Decide for yourself what this is

I am rewriting this because I just accidentally erased everything I had written.

I have just realised I have been turning slowly into another of those smiling faking idiots that are so common in society. It has scared me so much I don't even know what to do with myself.
I have been decieved by my own idea of what being strong is supposed to mean, and in order to make people like me and be happy around me I have stabbed myself in the back. I have had to tolearate my friends being nicer to someone who has been pretty nasty to me that they actually are sometimes to me. I have created the illusion for them that I am stupid (which I'm not, but that doesn't make me specially intelligent either) and that I don't care much about my school life. I smile and laugh when I just want to be left alone, and I don't even know how I manage it... .
Also, the determination to remain my original self, standing proud of everything I think and am has been severely damaged by a constant effort I didn't really realise I was making to be liked and accepted by other people.

There are many other things, I would rather not go into, that keep the sleep away from me at night.

I only hope I'll be able to go back on my footsteps, so that maybe that way I'll be able to become whatever is left of what I first aimed to be.

Might be revised. Poison works 1

He tested the tip of the syringe. The dark green liquid inside spurted out with a satisfying squish. After securing the needle so he wouldn’t get accidentally stung, he packed it up and set of towards school.

The corridor was full of expectant smiles and sniggering. At the end of the passage stood four tall, broad-shouldered figures. And the trap was set.

No insults were exchanged, not ever normal words. He ran towards them, his face a mask of pain, hate determination. He felt the bruises of the other days stinging where they had not completely healed. His cracked rib had also not had enough time to recover, but he jumped anyway.

What came next, he expected.

A punch caught him full in the stomach while he was still in the air, but the syringe was in his hand, the needle free.

His body went down. The needle went down. The enemy was dead.

Part Two

One thing she came to realise was, most of her art represented what she most wanted, the things she really felt she needed. But when she raised her brush to the brand new canvas she faltered.

She did not know how to paint a boy.

At first this saddened her, for she thought she would never be able to see the person she needed so badly, even though it was someone she had never met.

But a few days later, she came up to the half made painting with renewed strengh, ready to try something new. She made the dark chestnut hair long, until ir reached the waist. The eyes she made a bright green, and instead of the angular features her books described, she added roundyness to the face, making it more like hers.

A long yellow dress took the trouser's and shirt's place, describing well the curves that lay beneath. She looked at her finished work with satisfaction, feeling pleased for the first time in a long time. But after a while she became tired of the girl only being made out of oil and thread, so she took the painting and danced through her days asi if the girl in it was real.

At first she felt fine, but the painting began to get damaged with all the movement, and she soon realised that trying to feed it didn't make it any more real than it already was.
So she took it to the cliff, and proped it agaist a rock. She had read in her books about a god that was kind to humans that prayed to him often. She had tried to do this many times, but it just seemed useless to her, since she saw no proof of this being, and didn't see why someone so big would be bothered in someone so small anyway. So she did what first came into her mind, and shouted to the wind. She screamed for the girl in the painting to come out of her wooden boundary. Her hair was ruffled by the wind, and a slight drizzle had began to fall from the sky. Her eyes watered from both the weather and the deep feelings she harboured, but she continued yelling at the ocean, not caring about anything any more.

She walked foward, still shouting out to the wind, the cliff edge getting ever so closer.

And then, she stood on air.


Air currents twirled her around, refusing to smash her against the ground. She floated for a while ther, until her weight was too much for the air around her and she plumeted down, down into nothingness.

***

The first thing she saw when she woke up, were a pair of green eyes.

Ef ( a tale of memories) an alternative version.

My version :) read slowly (or out loud) and you will probably enjoy it more.

Part One.

Once upon a time, there was a girl.
This girl was all alone. She did not know where she came from, nor what her role in life was.
She lived alone, on a deserted island, in an empty world.

There was a castle on the island, worn by time, but still in quite good condition.
In the castle, there was food enough to last centuries, so the girl didn't suffer from hunger.

The island itself was a small paradise, and offered spectacular views to those who knew where to find them.
It had the greenest of forests, full of animal and plant life. In one of the forests there was a small lake where the girl would go for a swim from time to time. A waterfall poured down directly into it from the small river that ran down directly form the mountains, this meant the water was ice cold, but very refreshing.

A bit further away form the mountains the river came from, there was a small desert, complete with a small oasis in the middle.

The beaches that were the border of the small piece of land had the whitest sand imaginable, and the water that came in from the ocean was totally transparent.

