Lost Paradise: Room of Life

So, new story here! This story will be about a room with painted walls so lifelike that it is almost living, and a young girl who will find the room. To keep this short, and to not give away anything, I hope you enjoy it!

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178 Ridden Street, Gradden Town, New York. It was the average kind of house you would expect to find in a place like Gradden Town. Not truly countryside yet, but definitely not city style either. In-between, average, simple. The house was a gentle, soft, delicate baby blue with a pale, silky cream color accentuating the edges. It was two stories tall, with a one story tall section protruding out of the house. Dusty gray curtains with slightly darker shadow like imprints of flowers were drawn back at each of the long, tall windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The colors of spring, full of life, merged in with the vibrant, bold colors of fall in the garden surrounding the house. Birds hidden in bright green chatted about the latest on the grapevine while butterflies fluttered from the many, many, many groups of sweet smelling, eye catching flower bunches, greeting each one one with an open embrace. Honey bees buzzed in circles around the yard, humming cheerful tunes to themselves. There wasn't a garage.

Outside of this isolated paradise was a completely different story. The ominous dark, dark gray clouds hung low and damp above people’s heads. Their feet trudged, leaving scrapes that all lead toward the center of the town, where all the towering buildings were. Specifically, the hospital. The town’s most prominent, most charismatic, most loved artist had finally lost light in her eyes. Not even glasses could help her see now. Sure, they all knew that that day had been coming. It had always been there, a terrible, terrible reminder that left a bitter taste in their mouths. They all tried to forget it, and for moments, they had, but one glance at the desk and the post-it note with all their reminders would shove all of the depressing thoughts into their head again.

Marianne Leanna. Pen-name, Lea. She always had preferred that name. No one knew her last name. As the crowd surged wave after wave towards the doctors and her room in the hospital, like the tide beating down again and again on the rocks on a beach, the doctors tried to be heard. But even with such chaos and noise, the message had gotten through. The town’s precious little Lea was officially blind. That last, earth’s core hot fever she had gotten last week seemed to have taken away her eyesight for good. Born with a wavering eyesight, by the time their Lea had reached the tender, ripe age of 21, just when her popularity reached infinity and beyond, her eyesight had been slowly fading. Then, to add to the trouble, her long, countless hours working in secret, on what the townspeople thought would become her greatest masterpiece, in her studio full of chemically filled air caused her immunity to fevers to decline. Thus, here they were now, with a blind master artist and a suddenly dead silent town.

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Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp
The rhythmic whir, thump, and cranking noise of an old, worn down car steadily grew louder and louder to the sharpened ears of the blind girl who was occasionally sipping lukewarm hot chocolate while sitting, still as a marble statue, on a golden yellow, wooden porch swing. The birds hopped and the butterflies fluttered about her, but, sadly, their efforts for attention were a failure.

Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp
The noise was abruptly cut off by a loud, piercing slam of the car passenger side door. A cheerful "Bye Sam!" followed shortly after.
Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp
Once more, the car revived its song and trailed away, leaving nothing but the faint smell of car exhaust behind it.

Racing as fast as she could while dragging a bag half her size and a backpack on her that ended almost to her knees, a petite 11 year-old girl ran towards the swing.


"Aunt Lea! Aunt Lea!"

The young girl raced, nearly tripped, and jumped with a loud, echoing THUMP onto the wooden porch. The oak tree boards, long dark and bent from years of use, creaked and moaned in protest of the sudden impact.

The older girl calmly turned her head towards the location of the noise, gazing a cool, calm, empty stare in the vague direction. Smiling softly, she shifted on the swing and patted, with her empty hand the newly cleared space. Beaming happily, the younger girl plopped down and twisted her head to face the older girl, who was once more silently sipping her drink.

Laughing at the energetic young-ling, the older one calmly greeted, "Hello Evangelica. Isn't today a beautiful day?"

A small, sad smile suddenly replaced her grin as she replied, "Yes Aunt Lea. It is. The birds are gossiping again today, and the butterflies are up and about."

Sipping her drink, Lea nodded. "Tell me, Eve, what color is the sky today?" With a sad smile, the child replied, "Oh, it's a luxurious shade of bright blue Aunt Lea. It's one of your favorite blues. The kind that's energetic, but calm, smooth and flowing, and very bold." Nodding again in satisfaction, the older girl slowly got up, and started heading towards the front door. Evangelica immediately jumped to her feet and opened the door for her.

