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Peregrine aimed carefully at the target on the brick wall. Ten metres away stood a green bottle casting an eerie glow on the sandy ground. He drew back the elastic on the handcrafted catapult and shut one eye tightly. He breathed in, exhaled slowly and fired. In a split second there seemed to be a million shining pieces of emerald flying in all directions. All that remained on the dilapidated wall was the hard base, which had taken on the appearance of a distinctly unregal crown. Picking up another stone he prepared to fire again, differently this time; a little more conservatively. The stone lofted through the air gracefully and landed at the base of the crown, pitching it high up into the air. He ran to the wall and watched as the spinning crown began its tragic descent into the waves far below at the base of the cliff. It sank with an unceremonious splash, but looking like a jewel-encrusted crown in the flash on sunlight.
He waited a while to see if anyone had been disturbed by this invasion of the silent tranquillity. No one came. Peregrine often came to the cliff-top when he needed to be alone. He could absorb the silence or vent his frustration without interruption. Yet his main pleasure was found in the vast expanse of the ocean. Its borders seemed limitless, contained only by the brutal coastline that stifled its freedom, repelling the tide's every attempt to occupy the dry land. He hated the times when he had to turn around and head back home. It was pure hypocrisy to turn his back on infinite possibility and look willingly upon the limitations of the opposite direction.
Whenever he began to turn his head he would watch the waves crash on the tyrannical rocks and know how hopeless his return would be. He despaired at the contemptuous sight of their cars, their semi-detached houses, their nine-to-five jobs and their limitations. They willingly embraced the shackles of their jobs and mortgages and empty empty lives. Every time he tried to be a part of their world he knew he was compromising himself. Every single time he tried to accept their lifestyle, the allure of the silent cliff-top overpowered him and he would return and look wistfully at the sea.
Looking at his watch, he knew that it was time to leave. Staring out into the ocean he could scarcely bear to turn his head. The ocean stretched as far as his eyes could see in all visible directions; a wondrous, borderless citadel of absolute peace. So he did not turn his head. He removed his watch and threw it behind him, releasing the bond of their time. He took off his shoes and his socks and stood on the burning sand and the warmth on his feet was liberating. Still looking to the sea he began to pace forwards, and the verdant emeralds on the floor became red rubies as the shards cut his feet to ribbons, and the pain exhilarated him. He stepped up on to the uneven wall and stretched his arms out on either side of his body. The bright sun shone on to his face and emphasised the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.
With arms still out-stretched, and leaning forward as far as it was possible to lean without losing balance, he let the tear fall into the sea, from whence it had come. And as he stared the waves ceased their tumultuous crescendo and lay still, subdued, inviting him to join them. He straightened again. He gasped the salt air into his lungs. Exhaled. Then with a straight back he fell forwards to where his crown and kingdom awaited him. Suddenly the water enveloped him. It swept over his face refreshing him. The first acrid gulp of salt water made him wretch violently, but this only caused a gasping gulp of fresh bitter water to enter his lungs, and again. Again. But the bitter salty taste was nothing but a distant memory as he faded into the sweet, borderless blackness that he had so coveted.
He waited a while to see if anyone had been disturbed by this invasion of the silent tranquillity. No one came. Peregrine often came to the cliff-top when he needed to be alone. He could absorb the silence or vent his frustration without interruption. Yet his main pleasure was found in the vast expanse of the ocean. Its borders seemed limitless, contained only by the brutal coastline that stifled its freedom, repelling the tide's every attempt to occupy the dry land. He hated the times when he had to turn around and head back home. It was pure hypocrisy to turn his back on infinite possibility and look willingly upon the limitations of the opposite direction.
Whenever he began to turn his head he would watch the waves crash on the tyrannical rocks and know how hopeless his return would be. He despaired at the contemptuous sight of their cars, their semi-detached houses, their nine-to-five jobs and their limitations. They willingly embraced the shackles of their jobs and mortgages and empty empty lives. Every time he tried to be a part of their world he knew he was compromising himself. Every single time he tried to accept their lifestyle, the allure of the silent cliff-top overpowered him and he would return and look wistfully at the sea.
