Just recently I got a question on Ask fm about my writing, and whether or not I had any excerpts to share. Well, I kinda do, and I figured I might as well post it here. However, what I’m going to post below is not part of any story I’m working on (actually I’m not even working on anything right now), it’s more like a generic, untitled sample to showcase how I’d write if I ever decided to write an original story. Basically there’s really no larger story behind these scenes so don’t worry if you have no idea what’s going on and who these characters are — I don’t know, either!
I originally posted this on Ask fm as an answer, but the character limit was sort of a pain in the ass. It probably has a better place here on the blog, where all my other stuff is. As always, feedback is appreciated.
“At times, I let momentary fancy take over as my mind plunges into the blue waves of dreams. A sea of the unfulfilled, an azure desert of hopes and aspirations lost in the distant horizon of imagination. Drifting and drifting along in a non-existent stream as the mind explores what could and could never be. ‘Daydreaming’, as they call it; man conjuring up an ideal self, a future self, if you will – free from flaws, perfect and stalwart; a self he is content with, a role he wishes to fill one day on the chessboard of life. A Pawn longing to become King – the ant dreaming to become Man. And look upon me now – what do you see?”
His question reverberated in the candle-lit room of the castle they now occupied – a snug little corner in an otherwise majestic giant of a building, a true testament to the artistry of its designers. No answer could be heard from the girl, lips trembling and eyes wide open, paralyzed both by fear and wicked sorcery commanded by her melancholy host.
“I have done things I am not proud of. Things I regret. Sins that no tears can wash away and deeds no men can undo. And the thought haunts me still, a malicious force festering in my soul – a beast I am forced to wrestle every night, a cureless plague that torments, yet refuses to kill. They talk of redemption, of amending your ways, of becoming a new man. And yet the past changes not, a stark reminder of choices once made, woven deep into the tapestry of time and space.”
The air seemed to cool as the man’s solemn monologue was nearing its inevitable end. He calmly shifted his weight in the richly decorated chair, a pair of crimson eyes judging his unwilling guest.