The Shadow Thief

Loud, raspy panting could be heard echoing down the dark, narrow ally. Suddenly it stopped, and a few seconds later, gravel shifting could be heard, then, silence once again. About half and hour later, the town's guards, almost 15 of them, stopped right at the beginning of the ally.
"Where could it have ran?"
"They couldn't have gotten that far."
"We need to keep looking!"
"It's too late. The Unmasked Bandit got away again."
Mutters of hate could be heard as the guards shuffled back to their fancy mansion homes for the night.
Far off in the distance, twelve metallic chimes could be heard as the town clock tower struck midnight.
The unseen shadow that had been in the ally much earlier was already gone, on the hidden paths towards the next town in the kingdom.
The Shadow had struck, and left again, leaving nothing but a basket of steaming bread rolls, fresh fruit, and a few strips of leather at the back step of each poor, run-down, leaning, broken shed of a house near the edges of town.

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All was quiet in the majestic castle like mansion at the edge of the grassy meadow hills. Glass and gold glittered in the blood red sun, bathing the view of the town's richer side in streaks of light pink, bright orange, and delicate lavender. Sighing, a young man turned away from the painting of a view to face the dreary, grey, desolate living room. Ruffling a hand through his chocolate colored hair, he sighed again.

This young man, 19 years in age, looked nothing of the proud aristocrat as he should currently. His attire was wrinkled and loose, his hair freshly mussed, and his eyes bloodshot. His sky blue shirt was kept one button open, and his crisp silk vest long thrown carelessly onto one of the many velvet couches positioned around the silver room. Collapsing on top of one of these couches, the young man scandalously propped his feet up onto the pure glass and gold coffee table.

"Mother and father won't be back until next month, again. You're on your own now, Alexander," he thought. Closing his eyes, he gradually nodded off into a light slumber.

A few meters away, in the exact same mansion, a sliver of a shadow was soundlessly prying open one of the many glass windows from the outside wall of the mansion. With a satisfying small click, the shadow promptly slid into the mansion through the barely open window, and vanished from sight.

Still drifting in and out of consciousness, the young man was jolted awake in shock from the telltale clink of wine glass meeting. Tense, he silently got up from the couch and stalked towards the noise.

Meanwhile, the shadow was gathering items in the kitchen, shifting items out of place, then returning them so one could never notice it was ever touched in the first place.

Alexander cautiously peered around the corner. The clinks had gotten more frequent, and he had been led to the kitchen. Glancing into the kitchen, his heart nearly stopped at what the sight which fell upon his eyes. It was a young lady, girl even, dressed quite informally, sifting through the kitchen. She seemed to grab any food she stumbled across, and blindly took a few smaller trinkets. She was slowly filling up a worn leather pouch which hung from her belt. She was decked in dirty, dusty clothes that hung from her thin but healthy frame. Strange as she already was, even stranger was the way her clothes were designed. She seemed to be wearing clothes a young gamin boy would wear, except it was crossed with the designs of a rich man's clothes. Gasping, he caught her attention. Whirling her head around, they both froze. Her sharp green eyes met his soft brown ones. Neither the robber nor the rich man moved. Time stood still.

Suddenly, the moment was broken as the thief quickly moved for the window. The young man immediately grabbed her arm, and she took a sharp intake of breath.

In a low voice, he whispered, "Wait. Who are you, and why are stealing from our house?"

Wordlessly, she effortlessly slipped her arm out of his grasped and slid through the window, only pausing halfway to answer curtly, "And they shall drown in the lake of their sins."

The shadow disappeared once more, leaving behind no trace behind but a puzzled young man in the newly turned night.

Letting Go

She gave up. She gave up a long time ago. She just, let go of the ledge. After all, what was the point of holding on if she couldn't be saved anyways? She wasn't stupid. No, she knew that no one could pull her back up. She knew that she couldn't get back up. But they all told her to hang on for just a little longer. They screamed at her to hold on, to stay strong just a little longer. But she just laughed and gave a weak grin. No, she wasn't going to lie to herself. No, no, no. No. No. No. So, she just, let go. Let go. Let go.

Her heart was about to burst. She wanted to cry, to scream her heart out, to yell to the world of the unfairness of it all. How it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she, of all people, got stuck with the weight of the world on her shoulders. It wasn't fair that she, of all people, had to go through so, so, so much. It was really just plain ridiculous.