Looking at his watch, he knew that it was time to leave. Staring out into the ocean he could scarcely bear to turn his head. The ocean stretched as far as his eyes could see in all visible directions; a wondrous, borderless citadel of absolute peace. So he did not turn his head. He removed his watch and threw it behind him, releasing the bond of their time. He took off his shoes and his socks and stood on the burning sand and the warmth on his feet was liberating. Still looking to the sea he began to pace forwards, and the verdant emeralds on the floor became red rubies as the shards cut his feet to ribbons, and the pain exhilarated him. He stepped up on to the uneven wall and stretched his arms out on either side of his body. The bright sun shone on to his face and emphasised the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.
With arms still out-stretched, and leaning forward as far as it was possible to lean without losing balance, he let the tear fall into the sea, from whence it had come. And as he stared the waves ceased their tumultuous crescendo and lay still, subdued, inviting him to join them. He straightened again. He gasped the salt air into his lungs. Exhaled. Then with a straight back he fell forwards to where his crown and kingdom awaited him. Suddenly the water enveloped him. It swept over his face refreshing him. The first acrid gulp of salt water made him wretch violently, but this only caused a gasping gulp of fresh bitter water to enter his lungs, and again. Again. But the bitter salty taste was nothing but a distant memory as he faded into the sweet, borderless blackness that he had so coveted.
Mr. Happy, where do you get the inspiration for stories like this?
That was a good story- relevant too. It does relate to life and the limits on freedom we feel, and how they can effect us. I think we all have some kind of escape.
That was a good story- relevant too. It does relate to life and the limits on freedom we feel, and how they can effect us. I think we all have some kind of escape.
Grix Thraves wrote:
> Mr. Happy wrote:
"And read "something more" by Grix in the
> movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to
> say..."
What is it with that? I think you're a better writer than me,
> and from what you've been saying, it looks like you prefer my work to your own.
> It's just I kinda prefer to take a first person perspective to death, and you
> seem to take a third person. Different styles, I take first person because I
> find it easier, but you write in the third person a lot better.
You know, you've just made me realise this. Before I came on here I used to write all my stories in 1st person. But on here they're all in 3rd person...strange.
Anyway, at least it'll give my next one a new perspective. But if I use SR posters, then I'll have to try and act like the poster I "am"...I could be you, Grix, but I'd get confused with your brain talking as well. {:)
> Mr. Happy wrote:
"And read "something more" by Grix in the
> movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to
> say..."
What is it with that? I think you're a better writer than me,
> and from what you've been saying, it looks like you prefer my work to your own.
> It's just I kinda prefer to take a first person perspective to death, and you
> seem to take a third person. Different styles, I take first person because I
> find it easier, but you write in the third person a lot better.
You know, you've just made me realise this. Before I came on here I used to write all my stories in 1st person. But on here they're all in 3rd person...strange.
Anyway, at least it'll give my next one a new perspective. But if I use SR posters, then I'll have to try and act like the poster I "am"...I could be you, Grix, but I'd get confused with your brain talking as well. {:)
Mr. Happy wrote:
> I've got to do some revision now, but if you paste the link in I'll go there as
> soon as I can... probably around 10ish tonight.
I wrote an infinitely better
> story than this in the movies forum called "the little glass boy",
> which was about falling in love for the first time. And that's more descriptive
> in a way... actually I only prefer that one because I used the words
> "butane epiphany" in it, which I thought sounded cool...
I really
> do promise to post something in your story at around 10 today but I need a link
> because you didn't put one in :-)
LMAO!! I spent ages looking for it, and then forgot to bloody well put it in. :D
Here it is (spaces)
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=20293&forumid=419
I'll make sure I read your other story too, and don't worry if you haven't got time to read it, I'm just selfish. {:)
> I've got to do some revision now, but if you paste the link in I'll go there as
> soon as I can... probably around 10ish tonight.
I wrote an infinitely better
> story than this in the movies forum called "the little glass boy",
> which was about falling in love for the first time. And that's more descriptive
> in a way... actually I only prefer that one because I used the words
> "butane epiphany" in it, which I thought sounded cool...
I really
> do promise to post something in your story at around 10 today but I need a link
> because you didn't put one in :-)
LMAO!! I spent ages looking for it, and then forgot to bloody well put it in. :D
Here it is (spaces)
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=20293&forumid=419
I'll make sure I read your other story too, and don't worry if you haven't got time to read it, I'm just selfish. {:)
Mr. Happy wrote:
"And read "something more" by Grix in the movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to say..."
