Doctor Who Drabble

This is the first true 100 word drabble I've ever written. So proud of myself :')
I wrote this as a random writing warm-up but I actually quite like it.

The Doctor has never liked endings, because those in his life are never happy. Too much pain, too much loss, too much regret.

No matter how much he tried, he lost them all, one by one; forever ageless and full of life, while his friends aged and died around him.

He is always running, staying ahead of it all, trying to keep the sorrow at bay, to begin afresh.

But every story must end sometime, somehow, and one day, his ending will catch up with him.

After all, one cannot run forever.

Everything has its time, even for the Doctor.

Another Merlin drabble of fangirlism :p

For those of you who actually know what I'm talking about, I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry...*virtual hug*

Thank you to Maya for editing this and making it loads better :D

 

 

The moisture seeped through his battered armour, chilling him to the bone. Not long now, he thought, and for a breathless moment the panic made itself known, coursing through his body like a cold wave of desperation to do something, anything, to halt his bitterly inevitable destiny. He couldn’t die now, not when so many depended on him, on his leadership. His people needed a king to guide them, and his knights needed a commander, a friend, to mourn their fallen comrades alongside them, and Guinevere, his poor, sweet Guinevere, who would be worried sick… he needed to hold her in his arms and never let go.

But as his gasping breaths counted down the last few moments he had left, he realized that he would never again see those he cared about, that he would die on the edge of this lake, the healing powers of the Sidhe so close, yet so unreachable… with Merlin by his side.

Merlin, whose tear-filled blue eyes burned into him with such helplessness and pain. Merlin, who possessed such incredible powers; who was so much more than a simple clumsy manservant, yet was still so utterly Merlin… Merlin, his truest friend.

And in that moment he knew, that although he would never be able to free magic, never be able to recognize Merlin for all the things he had done, there was one thing he could do.

And he would do it gladly.
Just before his vision succumbed to darkness, he willed his failing body to choke out two words; two tiny, unimaginably powerful words, that would carry the weight of all the things he would never get the chance to say：

“Thank you.”

 

--

the feels ;-;

Oh don't mind me...I'll just go off to read some AU fanfiction...

;)

Letter to a loved one

Pen hovering,
The page blank;
I can't think,
have to be frank.

No way to describe,
with words just right,
the way your smile
shines so bright.

The way you are
the Sun to my Earth,
my steadfast anchor,
centre of my universe.

Your carefree laughter,
brings warmth to my heart,
a warmth with which
I hope to never part.

The things I feel,
only you can understand;
my dearest love,
and my bestest friend.

And I suppose all this
is just me trying to say:
godspeed, my angel,
for me, be safe.

the Tale of Mordred

I suppose I am writing this because I feel almost obligated to tell the other side of the story-- my side, my perspective. In a hundred, a thousand years, High King Arthur Pendragon's name will live on, as a wise and strong ruler, a peace bringer, who united all of Albion in its glorious Golden Age; and I, forever remembered as the cold-blooded villain. It pains me to think that the good peoples of this kingdom would be so easily fooled by the lies the king had spun with the aid of his treacherous sorcerer, Merlin. But as long as these short pages endure, my story will be told. I only hope that some trader in a far off country would be able to see beyond the glamour of the king, so that the truth will live on.

I realize that I had strayed somewhat, had become lost in the sea of bitterness that predominates my life. Read on, whoever it be that sets eyes upon this, and you shall learn of all the woes that shaped who I am, and who I must become, at dawn tomorrow, on the fields of Camlann, under the blood red sky.

Every woeful tale has its beginning, and mine began the moment I opened my eyes to the world. My mother was Morgause, esteemed priestess of the Old Religion and half-sister to Arthur Pendragon himself, though neither my mother nor the king knew it at the time. When he finally learned of the truth, my mother was already with child...his child. And how cruel is fate that I must call him father, when in truth I hate him more than any other man I've known. For it was not enough that he turned my pregnant mother away in her time of need, no, he drove her out of the great city of Camelot and hunted her across the kingdom to protect his precious throne from an illegitimate heir. Well, how ironic that by doing so, he himself planted the seed of hate that would bring the very thing he feared above all-- his usurpation, his death. He hunted my mother like a criminal, forcing her to flee in the dead of the night, to one sleepy village after another, never stopping, in fear of her life. And it was in one such village that I was born, screaming, into the world, destined to deal King Arthur the fate he deserves.

