Proza productie proprie

parca urmand sirul de slove, ce-a tale ganduri samanara...

Proza productie personala

Mesajde Sallach » Mie Oct 01, 2003 4:39 pm

Povoara unei imbrí£í¾iºí£ri

“Ce trebuie sí£ fac? Sau la ce bun?
Iatí£ intrebí£ri ce nu se pun in í¾inuturile acestea.”
Franz Kafka

Iarna


Ai sí£ razi ií¾i spun de acum! ªi-ai sí£ razi atat de tare cí£ ai sí£ mí£ trezeºti din pí£mant... Nu rade! Nu ai dreptul. Tu nu eºti Dumnezeu! Tu nu eºti aici! ªi n-ai sí£ fi niciodatí£, cí£ci dací£ ai fi te-aº arunca la gunoi...
De ce dormea omul acela in parc? Ne ignora pe toí¾i! Pervers. Cu fundul spre noi! Nu l-ai ví£zut? In oraº...
De ce Soarele ardea? ªi unde mergeam eu? L-am privit cateva clipe. I-am dat zece secunde din viaí¾í£! Nici mí£car nu s-a intors. Bruta. Devoratorul! Mí£ urí£sc! Nu pot fi ca el! Puí¾in numai! Am sí£ vreau desearí£ sí£ dorm in garí£, pe bancí£... Am sí£ reuºesc? Nu mí£ mai doresc! Mí£ doare sufletul de atata urí£! De lumea ce nu te zí£reºte ºi pe care o ignori. Ucid cí£ci mí£ simt adeseori prea uman! ªi simí¾indu-mí£ mí£ infior!...
Noroi ºi ploaie. Sange curgand cinstit! Bí£rbaí¾i dezbrí£caí¾i, pí£roºi, deseneazí£ pe clí£direa prefecturii... Rí£gnete fugare, ochi ieºií¾i din orbite ºi porci, porci tí£iaí¾i! ªi moarte! ªi suflete ranjind. ªi Dumnezeu uitat! Dumnezeu nicí£ieri. Dumnezeu trist!
ªi noroiul e neputincios. ªi ploaia dí£ viaí¾í£ morí¾ilor. ªi zilele cu ce le voi umple? Cu ce dací£ dorul va rí£mane numai dor, intr-o lume ce eu o ví£d perversí£?! Departe de vreun dumnezeu!... Atat de departe!... Eu fac parte din aceastí£ lume! ªi nu o voi uita. Niciodatí£! Mi-a rí£scolit mí£runtaiele, m-a fí£cut Om, m-a adus la disperare, sinucidere ºi libertate.
Ameí¾it imi adun hainele tremurand. Mí£ imbrac! íŽmi beau cafeaua trist, dimineaí¾a, ies afarí£. ªi strí£zile sunt pline ochi de oameni. ªi am patruzeci de ani de scarbí£, durere, strigí£te, de incercí£ri de sinucidere... Patruzeci de ani lumina a ars fí£rí£ rost. Patruzeci de ani am trecut prin acelaºi parc. M-am uitat la ei ºi ei au plecat! Apoi m-am gandit la tine, dar dincolo de gand te-am desenat, mi te-am adus sí£ nu-mi mai fie dor!
Zí£pada cade, imi rupe hainele!... Urlu ca un nebun, Soarele arde! Zí£pada acoperind aleea! ªi tu, nicí£ieri! Numai caí¾iva din ei í¾i-au cunoscut sufletul! ªi numai aceºti „caí¾iva” nu mai sunt. Eu, eu ce am sí£ fac fí£rí£ glasul tí£u, fí£rí£ inima ta, maine, poimaine?...
Cum poate Soarele sí£ mai fie Soare fí£rí£ tine? Cum mai poí¾i spune cí£ totul e frumos dací£ frumuseí¾ea e pí£cat? Zi? Cum?...
Zí£pada topindu-se in zí£padí£. Fiecare fulg topind celí£lalt fulg! Tu indrí£gostindu-mí£ de tine, eu indrí£gostindu-te de mine! ªi dintr-o datí£ unul din noi sí£ schimbe corpul, sí£-ºi dea cadou alt suflet! Numai caí¾iva au mai rí£mas! ªi-au plecat ºi ei!... Eu am sí£ rí£man! Tu iartí£! Iartí£ cí£ci iertarea a lí£sat-o Dumnezeu! Am sí£ mí£ imbí£t cu tine ºi-am sí£-í¾i strig cí£ nu-mi voi motiva comportamentul. Cí£ mí£ doresc mizerie, intuneric, sunet, bombí£...
Mí£ tot uit la zí£padí£. Gandurile mele s-au aºezat pe acoperiºuri. Mi le simt. Au ingheí¾at ºi vantul le spulberí£. Albe nopí¾i fí£cute ganduri! Cearceaful pí£tat cu cernealí£, hainele mirosind a ziare tipí£rite! Ceºti nespí£late, noroi prin verandí£!... Coji de cartofi, sticle goale de ulei aruncate in bucí£tí£rie... Geamul spart, oglinda vopsití£! Fotografii lipite una de alta! Amenzi neplí£tite ºi rujul tí£u!
De ce dormea in parc bí£rbatul í£la? Cat m-a rí£nit. E ca ºi cum mi-ar fi spus:
- Tu nu poí¾i face ce fac eu! Tu nu eºti decat om!
Apoi Copilul cerºind. Copilul fí£rí£ degete, cu un tatí£ ce-l bate, cu o mamí£ ce-i spune:
- Tu nu eºti copilul meu! ªi-l apucí£ de pí£r, il dí£ cu capul de chiuvetí£ intrebandu-se: de ce te-am fí£cut? ªi Copilul imi cere din ochi ceva. Ce sí£-i dau? Nu, nu ii dau nimic! íŽÃ‚ºi merití£ soarta! Sí£rmanul Copil!...
- Dací£ í¾i-aº da aº rí£mane eu fí£rí£! M-aº apuca eu de cerºit. Copilul iní¾elege! Nu e decat o nenorocire!
- íŽmi dai?
- Nu-í¾i dau mí£!
Pentru cí£ nu doresc sí£-mi umplu sufletul cu lacrimile lui? Deoarece nu doresc sí£ fiu inuman? Pentru simplul motiv cí£ e copil? Pentru mama ºi tatí£l lui?
- Nu am!
- Orice, te rog!
- Nu mí£ mai ruga, il implor, cí£ci ruga lui imi suní£ a blestem!
Sunt sí£tul sí£ mi se cearí£ Ã‚Âºi sí£ cer!
- Nu am bani!
- Dar nu-mi trebuie bani!
- Dar ce-í¾i trebuie?
- O imbrí£í¾iºare!
ªi oamenii trec. Rí£man clí£dirile, ºoselele, frunzele, zí£pada, Soarele... Rana rí£mane! O imbrí£í¾iºare! Numai atat! Am alergat pe strí£zi toatí£ ziua, acel Copil m-a tulburat! Eu am avut nevoie de imbrí£í¾iºí£ri. Eu am luat statuile in braí¾e imaginandu-mi cí£ sunt Oameni! Eu am plans la capul celor morí¾i! Eu i-am ingropat pe cei ce te-au cunoscut. Te doream numai pentru mine! ªi-am ucis sufletele! Sunt egoist!
Ningea ºi tremuram. Tu nu ai sí£ Ã‚Âºti. Ninge ºi stau pe bancí£. Asta pot sí£ o fac! Nimeni nu ºtie ºi nu va ºti. Pe ei nu-i voi iubi! Sunt numai al tí£u! ªi dací£ doare, mí£ doare pe mine. Numai pe mine! ªi dací£ Dumnezeu mí£ iní¾elege, am sí£-i cad altí£datí£ la picioare!
*