What is it with that? I think you're a better writer than me, and from what you've been saying, it looks like you prefer my work to your own. It's just I kinda prefer to take a first person perspective to death, and you seem to take a third person. Different styles, I take first person because I find it easier, but you write in the third person a lot better.
Bah. I'll stop now before Goatboy comes in and calls us a bunch of women. :0)
"And read "something more" by Grix in the movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to say..."
What is it with that? I think you're a better writer than me, and from what you've been saying, it looks like you prefer my work to your own. It's just I kinda prefer to take a first person perspective to death, and you seem to take a third person. Different styles, I take first person because I find it easier, but you write in the third person a lot better.
Bah. I'll stop now before Goatboy comes in and calls us a bunch of women. :0)
I've got to do some revision now, but if you paste the link in I'll go there as soon as I can... probably around 10ish tonight.
I wrote an infinitely better story than this in the movies forum called "the little glass boy", which was about falling in love for the first time. And that's more descriptive in a way... actually I only prefer that one because I used the words "butane epiphany" in it, which I thought sounded cool...
I really do promise to post something in your story at around 10 today but I need a link because you didn't put one in :-)
I wrote an infinitely better story than this in the movies forum called "the little glass boy", which was about falling in love for the first time. And that's more descriptive in a way... actually I only prefer that one because I used the words "butane epiphany" in it, which I thought sounded cool...
I really do promise to post something in your story at around 10 today but I need a link because you didn't put one in :-)
Heh, that was excellent Mr Happy, gave me a few pointers on how to write descriptively like that. It's where I struggle in my writing. I'm fine with conversation and describing plots, but places and thoughts I've always found hard.
I love the way it relates to life, very clever.
Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, could you please read this story I wrote a few months back?? Here's a link:
I know a couple of bits need improving, but I'd just like to know what you thought overall as it's the first time I'd ever really tried that...sort of story. Usually I go for comedy, so this made a change.
(Oh yeah, and when I pasted it some of the letters went a bit strange, but it's easily readable.) Cheers.
Eeek...sorry, talking about myself again. Wonderful story, Happy-Man. {:)
I love the way it relates to life, very clever.
Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, could you please read this story I wrote a few months back?? Here's a link:
I know a couple of bits need improving, but I'd just like to know what you thought overall as it's the first time I'd ever really tried that...sort of story. Usually I go for comedy, so this made a change.
(Oh yeah, and when I pasted it some of the letters went a bit strange, but it's easily readable.) Cheers.
Eeek...sorry, talking about myself again. Wonderful story, Happy-Man. {:)
I've already posted it in one of Grix's topics, but I thought I'd post it in here because it's about life, in a way.
The reason he's called Peregrine is that it means wanderer, or lost one in Greek, and I borrowed it from a play I was studying in English. I wrote this ageeeees ago though, which is why it's disjointed and not that good.
I'm going to write something new tonight, because I am in a creative mood. Or I'll write a review of Heathers, haven't decided yet... ah well, have fun. And read "something more" by Grix in the movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to say...
The reason he's called Peregrine is that it means wanderer, or lost one in Greek, and I borrowed it from a play I was studying in English. I wrote this ageeeees ago though, which is why it's disjointed and not that good.
I'm going to write something new tonight, because I am in a creative mood. Or I'll write a review of Heathers, haven't decided yet... ah well, have fun. And read "something more" by Grix in the movies forum because his a better version of what I wanted to say...
Peregrine aimed carefully at the target on the brick wall. Ten metres away stood a green bottle casting an eerie glow on the sandy ground. He drew back the elastic on the handcrafted catapult and shut one eye tightly. He breathed in, exhaled slowly and fired. In a split second there seemed to be a million shining pieces of emerald flying in all directions. All that remained on the dilapidated wall was the hard base, which had taken on the appearance of a distinctly unregal crown. Picking up another stone he prepared to fire again, differently this time; a little more conservatively. The stone lofted through the air gracefully and landed at the base of the crown, pitching it high up into the air. He ran to the wall and watched as the spinning crown began its tragic descent into the waves far below at the base of the cliff. It sank with an unceremonious splash, but looking like a jewel-encrusted crown in the flash on sunlight.
He waited a while to see if anyone had been disturbed by this invasion of the silent tranquillity. No one came. Peregrine often came to the cliff-top when he needed to be alone. He could absorb the silence or vent his frustration without interruption. Yet his main pleasure was found in the vast expanse of the ocean. Its borders seemed limitless, contained only by the brutal coastline that stifled its freedom, repelling the tide's every attempt to occupy the dry land. He hated the times when he had to turn around and head back home. It was pure hypocrisy to turn his back on infinite possibility and look willingly upon the limitations of the opposite direction.