I was a queer child, they say, aloof. I never quite fit in with the other boys, but I envied their lightheartedness and their camaraderie, and I knew that they would never betray my mother and me. But alas, King Arthur just could not let us be.

I was merely 6 when they came, those knights of King Arthur's court, looming over us children on their high horses, brandishing their sharpened swords. I recall it so vividly even after all these years: their reddened faces (whether from liquor or exertion I could not tell), the predatory manner in which their gazes sought out the children. Then they just murdered them all-- every young child, every companion I ever had-- just smote them all down in broad daylight, while the villagers stood by in stupefied horror. Being a little apart from the other children, I was spared their fate, but not those terrible memories. I ran home to my mother, and we fled, never looking back; but I knew that I would never forget what the king and his knights did.

From then on, my mother and I lived in seclusion, deep in the mountains, far away, where we hoped that the king's forces would never reach us. I later learned that it was not just the village we stayed in, but every single one in the whole kingdom, where the knights rounded up and killed all the younger children. It was said to be "for the good of the kingdom", for Merlin had foreseen that it a child of the age of 6 who would grow up to be the killer of King Arthur. (Ha! And he was right.) But of course, the knights could not even be bothered to spare the others.

Some children aspire to be great physicians when they are older, others knights in shining armor, rescuing damsels left and right. I've always wanted to become a knight, though for vastly different reasons-- I wanted to kill the king. So I trained hard, every day, in hopes that I would master the art of weaponry and one day, end the life of the deceiving ruler, the cruel murderer, the cold-hearted father.

I joined the court of King Arthur when I became of age, to get to know my mortal enemy. I stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the older knights, yet the king, in his arrogance, never doubted me as I pretended to be a half dozen years older than I am. And so I watched, for his weaknesses, and waited, for that fateful day.

My tale reaches its end. Dawn has come at last, casting crimson rays onto allies and foes alike. I know not whether I will live to see another, but now is not the time for regrets. I must do this. Today, at Camlann, I shall fulfill my destiny to avenge all those that King Arthur Pendragon has wronged. To the death, it shall be, father and son, sword to sword.

These are to be my last words. Before I march to battle, I ask of you, reader, one last thing: no, neither pity nor forgiveness, but remembrance. Remember my story; remember me, the lonely, fatherless little boy named Mordred.

--
My attempt at writing a story from the villain's perspective. Hope it was believable :)

Spring

A blade of grass quivering in the breeze,
The buds just beginning to sprout on trees,
The furry forms darting across the lawn,
The birdsong welcoming every new dawn.

There's something different that I cannot place,
A buzzing vibrancy that's full of grace;
It's in the fragrance of cherry blossoms,
A sweet elegance, simple yet awesome.

Gone are the days of endless bitter cold,
The rain, the gloom, the fireside stories told.
The hard and frozen earth has thawed and greened,
The cool stream water runs glistening clean.

For oh the winter months have come and passed,
And fair springtime has awakened at last.

Yay :D Yet another product of my fangirlism. Doctor Who this time =P not that satisfied with this but mehh... (If anyone's interested, this is about the Last Time War between the Time Lords and the Daleks. Both Gallifrey -the Time Lords' home planet- and the Daleks' planet were destroyed and both races wiped out except for a few survivors.) XD

There once was a planet,
Gallifrey it was known;
where under a burnt orange sky,
the flaming grasses shone.

The silver leaves glittered,
the mountains stretched ever on;
and the light of the twin suns,
kindled joy every dawn.

Home of the Time Lords,
most ancient race in the universe;
able to travel across time itself,
but sworn to only observe.

A people of knowledge, they were,
powerful and wise.
Builders of libraries and cathedrals,
all of magnificent size.

But time would take its toll,
as they knew best of all;
for even the mighty Time Lords,
one day must fall.

And soon that day came,
one of war and destruction.
Ruthless and unstoppable,
the Daleks were triumphant.

Even the Time Lords' regenerations
in the end could not save them.
One by one they fell,
amidst the chaos and mayhem.

Only one possessed the power,
only one understood the signs;
he must save the whole universe
from the very collapse of time.

But a heavy heart he bore,
for he knew and dreaded the cost.
Time would be saved,
but all his kin would be lost.