As she fell, time slowed. Things stilled. She blanked her mind. She faintly remembers the times when she was carefree, not a worry in the world. When she laughed out loud, with real joy. When she thought the world was the best place ever. When she didn't know the evils of the world. When she dreamed of dancing in the rain. When she was a child. Then, the dark days came. This, she remembers so, oh so clearly. The friendships ruined, the backstabbing, the rumors, the bullying, the tears. It was then, she thinks, that she lost her grip on the world. On her life.It was then that the rain started falling. But she wasn't dancing. Not this time. And not anymore.

Then, came that perfect time. That break between the first set of thunder clouds, and the looming ominous pitch black bundle off in the distance. Those sweet rays of light she never thought she would see again. During that golden period came new friends. Ones that seemed to be the very best friends she had been searching for her whole life. Those sweet new moments of pure happiness.

But, alas, everything eventually comes to an end, doesn't it? The new storm rolled in. And there went her rays of light. 

At some point during the latest storm, she slipped on the once light green grass, muddy brown and drenched with salty water, and there she was, hanging on that ledge. 

So here she was, falling. Letting go. And, for some strange reason, she smiled. Oh, yes, she gently smiled to the sky, to the now blue sky, and whispered the the winds "I let go".

"I Had to Let Go."

Built on Beliefs

The world is built upon opinions. No kidding. I mean, why is color called color? Why is black a dark color? What counts as an A or a B? Everything is made up from opinions. It may be a widespread opinion, but it's still what it is. For instance, they say it's a fact that a circle is round. But truly, isn't that an opinion as well? Maybe, to someone else it is not round, maybe they consider it so be triangular. Facts are opinions. They're just widespread, common opinions. Which brings me to my point that the world is based on opinion. And, truly, it is ridiculous. People accuse others of being strange, or different, when really, isn't that also their opinion? So, what I'm saying, to save you all from my endless rant, is that, consider it really, even though I'm kind of being a hypocrite about opinions here, but try to stay neutral. What you consider neutral to be, I won't judge, but either way, watch and see just how much opinions circulate our planet.
To sign off this paradoxical, hypocritical, opinionated rant,
                                   -LaMusicFreak

Victims of Time

It's funny. Quite funny. Yes, it is very funny how, back way, way then, I was once a victim of time. I used to hate it, that fact. But now, I don't know if I miss my old life or not. Is it better to be the victim of a swift murderer, or better to have to continuously watch the murderer kill, over, and over, and over again until the gruesome scene is forever a part of you?
You see, I once made a wish. That cliche kind of scene where someone wishes on a shooting star and everything comes true. Where they live a different life, but soon they miss their old life and they somehow reverse the wish. Yes, almost exactly like that. Except, I can't and won't go back.
My wish? To stop time. I was tired of running. I didn't want to go forward. I didn't want to keep getting chased by time. So, I made that wish. And here I am. Stuck forever at 14 years, 15 weeks, and 6 days old.
I watch others as they pass by, running, faster and faster, until the day that they grow too tired, and they start walking instead of running, letting time slowly swallow them. Victim by victim, they vanish. And I watch.
They all start off with a head start. They all do. Then, they start figuring things out. How they're getting chased by a psychotic, merciless murderer. That's when they start running. In the beginning, they are all running at the speed of light. After all, they still have plenty of stamina. But, sometime soon, they get bored of it all. The cycle. The never ending sequence. That's when they try everything they can to outwit their pursuer. But it never works. They always end up running again. After some more time, they give up on trying to outsmart their invincible opponent and just go with the flow. And, like I said, they eventually slow down and let themselves die.
It's sad, to say the least. The fact that, you have no choice but to surrender in the end. That's one of the main things I'm glad of, staying immortal in marble here. Sure, it may get boring and lonely sometimes, but overall, I think I'm happy to say I'm no longer a victim.
But that doesn't mean others aren't.
Because we are born to become victims. Only a few escape. And most of the time, the escape isn't pretty.
That's what I stand here for. The melancholic escapee of time. A monument to everyone, each and every Victim of Time.
I'm the marble statue, at the corner of 27th and Sayers Street.
And, ironically, you know what my pedestal says?

"Time flies, grasp it while you can."