Whenever he began to turn his head he would watch the waves crash on the tyrannical rocks and know how hopeless his return would be. He despaired at the contemptuous sight of their cars, their semi-detached houses, their nine-to-five jobs and their limitations. They willingly embraced the shackles of their jobs and mortgages and empty empty lives. Every time he tried to be a part of their world he knew he was compromising himself. Every single time he tried to accept their lifestyle, the allure of the silent cliff-top overpowered him and he would return and look wistfully at the sea.
Looking at his watch, he knew that it was time to leave. Staring out into the ocean he could scarcely bear to turn his head. The ocean stretched as far as his eyes could see in all visible directions; a wondrous, borderless citadel of absolute peace. So he did not turn his head. He removed his watch and threw it behind him, releasing the bond of their time. He took off his shoes and his socks and stood on the burning sand and the warmth on his feet was liberating. Still looking to the sea he began to pace forwards, and the verdant emeralds on the floor became red rubies as the shards cut his feet to ribbons, and the pain exhilarated him. He stepped up on to the uneven wall and stretched his arms out on either side of his body. The bright sun shone on to his face and emphasised the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.
With arms still out-stretched, and leaning forward as far as it was possible to lean without losing balance, he let the tear fall into the sea, from whence it had come. And as he stared the waves ceased their tumultuous crescendo and lay still, subdued, inviting him to join them. He straightened again. He gasped the salt air into his lungs. Exhaled. Then with a straight back he fell forwards to where his crown and kingdom awaited him. Suddenly the water enveloped him. It swept over his face refreshing him. The first acrid gulp of salt water made him wretch violently, but this only caused a gasping gulp of fresh bitter water to enter his lungs, and again. Again. But the bitter salty taste was nothing but a distant memory as he faded into the sweet, borderless blackness that he had so coveted.
He waited a while to see if anyone had been disturbed by this invasion of the silent tranquillity. No one came. Peregrine often came to the cliff-top when he needed to be alone. He could absorb the silence or vent his frustration without interruption. Yet his main pleasure was found in the vast expanse of the ocean. Its borders seemed limitless, contained only by the brutal coastline that stifled its freedom, repelling the tide's every attempt to occupy the dry land. He hated the times when he had to turn around and head back home. It was pure hypocrisy to turn his back on infinite possibility and look willingly upon the limitations of the opposite direction.
Whenever he began to turn his head he would watch the waves crash on the tyrannical rocks and know how hopeless his return would be. He despaired at the contemptuous sight of their cars, their semi-detached houses, their nine-to-five jobs and their limitations. They willingly embraced the shackles of their jobs and mortgages and empty empty lives. Every time he tried to be a part of their world he knew he was compromising himself. Every single time he tried to accept their lifestyle, the allure of the silent cliff-top overpowered him and he would return and look wistfully at the sea.
Looking at his watch, he knew that it was time to leave. Staring out into the ocean he could scarcely bear to turn his head. The ocean stretched as far as his eyes could see in all visible directions; a wondrous, borderless citadel of absolute peace. So he did not turn his head. He removed his watch and threw it behind him, releasing the bond of their time. He took off his shoes and his socks and stood on the burning sand and the warmth on his feet was liberating. Still looking to the sea he began to pace forwards, and the verdant emeralds on the floor became red rubies as the shards cut his feet to ribbons, and the pain exhilarated him. He stepped up on to the uneven wall and stretched his arms out on either side of his body. The bright sun shone on to his face and emphasised the silent tear that rolled down his cheek.
With arms still out-stretched, and leaning forward as far as it was possible to lean without losing balance, he let the tear fall into the sea, from whence it had come. And as he stared the waves ceased their tumultuous crescendo and lay still, subdued, inviting him to join them. He straightened again. He gasped the salt air into his lungs. Exhaled. Then with a straight back he fell forwards to where his crown and kingdom awaited him. Suddenly the water enveloped him. It swept over his face refreshing him. The first acrid gulp of salt water made him wretch violently, but this only caused a gasping gulp of fresh bitter water to enter his lungs, and again. Again. But the bitter salty taste was nothing but a distant memory as he faded into the sweet, borderless blackness that he had so coveted.