And so the sky rained flames,
and great buildings crumbled to dust.
Downed were Daleks and Time Lords alike,
as he knew they must.

He alone escaped,
while all the rest perished.
He watched as the world burned-
the ruin of all he cherished.

And then he ran, away
from his painful past.
So very alone,
for he knew he was the last.

Deep he buried his grief,
with a new life, a new name.
"The Doctor", he called himself,
only Time Lord there remained.

The healer, the wise one,
travelling through time and space.
The unsung hero,
always to defend, to save.

And even after all this time,
his true name remains a mystery.
For it is more than just a secret,
an unspeakable truth shrouded in history.

"On the Fields of Trenzalore,
at the fall of the Eleventh,
the question will be asked,
and silence will fall.

The First Question,
one he has been running from all his life,
the question that must NEVER be answered.
Silence MUST fall.

Doctor who? Doctor who? DOCTOR WHO?!"

The Last March of the Elves

*This is set in Lord of the Rings universe, from the point of view of an elf marching to Helm's Deep. (The Two Towers movie? Anyone? XD)

On we march, forward,
Across glittering streams,
Over snow-peaked mountains,
Through sunlit meadows,
Our horns of war sounding.

On we march, away,
From all that is familiar and safe,
Leaving behind our beloved Rivendell;
Echoes of children's laughter fading,
Bidding us one final farewell.

On we march, towards
Chaos, terror, and bloodshed,
Our doom, our irrevocable fate;
On into the realms of men,
Knowing that only death awaits.

Yet on we march, still,
To the aid of besieged Rohan,
Where together elves and men shall stand,
To battle the vile creatures of darkness
And defend the people of this land.

For too long have our races been divided,
Too long have we watched and waited;
Now, the hour has come,
To reforge the kinship that with time had faded.

We march on, soundless
Save for the horn's mournful notes;
Passing over the land as fleeting shadows,
Our journey's end approaching, so close.

And though the tingling fire in our veins,
Calls us home to timeless white shores,
We will remain, and die as mortals,
Each to fall to arrow or sword.

We march on, to our doom,
While what remains of our kin sails into the West.
Alas, that our age of wisdom should fade,
Yet may the coming Age of Men be blest.

The last march of the elder race,
To war, to save Middle Earth.
One last blessing,
For the glory of a new age to come forth.

On we march, the last of the elves,
Forward, soundless, to our doom.

Growing Up

There was a time, once,
When I was surrounded by love,
So strong that it blocked out all troubles,
shielding me from the harshness of reality.
And I was always happy,
As happy as can be.

But that was years ago,
A lifetime long gone by,
Cocooned in the safety of a child's mind,
When my biggest worries were of candy and toys.
And life seemed so very simple,
Goodness ever invincible.

But of course time took its toll,
And the inevitable came to pass.
You know how people say,
that growing up is a trap?
Well...I fell into that trap,
And my perfect world cracked.

No longer do I see the world,
As plainly black and white;
No, not so contrasting,
but full of many shades of gray.
A child's perception, after all,
Is idealized, and bound to fall.

Oh but heavy is the price of maturity,
For no longer can I hide in my mother's arms;
Forced to face the unknown,
And conceal my true thoughts behind a façade.
But no matter how I lament the loss of my naïveté,
Alas, it can only be this way.

--
“Growing up is never straight forward.

There are moments when everything is fine, and other moments where you realize that 

there are certain memories that you'll never get back, and certain people that are going to change, and the hardest part is knowing that

there's nothing you can do except watch them.” 

― Alden Nowlan

The Tale of Robin Hood

Here's a fun little(okay maybe not so little) thing I wrote inspired by the King Raven series by author Stephen Lawhead.(they're really good :D) I don't think I would've made a very good bard but ah well...

