. Armageddon has been playing nonstop for six days. One movie a week, they say.
One movie a week is already too much.
I always imagined the movie ending differently. Bruce Willis and the crew end up dying on the rock as it hurtles toward the earth. The mission is lost, we are doomed. We each say our goodbyes and I'm sitting on the rooftop, laughing as it draws to a close. That movie would have made so much more money by people who'd love nothing more than to see humanity fail at doing something. They just wanted reasons to stop caring about the world.
They just wanted reasons to forget that today is Wednesday.
I sat on the roof as I watched the world come to an end, smiling as the cities erupted in fire and were consumed by the resulting ash and carnage left in the wake of an abrupt apocalypse. I saw my skin blister miles before the inevitable, felt the pain root itself in the marrow of my bones. This everlasting agony was unique; it was my own, something I could rightly call mine. Having held no place in the world until now, I could claim nothing to my name - but, a death? This was mine, and I took it gladly, and every time I died was another notch on the belt of things I truly owned. Every time I died, I woke, and it was Wednesday. Today marks the hundredth day the world comes to an end. I've grown tired of dying. but they say time waits for no man.
I've often thought about the others; people caught in the same predicament. Maybe, they weren't, that it was all just a figment of my overimagination, that I dreamed of something terrible - that I'm not even awake.
"Are you alright?" they ask. I don't know how to answer them. I take my cup and shuffle off the mortal coil to a rooftop, all to watch the spectacle unfold.
Today, I have a visitor. Her name is Lydia. Sweet girl, but naive, always talking about tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Every day is Wednesday. It was when the car flipped. It was when she died. It was something I wouldn't let go of. Why won't I let go? Why do I refuse to save myself from extinction?
Today, I was the shown the body of my victim, mangled and bruised and cut and forever asleep. I cried. It broke me. Nighttime was never a great time to drive. It was too late. I was gone, lost behind closed eyelids to a world of dreams, only to be jarred from sleep by the sudden lurch forward and the sickening crunch of metal and bone. A car horn never spoke to me so much with the voice of insanity, one that told me it was all my fault. This was my apocalypse. My mind was gone, and now all I have is a rooftop and a view of the end. Lydia, I miss you.
I woke up in a bed. The orderly guided me to the recreational room, where I sat in white, disheveled and eyes puffy. Every night's the same. I dream of Wednesday, I dream of Lydia, I dream of the end, and I wake up in tears. This facility is my apocalypse. This facility is my rooftop. This facility is my end.
I don't get visitors. The ones who loved me once have all but forgotten I exist. I call home, but they don't answer. I've been ignored time and time again. I reach the counter and stare off into space, looking past the orderly behind the protective glass and picturing a road behind her. I'm waiting for the car. I'm waiting for Lydia, but she never comes. "Are you alright?" the orderly asks. I take the cup of pills and shuffle off to my seat. Armageddon has been playing nonstop for six days. One movie a week, they say.
One movie a week is already too much.
I always imagined the movie ending differently. Bruce Willis and the crew end up dying on the rock as it hurtles toward the earth. The mission is lost, we are doomed. We each say our goodbyes and I'm sitting on the rooftop, laughing as it draws to a close. That movie would have made so much more money by people who'd love nothing more than to see humanity fail at doing something. They just wanted reasons to stop caring about the world.
They just wanted reasons to forget that today is Wednesday.
Kaga said
:/ I've never noticed anything wrong with your posts.You're overreacting, man. I don't ask for much. But if you really do feel the need to take a break then at least you left off on a good note.
I'm not taking a break, per se. I just have to finish doing some floor renovations and I'm currently gathering inspiration as we speak, thanks to this amazing artist. :) All is well, now.
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