Te-am ºters din lucruri! Nu mai eºti.
Pe tine Louie, pe tine! Violatí£ de tatí£ Ã‚Âºi frate, supusí£ celor mai umane sentimente! Pe tine Louie! Cí£ci Louie nu mai e Louie! Pe tine sangele mi te poartí£ in vene. Mi te aruncí£ in inimí£, mi te improaºcí£ in gí£leata de noapte! Mi-e ruºine cu tine deoarece te doare ceea ce í¾i-au fí£cut. Mi-e ruºine cand mí£ priveºti ºi-mi vine sí£ ví£rs cand oamenii sunt Oameni! Numai oameni...
Oameni care seara se intorc acasí£ Ã‚Âºi se gandesc la tine! Oameni care se masturbeazí£ in faí¾a televizorului! Oameni care se roagí£ Lui Dumnezeu, Oameni care put a transpiraí¾ie. Oameni care au respirat acelaºi aer! Oameni cí£rora le-am respirat eu aerul!
Eu care fac dragoste cu toatí£ lumea, eu care uit sí£ mí£ mai spí£l, eu care vand noroi, eu, eu, eu!... ºi eu sunt Om. ªi eu nu mí£ deosebesc de ceilalí¾i, Louie! Dar am curajul de-a mí£ rí£ni, de-a spune ceea ce simt!
Iarní£ diviní£! Copaci inalí¾i, albi ºi necorupí¾i! Apoi, zí£pada... fulgerí£toare, purí£, necuvantí£toare! Lipsití£ de griji... ºi nimic! Liniºte. Prea liniºte. Mi-aº fi dorit sí£ fiu ºi eu asemeni ei, sí£ vin odatí£ pe an, sí£ mor ºi sí£ mí£ nasc!
- De ce sí£ fi toatí£ ziua doar tu? m-a intrebat. Deºi e doar un bí£rbat frumos, cu pí£rul roºcovan ºi buzele prea mici, imi seamí£ní£. íŽmi convine! ªi-l consider deºeu!
- Mi-e dor de tine, Louie! Mi-e dor! Cum ai putut Tu sí£ pleci? Cum ne-am ingropat? Cu ce ne-am invelit trupurile? Cate idealuri s-au frant? Cat aer am respirat?...
Sunt un prost. ªi doare! Cand eºti nebun ºi-í¾i asumi riscul de-a fi alungat dintre oameni, cand te trezeºti intr-o camerí£ goalí£, legat de pat, cu pastile ce-í¾i tulburí£ creierii... cand te rogi Lui Dumnezeu ºi El nu-í¾i rí£spunde, ce-í¾i doreºti? Copilí£ria? Tinereí¾ea? Prima dragoste? Nu-í¾i doreºti oare un zambet?...
Cand doctorul ií¾i spune cí£ nu eºti normal, ºi nu poí¾i fi eliberat, nu il vezi ca pe dumnezeu? Un dumnezeu uman?... Louie! Louie! Louie!... Aud sunete. Se lovesc in fereastrí£. ªi doare! Credeam cí£ baí¾i tu, cí£ ai venit. ªi nu e nimeni! Aceeaºi zí£padí£! Albí£! Fericití£! Semí£nandu-í¾i! Pliní£ de gingí£Ã‚ºie. De un alb naiv! Dar Louie, sunetele se repetí£. Le-am numí£rat. ªi nimeni nu ºtie cate sunt. Nimeni!...
Voi incerca sí£ te ating! Sí£ nu-mi fugi! Doar cí£ nu ºtiu cum sí£ o fac!
Nu mai am nici o logicí£! De ce nu pot avea propria mea libertate, propria mea religie, mancare ºi noapte? De ce sí£ fie ºi ale altora?
íŽmi amintesc de copilí£ria mea lipsití£ de afecí¾iune! Cu un copil ce tindea spre naturí£, cu lipsuri materiale, cu sufletul rí£ví£Ã‚ºit! Un copil gol, neputincios, schingiuit, naiv. Cate clipe n-am visat altceva?!... ºi iatí£-mí£ aici adunandu-mí£ sí£ ucid! Urí£sc iarna!
Caí¾i nori fac un singur nor?…