Ho listen up all you folks
Here I begin the tale
Of one brave lad named Robin Hood
In the great woods of Wales

Now first of all I should say
"Robin" isn't his name you see
Once proud Prince Bran of Elfael
Till forced he was to flee

For alas one morn the Ffreinc came
Eyes set on the kingdom's lands
The king Bran's father they cruelly slaughtered
Along with his loyal war-band

The simple folk were terrified of course
Protection they no longer had
Many had no choice but to stay and pray
Oppressed, and that was that

Meanwhile our Bran watched, helpless too
And twas then he solemnly swore
To aid his people any way he could
And see his kingdom restored

So away into the Guardian Wood he went
Followed by some good friends
And deep within the forest they dwelled
In houses of odds and ends

Times were hard for Bran and his flock
But they never forgot the French
Willing to fight for their people's rights
They worked and plotted revenge

So Bran donned a great feathered cloak
Complete with hood and beak
Rhi Bran y Hud, King Raven, he was called
Fearsome protector of the weak

The Ffreinc trembled at his name
And the Welsh bore it with pride
He and his men, amazing archers all
Were victorious time after time

In the wild they ensnared their foes
And arrow after arrow flew true
Clever and daring, they fooled them too
Devising ingenious coups

After battles were fought, peace was sought
But blood continued to flow
What's good or evil became so blurred
With every fatal blow

Again and again hopes were crushed
And a-many good men were lost
Yet on they fought--no return now
Freedom at what cost?

For good or ill King Raven and his flock
Held out against their foes
But soon they'd tire and the need was dire
To put an end to all their woes

So Bran sought an audience with Red King William
Under the flag of peace
And bargained he did, fealty for his kingdom
So the bloody fighting may cease

Now Red King William was mighty displeased
Reluctant to give in to the demands
But Bran has gained the support of many
And was prepared for a final stand

The warriors were ready, their weapons steady
And the battle would have gone as planned
If not for good ol' Friar Tuck
Who convinced William to stay his hand

So the two sides met and finally agreed
On the terms that Bran had set
King of Elfael he was made
And with William gained new-found respect

So at last Rhi Bran and his merry men
Hid no more in the woods
Home and freedom they had gained
And cast off was the raven hood

Now ere our tale does come to an end
This I should explain
That long ruled Bran with his queen Merian
And blessed peace at last did reign

Yet alas even great men must grow old
And with Bran we soon must part
Stooped and gray, he outlived his friends
And bears loss with a weary heart

Then one bright morn Bran rode out
For his last time of all
Into the woods, bow in hand
With a strong voice he did call:

"Oh all ye brave and merry men
Again in this wood we'll meet
Like times of old, let our bowstrings twang
Music for our ears, how sweet"

The Wait

Waiting.
The time trickles by, each second an eternity.
I shiver, feeling chilled to the bone, yet my palms are moist with perspiration.
I try not to fidget too noticeably in my seat, failing completely.
Oh, the anticipation!
My mind works into a frenzy, bracing itself for the worst, yet still secretly hoping for the very best.
All the possible scenarios flit across my consciousness, a slideshow of utterly different futures.
For me, everything hangs in the balance, outcome yet to be decided;
That fateful, revealing moment both longed-for and dreaded.
Which way will the wheel of fortune turn this time? --no one can know for real.
And as I sit, body rigid, mind plagued by countless thoughts of self-doubt, I realize that
The wait is far harder to endure than the reveal.

Reminiscing

I step onto the balcony and stare out to sea,
Bombarded with a flood of long-gone memories.
The November air stings my cheeks,
Drying the tears, yet fresh ones still leak.

It has been so long-- a lifetime ago,
But I still remember vividly, as though
That day were only yesterday,
For even time cannot hold the memories at bay.

O my hero, wherever did you go?
Left for a better place, with my heart in tow.
O my love, whatever shall I do?
Now that you're gone, my purpose is too.

It's a dreary day, even the sky misses your smile;
Your tender gaze, our unborn child,
Gone forever, I alone remain behind,
With only the precious images in my mind.

But soon, I will see you both again,
The very thought brings me both hope and pain;
For my body has withered away at last,
Old and gray, fading fast.

If you hear me, love, wherever you are,
Grant me this one last wish from afar:
Until my final moments, watch over me,
And thereafter, we will be together, finally.


---
Yay another random and sort of depressing poem! (what is happening to me...XP) I assure you though, I am perfectly fine, I just get these writing moods.(blame the plot bunnies!) :D

Doomed To Love

Have you ever heard 

of the tragic story

Of brave Romeo and sweet Juliet?

Star-crossed lovers, they were;

Doomed from the very start,

Destiny wrenched them apart.

They were 

Unafraid to stay...                                      TRUE

To their own feelings:

To unleash their...                                      LOVE,

Wild and passionate.

A families' feud...                                     NEVER

Once hindered them;

"Till one of us...                                         DIES,"

They solemnly vowed,

"We will always be there for each other;

We will stay forever together."