The castle itself was not too big, and it stood on the edge of a cliff, giving a breathtaking view of the land below. The gray stone was naturally decorated by some dark green ivy that wound up to the only tower the castle had. The tower's last room was where the girl spent most of her time. She played instruments that she had found lying around in empty rooms full of cobwebs,read, and painted.

She painted a lot. So much that she had often stayed up all night to finish her pictures.
However, she never felt happy with the result of her art. There was always something missing.

In her books, she had read about people. People were described as beings of the same nature as hers. But it couldn't be, she thought, because they lived together, and she was all alone.
This normally didn't bother her much, since she had always been alone, and thought she would always be. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, she woke up crying, clutching at her chest, as if trying to grab something that was hurting her to get rid of it. But she could not, the nature of her pain was lonelyness itself, and she could do nothing about it. These nights she would stay up, looking out the window at the vast expansion of the ocean, untill the sun came up again.

After a few of these fits, the began to paint people.

To be exact, she painted a person.

Today, is a very important day.
Today I have realised that i have to choose between the people that are willing to love my way of being without critisizing it.
Someone like that is very hard to find, and if you do ever discover someone like that, you will probably through your soul into their arms without thinking twice. But just make sure you're right, or you might get hurt, and badly.

The rest, the rest should go into shadows. The rest will only use you for a while, and when they discover you cant be shaped into what they need for their own lives, they will just throw you away. You probably do it too, but even so, try not to.

Sometimes, having someone radically different to you may give you the chance to see different points of view. Most of that is unknown to me, because I realise I have never been on very good terms with those that are not 60 per cent like me. Anyway, just try, as I will... sometime :D

This is a strange entry, for one (or twice) it's not a story, just random thoughts that are coming ip to my mind as I listen to some music... music opens the doors in your mind, when you are in thr right mood.

What has set me in my writing mood today has been the entries in a blog of a friend I really don't know very well. From the little I have seen she seems to be a very interesting person.

I'm going to write something else now. So, see you... soon?

Escape

I sat on the desk, looking out the window to the street down below.
For all the anger I had in me, I could do nothing more that hold it in.

It consumed me slowly, eating up all my sanity, little by little, and I hoped I would die there so I wouldn't have to listen to my own shouting any more.

Of course it didn't happen. But I was glad it was so. I had started to hear the piano and the harp play again. The high notes they played made a beautiful tune that lightened up my heart.

I decided the only way to survive this was to create another me, that would protect the real me inside me. It would be there to stare blankly at whoever asked me any more personal questions that had answers only I could understand the importance of.

And there he was, sitting right in front of me, on the opposite desk. But to my suprise, he was not at all as I had imagined him to be. He smiled at me encouragingly, as if there was something meant for me to do. Then I realised, he was not there to substitute me, but to support me.

We both jumped down from our tables and walked towards the classroom door. We danced down the empty school passages, running whenever we heard steps. It was the first time I had ever had fun in school. I wondered for a second if I had gone crazy, admiting the existence of another me. But every time I looked at him, the evidence that he was not at all as I new myself grew and grew.

That day I did something I think no one has ever done before. I jumped out a window.
We were climbing up the stairs when we thought how fantastic it would be to feel the wind on our skin, whithout having the earth under our feet. To cease to be tied to anything material, to stop being a part of this human world we loved and hated so much at the same time.

The stairs that led to the last floor wound up and up, the top seeming unreachable, but somehow we got there, jumoing stairs three at a time. The harp and the piano never stopped playing, a violin had decided to join in. And there it was, nearer at evvery step, glass transparency inviting us to another reality we had only ever dreamed of.

And it was open.

And we were flying. Spiraling down into oblivion. Life flying past us at the most incredible speed.

The ground reached out to us. And we pushed it away with all our will power, soaring into the sky. Out of reach of the darkness that pursued us. We went into the sun, and we didn't get burnt.

At night the stars shone so that we would never lose our way, and the silvery path we followed led us to a long lost forest in the middle of nowhere.

We smashed back down into the lake that was it's heart, our souls renewed, our lives free.

A world made of print.

I was so scared. So scared of losing all that I had gained with so much sacrifice.

When I changed school and I looked into all those unknown faces. I felt helpless. I dindn't know what to do or what to say. It wasn't written. It wasn't in my books...