Este doar un fragment! In curand, aici ori in alta parte va fi si restul! Si.. Dana? Am inteles ca esti moderator! Te rog sa imi scri pe privat!
Sallach
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Proza scurta proprie

Mesajde Chrysilla » Mar Ian 27, 2004 2:02 pm

Cantecul stimei apelor
Tinere,nu te du noaptea pe malul apei.
Si daca te duci,nu te apropia de inselatoarele valuri care oglindesc,spart in bucati,cerul.
Si daca luna galbena se va ridica din apa,luand chipul unei fete frumoase,cu pielea alba ca laptele,cu par lung de raze,cu brate ademenitoare,tinere flacau,nu te apropia vrajit de frumoasa care te cheama.
Si daca bratele ei albe si reci te imbie la dragoste,daca pieptul ei rotund ca fructul parguit iti umple pieptul de dor,daca trupul ei subtire si mladios iti cere imbratisarea,smulge`ti radacinile care te tin inlemnit pe mal si fugi.
Nu asculta cantecul ei inselator care te cheama,caci nu te vei putea opune; cuvintele ei sunt amagitoare.
Nu te uita la chipul ei,la ochii ei verzi ca veninul care te ametesc, la buzele ei rotunde care se cer muscate si sarutate; nu te lasa vrajit,fugi, nu te uita inapoi,caci Ea te va stapani din nou si te va chema spre undele intunecate.
De ce n`ai ascultat,de ce te`ai uitat inapoi...Stima te`a fermecat din nou,mladierile de sarpe ale trupului ei alb cu luciri de solzi te`au prins in mreje.De ce te`ai apropiat de apa,de ce ai lasat`o sa`ti atinga ochii si fruntea cu mana ei rece ca moartea,de ce te`ai lasat ademenit de sarutul ei inghetat... N`ai vazut sclipirea draceasca a ochilor ei de peste,nu i`ai vazut dintii ascutiti si zambetul de triumf cand i`ai cuprins mijlocul subtire?
In miez de noapte,nimeni nu aude strigatul de moarte al unui flacau nechibzuit, nimeni nu`i vede zbaterea si ochii ingroziti cand valurile care il inchid in cercul lor il trag tacute spre adancuri.
Deasupra apei linistite luceste din nou luna.
Chrysilla
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Al meu si numai al meu...voua va place?