"For this is...                                                OUR

Futures at stake;

It should be our...                                     HEARTS

That decide which paths we take;

And we shall...                                          NEVER

Look back with regret;

Even as we...                                                LIE

In our early graves, side by side."

 

---

First time trying out the emphasized words thing :p

BELIEVE

"By a clear winding river," the nine-year-old said longingly,

"Elves have lived in secret, since the beginnings of time;

 Long-legged, pointy-eared, mysterious fellows,

 In their great palaces of living oak.

 Ere the sunrise, some are already up and about.

 Vast libraries of knowledge always refreshed,

 Everything that was and everything that will be contained within..."

The nurse listened patiently, smiled and nodded.

She did not dismiss the tale as a childish fantasy;

Her heart could not bear to shatter these dreams.

The boy only had a week left to live; and he really believed.

---

This was to challenge myself with forming words by using the first letter of each line. :)
...and yes, the pic is from Lord of the Rings. No copyright infringement intended.

Disappointment

Disappointment.

There should have been something else, she registered dimly,

Anger, perhaps, or bitter betrayal;

But she could feel nothing but disappointment.

He didn't come.

A gaping chasm of hurt threatened to swallow her whole-

Just like the gaping hole he left in her heart;

The unnatural emptiness ate away at her.

He never came for her.

She felt broken inside, but hid her true feelings behind a hard mask;

She longed to sob and sob for her loss, but her face stayed dry.

I must stay strong, she told herself, 

I must not cry.

Her heart hardened.

She had given him everything, loved him with all the passion she possessed;

But now he is forever gone, and she had nothing left.

--

My strange writing moods...*shakes head at self*

This is almost like fanfiction for BBC Merlin, which is based on the Arthurian legends. :D
If you have any idea what I'm talking about, I hereby give you a virtual high-five. If not, here's what's happening in a nutshell.
The events take place in the Dark Ages in Britain, in the age of noble knights and chivalry. Magic exists. Merlin is supposedly the greatest sorcerer ever, who is destined to help the Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon, unite England under the banner of Camelot. They became very good friends who constantly banter and tease each other. This piece is set shortly before the battle of Camlann, where Arthur supposedly gets killed by Mordred.


Merlin's powers were fading as the Old Religion was replaced with the new. Knowing in his heart that the time has come, he bade farewell to King Arthur.

"This is where we part, old friend," Merlin stated with a heavy heart. "I would gladly die at your side, but it is not to be. This final battle you must fight alone; for the Old Ways are fading, and I am duty bound to do what I can. I must go the isle of Avalon and bound my magic to the earth, for only there can I protect the last seeds of the Old Magic."

The golden haired king nodded. "I understand, Merlin. I realize now that this was always destined to be. No matter how hard it may be, we have to carry on, for the love of Camelot. I will never regret all that we have achieved together." Arthur looked straight at Merlin, with determination evident in every line of his body.

"Well, well," Merlin remarked dryly, "It seems that the prat has gotten wise. Hmm," he rubbed his chin theatrically, "It just occurred to me that not many people know that the mighty King Arthur is, in fact, a prat and a clotpole. I shall do my best to personally make sure that piece of knowledge lives forever." A mischievous glint appeared in Merlin's eyes. "Imagine a thousand years later, you being remembered as the legendary Royal Prat." He grinned.

Arthur scowled half-heartedly. The two would have started another round of their famous banter had the situation been less grave. But alas, it was not to be. Merlin realized suddenly, with a strange sort of sadness, that it was to be the last time they teased each other in this lifetime. He suppressed the urge to joke around with Arthur one last time, knowing that delaying the inevitable would only make it harder.

Merlin grew serious again. "I have hoped that this moment would never come to pass; but now that it has, I part with one final advice. Remember, Arthur, never ever forget, the values we have fought for all these years. Our mortal bodies may perish, but our immortal souls live on. A time will come when Camelot and her people will be reincarnated into a new world. I shall be waiting-praying for that moment, however long it takes. Until then, farewell, Arthur; my friend, my brother, my king."
The two pairs of soulful blue eyes bore into each other, conveying in their depths, all the affection that was too profound to put into words. A look of intense concentration crossed Arthur's face, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of that moment.