So I asked my paper friends to shield me. To help me. To engulf me and to protect me.
I became surrounded by paper. So much paper.
My life became a blurr of pint, music and sport, where no one could get in, and who was in, could not get out.

The Lost & Found

And it's because we feel there is another way, and it's because we think there has to be a change, that we can't possibly let go of our ideas. People must know we are here and that there is actually someone sitting in that small wooden desk there by the corner.

And no we don't dress up in the best of clothes to party around because we just dont see the point to that since there is no one to party with and no reason for celebration.

So we must create a reason. Beacause... well, because we are here too.

Cracked teapots

So, so so great!
The glass fell and smashed.
I stared.
It stared back.
I raised my foot and stamped.
Glass shards everywhere, the crunching of the broken pieces.
Broken like me. Cracked like my existence.

But...

But all in one piece.

(Isn't that what we call living?)

The Beach

The Beach.

I watched in silence as the waves curled their way up to my feet, the tide advancing without bothering to wait for the tiny crabs to escape its grasp. The blue sky that had watched the world breathe throughout the day was fading into orange. Small white fluffy clouds completed the scene of a perfect sunset.
I stood there for a while, without knowing what to do. Temporarily oblivious to the beauty around me. And suddenly, without any warning at all, my legs failed me and I went crashing down into the shallow water that continued relentlessly to move on. I lay there, for a while, taking my time to understand … to understand what? A voice inside my head asked. I didn’t know the answer. The turmoil inside me revealed no answers.

While I was wasting my time trying to understand what seemed to me was clearly out of my reach, the tide decided to take another step, covering me with a wet salty blanket . And when sat up drenched to the bone, something inside me decided the water was much better for me after all. And with a cry that was a mixture of relief and joy I launched myself forward even deeper, as if the sea was my own soul and my body a boat to sail it.

Bach

Aqui dejo al mundo un genial CD de Bach tocado por Lucy van Dael.
Es musica absolutamente genial, la recomiendo mucho.

Here is some of Bach's magnificent violin solo music, played by Lucy van Dael.
Enjoy.

Tracklist
-01 Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004- Allemande
-02 Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004- Courante
-03 Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004- Sarabande
-04 Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004- Gigue
-05 Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004- Chaconne
-06 Sonata for solo violin No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005- Adagio
-07 Sonata for solo violin No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005- Fuga. Alla breve
-08 Sonata for solo violin No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005- Largo
-09 Sonata for solo violin No. 3 in C major, BWV 1005- Allegro assai
-10 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Preludio
-11 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Loure
-12 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Gavotte en rondeau
-13 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Menuet I
-14 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Menuet II
-15 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Bourree
-16 Partita for solo violin No. 3 in E major, BWV 1006- Gigue

Descarga: http://www.megaupload.com/?d=VJ3C2SMP

Umm Somethin?

Heyyyy! Nobody!!
This obviously is not a story. It's a long time since I've written something worthwhile and anyway I probably would't put it up because google will steal it ¬¬
These web people, you can never trust them!

Changing the subject! Today I bought a Bach CD with some music played by a woman called Lucy van Dael. I really like her style, she's incredibly good and I've completely fallen in love with the music. Unfortunately I bought Vol. 2 and I didn't see Vol. 1 in the shop... I hope I don't have to go around asking for it.





I'm hungry...


... for strange and new things to do

I lost consciousness.
There was nothing else to do.
I slept on. I failed to get up.

A rough bang on my shoulder waked me up. I sat up drunkenly, spitting out some sand that had got into my mouth.
The sea streched out before me. The vast expance of empty beach that surrounded me filled me with calm.
I walked in a daze, stopping several times to admire the rivoulets the water curled into.
I leaned in, feeling the cool water seeping through my fingers, I loved it.
I walked in, I threw myself in, crying out meaningless shouts made out of pure joy.

When silence was what he wanted, silence was what he got.
The man in the suit paced impatiently around the expensively furnished room, waiting for the servant to bring in the wine.

A faint knock on the door indicated the arrival of the alcohol. And only when the man was set, full glass in hand, book in the other and fitted into his comfortable armchair, the ancient butler left.

Our main character flipped carelessly through the pages, obviously searching for the point where he had left his story. Only when he reached the place he was looking for, it was blank.
This did not seem to suprise the man, since he just it propted on his lap, as it was perfectly normal. In fact, if that wasn't considered normal, then what happened next, was certanly beyond the abnormal.

