Well, those words have been stuck in my head all day. What do I do when I want some words out of my head? WRITE STORY! YAY! Here goes nothing: The landscape was barren, grey, flat. The only feature was a collection of black, jagged rocks populated by a host of dancing, shimmering lights. Seeing no better option, I climbed to my feet, having previously been sitting back against the ground, dark hair rustling in the slight breeze that had started up. As I took a hesitant step forward, I suddenly found myself sprawled on the ground, having tripped over an object near my feet. Pushing myself to a kneeling position, I glanced back to see what it was. It was a black stick, topped on one end by a cyan spearhead that glowed faintly. I had a sudden urge to reach forward and grab it. So I did. The whole thing was about six feet long. My hand closed around a carved handle, before unseen. It seemed to be made to perfectly fit my hand. I got back up and took an experimental swing. The blade, about a foot long, crackled with energy. My eyebrows shot up. This was some serious medieval ordinance. Curiosity overcame reason and my right hand, the other grasping the handle, reached out and touched it. That was a mistake. A scream tore through my lips, something sounding like, "GAHHHARGH!" My pale, near-white skin was blackened where my palm had brushed it. It hurt like crazy, and I hadn't even really touched it! Despite the pain, I grinned. I held my hand closer to my eyes, and to my amazement, the pain quickly faded as the burnt, blackened skin resorted to its normal, whitened hue. I started towards the foreboding rocks, spear clutched in my left hand. Let's see what this place has to offer. I reached the rocks after about an hour of walking. I had seen nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing but the slight wind. As I walked through a jagged arch, I saw that it seemed to be some sort of valley. Black, twisted rocks shot up out of the ground at odd angles, and the land curved gently downward. A heavy mist obscured everything Nothing moved. I walked cautiously forward, brandishing my spear carefully. Suddenly, the fog cleared. A dark iron sign post, hammered into the ground, appeared from the fast retreating white blanket. It read, in sharp, spiky letters, "WELCOME TO A MELANCHOLY DREAM. WALK TO THE CENTER." That's all for now. Who thinks I should write more?
@Drg: If your gonna criticize, make it constructive. In what way could I make it better? I understand that I am not the best writer, but I'm trying to get better.
Liking this. The detail is full of color Kendall. I am picturing this tale you have and I am waiting for the story to accelerate out of the 4 inches thick of vivid color that has leaked out of your luminescent imagination. Good ****.
Too much emphasis on the color. It's beautiful color, and it's not purple yet, but it has the potential to take that turn. Nonetheless. Very pretty, shall I say.