After a few seconds, Arthur stepped forward and clasped Merlin in a one arm hug. "Goodbye, Merlin. Oh, and," his eyes twinkled with amusement, "Do try not to be an idiot."

Merlin grinned his trademark grin, one last time. Then his azure eyes turned a molten gold, and he disappeared in a swirl of wind, leaving nothing behind but the rustle of leaves and the echoes of memories.

Arthur's gaze remained for a long time on the spot where Merlin stood. He felt mournful, but also satisfied at the same time, as if a great burden he never knew had existed was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt truly free, and... Right. It all felt right. He could almost sense Destiny's smile of pride.

"So be it," Arthur muttered to himself, "I defend Camelot to my last breath." And with the dignity of a true king, Arthur Pendragon walked away, toward his doom, and never once looked back.

*I wasn't sure if this should go on here, but hey, a blog is where all the random stuff goes. XD

Survival

There are many types of people in this world,

Unique, one-of-a-kind individuals;

Each and every one worth noticing,

With our own hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses.

But when it comes to survival, carrying on,

There is one thing above all, that defines who we are:

Whether we find the strength, to keep going no matter what,

Or give up, and let our wills be destroyed by hardships.

Because what doesn't kill us makes us stronger,

If we survive the initial hit.

Lesson

"Life is just one big lesson,"

I remarked, in a moment of deep pondering.

"Just the one lesson?" My mother asked,

"Why is that? Surely there are lots to learn?"

"Yes," I replied, "But the thing is, you see...

We never stop learning."

*Randomness! And yes, this was an actual conversation between my mom and I. I just modified it a bit to make it flow better. :)

Short story-Only a Dream

Phew...just finished my first ever short story(or attempt at it, really) and owie my hand is cramping. XD Very dark, creepy(and weird), so be warned. Boy I was not in a happy mood when I brainstormed for this... Um, I'm too lazy to type it up right now, and I should really be studying. Oops. *looks around sheepishly*
*edit: FREEDOM! Not really for me but I'm trying to be optimistic :D Okie here you go. *hides behind desk*

Dream

The young woman looked around her. Everything seemed a little fuzzy at the edges. Some part of her mind registered that she was in her office at the law firm she owned. She stepped forward in familiarity--and the bookshelf to her left came crashing down, passing right through her body.

***
Marilyn Brooks woke up with a strangled gasp, her brow beaded with sweat.

Childish, she berated herself, When have I ever woken up in panic because of a nightmare? I start now, after winning that lotto jackpot, the biggest break of my life? She scoffed.

Marilyn soon dozed off again. Come morning, the nightmare was all but gone from her mind.

***
It was the following Tuesday. Marilyn hummed cheerfully to herself while she made coffee during her lunch break. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, her business was going well, and her sweet little sister was ecstatic for getting into her dream college; and plus, she now had an extra 3 million dollars in her bank account. Life has never been so good.

She turned back towards her office--and a huge crash made her jump out of her skin, spilling her coffee. (The carpet! she groaned to herself.) Deciding to deal with the stain later, Marilyn rushed to investigate.

The bookshelf-or what had once been the bookshelf-was now a pile of boards. Huge volumes of law lay scattered on the floor.

As the young woman stood over the carnage, a strange feeling of déjà vu passed through her. She dimly recalled the memory of her standing in that very spot as the bookshelf crashed down.

A nightmare, she remembered, and now it has actually come true... but that's ridiculous! Dreams don't foretell the future. It was just my subconscious mind playing tricks on me. There is nothing unusual about it. I've been meaning to fix that loose screw anyways.

***
No matter how much Marilyn tried, though, she could not get the image of the falling shelf out of her mind. She looked so unnerved that after some time, Mike Retz, her handsome and sweet colleague, spoke up.

"Marilyn, hey, you okay there? You've been distracted all afternoon. Something wrong?"

Marilyn hesitated. "Uh...it's nothing, really. I'm too paranoid for my own good." she tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Don't worry, you can tell me, Marilyn. I'm a psychology major, remember? This kind of stuff is my specialty."

"Alright. Marilyn sighed. "I had a bad dream, that's all. I dreamt vividly of that bookshelf falling and then it actually happened. Crazy, right?"

Mike laughed. "Crazy indeed. Don't think too much of it, boss, our subconscious minds do strange things. You're ever the superstitious one, Marilyn. See if your next dream comes true too, eh?" He winked at her. He looked oddly thoughtful.