One, two, three... words became sentences, that became pages full of text. Impasively the man read on, his face a rigid mask of concentration. In his mind the images flew and grew into life size expresions of reality. And it all had a papery tinge to it...

Desperation Expanse

An inmense expansion of water occupied the valley where his home had once been. When he saw that, a feeling of loss as big as the lake that stood before him overcame him.

He fell down to his knees gasping for breath, and he could not move until, half an hour later, the grey clouds heavy with rain began to let go of their cargo.

He jumped up when he felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. The face of an old woman met his searching eyes when he turned, a sad smile spread across her lips. Without a word, as if both strangers had singned a silent pact, they leant over each other's shoulder, dropped to the ground, and burst into tears.

***

Lucy was the woman's name. Tom spent the next months of his life with her, trying to save what was left of their lives. But Lucy's body was not as strong as Tom's, and when death took her, it came as no suprise. A simple ritual was all Tom could offer her for her funeral. He left feeling much worse than when he came, but somehow, Lucy's prencence lived on within him, giving him something to hang on to in his sea of sorrow.

Sunlight room.

Walking down the corridor, lined with several doors, which time has marked as it has gone by, there is one last room. This room is a classroom, like all the others. But this classroom hides a treasure in it's center.



The door opens, and an old blackboard comes into view, old notes are scribbled on it in chalk, and faint cracks line the frame that holds it to the wall. Facing this board are thirty small tables posed in chaotic order. The teacher's desk has been pulled out of it's place, pushing some of the smaller tables out of their place. Books lay strewn upon the floor as if someone had thrown them around in some random spout of anger. And under the table is a small boy of about twelve years with his head against the hard wood of the interior of the table. He looks up, as if he had seen something, and then, with a sigh, slides down to a fetal position on the ground. Abruptly, his shoulders scrunch up and his whole body begins to tremble, a few sobs escape his lips. He extends his hands up as if trying to reach a rope to pull himself out from some terrible harm, but his skin only touches the old wood from the table, and it's not long before it falls again by his side.

A tower

The original piece was writen on my table in class, eventually I had to rub it out, but I copied it down before of course. This is the error-free version.


I paced up and down the spiral stairway.
I was in a house, I think. But not just any house, it was an inmense mansion
crowned with a huge prominent tower. That was where I was now.
The steps that led to the top were white marble, the kind where the different minerals are visible and run across it forming spectacular webs of colour.

I tripped. It was about the third time i'd donde that since I set foot on the stairway.
I began to climb up distractedly, hardly noticing I was doing it. So absorbed was I by my own thoughts, I barely looked where I was going. At last, when I managed to snap out of my stupor and looked ahead, I was able to see a faint light. Sunlight.

***

The last step, and I was there.

A beautiful mirrored room surrounded me.

It had been built in a special way so that the sunlight would reflect it's way everywhere,

chasing out the shadows with it's brilliant luminescence.

I started to walk towards the other side of the room. Something had caught my eye.

It was a window. The only window in the tower.

And as I continued to walk, my body blocked the light, plunging the whole space into darkness.

Startled by the sudden change, I stepped back, leting the golden light back in,

and for the first time in three years, I smiled.

Witches Longing

This one I wrote a long time ago, when I was fucking tired of the city and people in general.I was also very young. So there's the context. I think it came out quite well...

I walk the forest's path once more

looking, searching, for the one that will free me from my pain

My strengh is drained, my magick failing,

my only hope lies in the forest.

Then I see it, then I feel it.

The thousand sparks of light and energy,

they float around me, healing, renewing, the forest spirit.

We dance all night, under the full moon,

the Goddess is watching over us, now and until the end of time.

But then it ends, too soon it ends,

the night and the stars disappear and the day comes,

time to leave.

I return to the city, but happy,

knowing I will return to a place with no barriers,

no discrimination, no pain, and no doubts.

I'll always thank the Forest Spirit,

I'm grateful for ever.

Introduction

This Blog page has been created by me, Savage Forest to upload the enormous cuantity of short stories I have been writing lately and that are much easier to manage on the screen. Anyone is quite welcome to read them, but I will warn you most of them will probably make no se sense to you for the simple reason that you are not me. However, you might be able to relate to one or two of them (If you're lucky) so it's not such a waste of time.

I can write both in spanish and in english, but most of this is going to be in the latter since nearly all my stories are writen in english. So, enjoy, or whatever, just don't bother me if you're going to criticise,the internet is supposed to be free.

Savage Forest.