The Phoenix Revolt Update

Hey guys! I added a little to The Phoenix Revolt, and here it is!
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Brrong………

The gong echoed throughout the valley, signalling another long, cruel day of grueling work. Reluctantly, the villagers one by one lined up and stumbled to the fields to further dig holes and plant seeds. However, one shadow slithered away from the fields, sneaking between narrow spaces between walls, until it reached a small, rickety shed in the middle of unwanted wooden furniture suspiciously moved around so it was somewhat organized. A small, lithe silhouette slid into the shed without a sound, and disappeared.

Meanwhile, up at the very top of the huge, blood red and bright gold palace, a very different scene was taking place.

“WHAT!!! How dare they!” a deep voice roared. The sound echoed throughout the enormous, golden room bouncing off the deep, crimson colored velvet walls.

“B-b-but sir, i-it is o-only a r-rumor f-f-for now. We c-can still put and end to it,” a nervous man stuttered out. A bead of nervous perspiration could almost be seen dripping from his bowed head down to the marble tiles below. It was a skinny young man who was dressed much too lavishly for someone his age. The heavy hat, droopy robes, and the pointless, extremely long gold beads around his neck made him look as though he was a little girl, dressing up in mommy’s clothes, pretending to be royalty. It was, as you may imagine, quite the ridiculous look.

The other man snorted. He was a large man, not exactly wide, per say, but huge overall. Black and gold satin robes hung from his awkward figure, while he lounged lazily in his deep red throne. “A rumor, you might say, but soon it will be true, you fool,” he drawled.

The younger man had no response.

The man snorted again. “Leave! Now! Go do something more worthwhile instead of bowing here, stuttering your head off! And, you, boy, get over here. I have another mission for you.”

The young man quickly an off, and a new young man, one on the brink of manhood, but still young enough to be considered a boy, stepped out from behind the throne, and took his place.

“Yes, Father?” the boy bravely asked.

“Go out and spy around or this, this, this rumor of a rebel leader. We must put a stop to this madness.”

“Yes, Father. As you wish.”

The boy swiftly stood, spun around, and stalked out of the room, hand on the hilt of his sword, which was hanging loosely from his belt at his waist.

Meanwhile, near the center of the village, a quite different scene was going on inside a ratty, shaky, old wooden shed of a restaurant. It had no doors, just a wide open hole in the wall. Rickety chairs littered all around inside, and multiple gray, quickly crafted looking tables we scattered about. Near the back of this place, a few strips of worn out, light brown cloth draped down from the top of the frame of a lopsided doorway.

“Ivy, more tea, table 7!” an old, but nimble woman cheerfully called out towards the back of the room.

A muffle reply was heard, and seconds later, a skinny, average height girl with long, silky flowing chocolate colored hair rushed out holding a scalding hot can of freshly brewed black tea.

“Hey, Ivy, long time no see!”

“Yeah, how’s life been for ya’?”

“Ivy, hey, how ‘bouts another round of this ‘ere sauteed vegetables!”

Laughing, she replied to each of the shouts with a calm, familiar ease and joy. More and more villagers, some wearing nothing but ripped rags, others thick robes, all dirt covered and tired, streamed steadily into this over populated restaurant. Each one, as soon as they saw her, greeted Ivy with a grin and a salute.

Sliding into this jovial scene, was the same boy from that gloomy scene before. Scanning the room, his stomach growled loudly, causing quite a few eyes to turn and stare at him. Villagers shied away from him as they noticed his clothing, the cleanliness of his shirt, and the stainless pants. And, most of all, the sword, dangling at his side. His gaze flicked to and fro unsteadily, as if he didn't know how to comprehend all this happiness. Then, he saw her.

“Welcome, sir, would you like a table?” she asked innocently, as if getting a seemingly general of the imperial army was an everyday thing here.

Opening and closing his mouth once or twice, the boy managed to mutter out a meek and awkward, "Uh, yeah, that would be great."

Slipping an easy smile onto her face, she guided him to a small, lopsided table that was crudely sawed into an uneven square, with one leg propped up with a wedge of wood to keep the table level. Sitting down onto a creaky stool, the boy blushed hotly, trying his best to ignore all the stares and gawking from the other customers. As the girl gently place the water stained, hand written menu down in front of him, she observed him quietly, with a friendly smile on her face.

Or so it seemed, for there was a gleam in her eyes that contradicted the softness she radiated.