"Thanks Mike. I'm fine now, really."

It sounded rather a lot like Marilyn was trying to convince herself.

***
It has been a long day. Marilyn showered, took her usual migraine medication, brushed her teeth, and all but collapsed on top of the covers.

***
The dream started off the same way. Marilyn was standing alone in her office, and everything was deathly quiet.

She looked out of the 8th floor window as a pair of headlights swung into view around the street corner.

Suddenly, a faint sizzling sound reached her ears, and before she could process what was going on, the rear of the car burst into flames.

***
Marilyn bolted upright in her bed.

Not again, she thought as the thudding of her heart gradually subsided. That escalated way too quickly; first the bookshelf, now a burning car. What's next? What could my mind possibly think up that'd be even worse than that?

***
The next morning at work, Mike approached Marilyn again.

"Hey, did you have another dream last night?" His tone was light, joking, but there was almost a need to know.

"Um, yes, actually; a car burst into flames, right outside my office window! I mean, what are the chances of that happening?" Marilyn laughed nervously.

"Quit freaking yourself out. That couldn't possibly happen; relax. It's not like your dreams are prophetic or anything."

"Yeah…you’re right," Marilyn said in a small voice.

***
Marilyn was lounging on her couch, flipping through the TV channels, when she saw the news report.

Car bursts into flames outside M. Brooks Law Firm, it read, Accident caused by leaking fuel tank and discarded cigarette butt. Driver is currently in hospital with minor burns.

Marilyn froze in shock. That was exactly like what happened in her dream!

That was no coincidence; the chances of a freak accident like that happening...unless the car was sabotaged (unlikely).

"Ohmygod!" The sudden thought hit her so hard she shouted out aloud. What if it's the other way around?! What if...what if it's what I dream about that comes true?

***
That night, Marilyn could not fall asleep. She twisted and turned in her bed, afraid to close her eyes. The logical and superstitious parts of her battled for dominance; the superstitious part won. She lay, staring at the ceiling for hours, until finally, exhausted, she dozed off.

***
This time, the dream was different, special. Marilyn was not in her office, or anywhere near her office, in fact. She was standing on a deserted sidewalk. It was dark, and there was a chill in the air. A small form was silhouetted against the faint light of the street-lamps. Marilyn squinted, trying to adjust to the semi-darkness. It was a young woman, carrying an expensive-looking purse, walking briskly away. All was well, until Marilyn noticed a dark shadow darting behind mailboxes and garbage bins, steadily advancing on the unsuspecting woman.

Marilyn opened her mouth in warning, but it was too late.

There was the metallic gleam of a knife, a scream, a struggle for the purse, and dark red seeping into the cracks in the hard concrete ground.

***

Marilyn's eyes snapped open, and she started screaming and sobbing hysterically. Pure terror coursed through her veins. Her mouth tasted dry and bitter. (What a strange aftertaste of those migraine meds.) She felt as if a hammer was driving a nail into her skull-her head felt like it was about to split in two; her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

No, she thought, No no no no no! The poor woman... please...let that be a dream, just a dream, and let nothing come of it...

If only some divine being had heard and granted her desperate wish, if only...

***
Marilyn dragged herself to work the next day, felling sick to her stomach. Her hands trembled as she tapped on the keyboard.

Mark poked his head into the office. “Bad dream again?” He seemed unsurprised.

“It…it was horrible,” Marilyn choked out. “I dreamt of a young woman being stabbed by a burglar, and-and she was bleeding out on the concrete.” Her eyes glistened.

“Hey, there, there,” Mark patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. “It was just a dream, it wasn’t real. Surely something that horrible would never happen here. It’s such a nice neighborhood and all. Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” he reassured her.

“I really hope you’re right, Mark. Thanks for being my confidant.” Marilyn smiled tearfully.

“No problem, Marilyn. Glad to be of help.”

***
That night, held up by some documents, Marilyn was the last one to leave the firm. She was walking back home. It was dark-the street lamps barely illuminated the edge of the sidewalk. There was no other person in sight. Absorbed in her thoughts, Marilyn did not notice anything amiss until she felt something wet on the ground.

Marilyn crouched down. The liquid was not a puddle of rainwater, but a trail of darkish red color. She followed the trail of liquid, and saw a dark shape on the ground.

Horror rising in her throat, Marilyn hurried forward to take a closer look.

A slender body was collapsed in a pool of blood. The woman had hair the same shade as Marilyn’s, which fell in waves, obscuring her face. Marilyn parted the woman’s hair, heart pounding.

The vacant eyes of her beloved sister stared back at her.

She clutched her head and screamed and screamed and screamed.

***
They say Marilyn Brooks went mad with shock and grief at her little sister’s horrific murder. She was sent to a specialized (“Mental,” they whispered.) hospital and died soon after, her body failing along with her mind.

They say because her sister, her only known relative, had died, all of her property-including her new-gained fortune-went to her fiancé.

Her fiancé, a sweet and handsome man who was apparently secretly engaged to Marilyn, was of course devastated, but said he would try to move on.

His name was Mark Retz.
 
~END~

Inspiration

Something I wrote when I was bored and in need of inspiration; so naturally, I wrote a poem about inspiration XP Don't judge ;) 

Umm I'm really not sure about the punctuation so feedback would be really appreciated. Thanks!

Inspiration

 

The search, the famed search, for inspiration;

Tackled by every artist, every writer.

A glorious quest, for the illuminating spark,

That reveals the path to the lost, ever brighter.

One by one, bold, daring knights,

We ride out, far into unknown lands;

Driven by the desire, to find something worthwhile,

Something life changing, monumental, grand.

We are prepared, to battle the forces of writers' block,

To drive away the evil minions of despair,

So that we may find what we came for,

That stroke of genius, the answer to all our prayers.

This journey we embark on is long and difficult,

Our goal near impossible to achieve.

Yet still we ride, serious, determined,

Armed to the teeth with our unshakable beliefs.

 

But often, the search is more relaxed, playful,

Like children playing hide and seek in a field;

We run about, shouting, laughing, striving

To catch a glimpse of the wonder that is hidden, veiled.

We are thorough, leaving no rock unturned;

Checking beneath every petal of every flower;

Listening intently to every whisper of the wind;

Yet what we seek slips through our grasps like fine powder.

Look! There it is- behind the daffodils;

Wait, never mind- it's gone again.

A teasing plot bunny hopping about,

Now here, now there, causing us emotional pain.

The never ending search for inspiration;

We may succeed once, but soon will be forced to search once more.

And yet, we never tire, never give up, 

For those rare moments of genius are worth trying for.

Merlin Poem

Waves lap at my feet as I look unto those distant shores,

Avalon, shrouded in mist, floating above the waters.

Oh woe this day! When the High King of Britain passed away,

Out of this mortal world, waiting to be wakened again.
 

Until then, 'till the very hour of Albion's greatest need,

I too shall wait, tethered to the earth, for Arthur, king, friend.

Bless the day, when out of the waters he shall rise once more!

For better or worse I must endure-Merlin, warlock, friend.
 

-Emrys, immortal, destiny both a blessing and curse;

Doomed to watch, helpless, as the ones I love wither with age;

As the once mighty Camelot crumbles to dust with time;

As the world changes, our tale merely a tragic legend.
 

An entire century passes with every step I take;

Heart-wrenching memories of what had once been haunt my dreams;

Yet too well I understand everything that is at stake,

In my mind, always, the standard of Camelot still gleams. 

It may be decades, centuries, millennia, I know not,

Until to this mortal world Arthur Pendragon returns;

however long it takes, I will wait, with tears in my eyes,

hope in my heart, for the herald of a new golden age.
 

*This was based on Arthurian legend and BBC Merlin, a show I'm slightly obsessed with. ;)

The Things I'm Fascinated By

I used to be fascinated by the smallest, most insignificant things:

A shining dew drop on a blade of grass;
The bright swirls of colors on a palette;
The waves of leaves fluttering in the breeze;
All the small things that brought fond memories.

But as time ran on, it started to fade;
Responsibilities, expectations,
Began piling up, suffocating me,
And it was not long before they took over.

No longer would I pause, fascinated,
As a plump red robin burst into song;
The time, when I would stroll around all day,
Making discoveries, was long gone.

Instead I now pen myself in the house,
Merging with the chair in front if my desk
--reading, writing, studying, researching...
And I ask myself, what happened? What changed?

And then I realized, why should I change?
Why give up the things that set me apart?

I am fascinated by the smallest, most wonderful things.