Mesajde Chrysilla » Mar Ian 27, 2004 2:19 pm

N`am gasit un topic despre "productii proprii" in proza asa ca l`am creat eu (daca exista deja unul,anuntati`ma!)
Bun,si acum sa ma laud cu ce am scris azi:

Cantecul shtimei apelor
Tinere,nu te du noaptea pe malul apei.
Si daca te duci,nu te apropia de inselatoarele valuri care oglindesc,spart in bucati,cerul.
Si daca luna galbena se va ridica din apa,luand chipul unei fete frumoase,cu pielea alba ca laptele,cu par lung de raze,cu brate ademenitoare,tinere flacau,nu te apropia vrajit de frumoasa care te cheama.
Si daca bratele ei albe si reci te imbie la dragoste,daca pieptul ei rotund ca fructul parguit iti umple pieptul de dor,daca trupul ei subtire si mladios iti cere imbratisarea,smulge`ti radacinile care te tin inlemnit pe mal si fugi.
Nu asculta cantecul ei inselator care te cheama,caci nu te vei putea opune; cuvintele ei sunt amagitoare.
Nu te uita la chipul ei,la ochii ei verzi ca veninul care te ametesc, la buzele ei rotunde care se cer muscate si sarutate; nu te lasa vrajit,fugi, nu te uita inapoi,caci Ea te va stapani din nou si te va chema spre undele intunecate.
De ce n`ai ascultat,de ce te`ai uitat inapoi...Stima te`a fermecat din nou,mladierile de sarpe ale trupului ei alb cu luciri de solzi te`au prins in mreje.De ce te`ai apropiat de apa,de ce ai lasat`o sa`ti atinga ochii si fruntea cu mana ei rece ca moartea,de ce te`ai lasat ademenit de sarutul ei inghetat... N`ai vazut sclipirea draceasca a ochilor ei de peste,nu i`ai vazut dintii ascutiti si zambetul de triumf cand i`ai cuprins mijlocul subtire?
In miez de noapte,nimeni nu aude strigatul de moarte al unui flacau nechibzuit, nimeni nu`i vede zbaterea si ochii ingroziti cand valurile care il inchid in cercul lor il trag tacute spre adancuri.
Deasupra apei linistite luceste din nou luna.
Chrysilla
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Mesajde gaga » Mar Ian 27, 2004 3:10 pm

pai am eu o parere.
dat fiind ca tehnica des folosita in aceasta "proza" nefuturista si usor fantastica, este comparatia, sunt de parere ca este folosita gresit in urmatoarele situatii:

"pieptul ei rotund ca fructul parguit"
nu orice fruct parguit este rotund, trebuia sa specifici ce fruct, mar, pepene, etc.

"ochii ei verzi ca veninul "
veninul nu este verde.

si inca o observatie: "bratele ei albe si reci te imbie la dragoste"
eu nu cred ca niste brate reci pot imbia la dragoste un biet flacau. poate un necrofil.

si inca o observatzie, intr-o lucrare literara trebuie sa respecti o punctuatie si o ortografie corecta, lasand la o parte topica. deci, in tot textul apare urmatorul cuvant, fara spatiu dupa virgula, legea academiei romane spunand exact invers.
de exemplu:

"chipul ei,la ochii ei" (aici nu ma leg de stilistica ci de ortografiere)

se scrie corect chipul ei, (virgula spatziu) ochii ei

si mai am o intrebare: shtima cu sani rotunzi, piele alba, ochi de peshte si dintzi ascutzitzi poate fi etichetata, dupa cum se precizeaza inceputul "prozei", drept frumoasa?
semnatura fara culori si nestridenta
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....

Mesajde Chrysilla » Joi Ian 29, 2004 3:36 pm

In primul rand: eu la filologie nu invat punctuatia pentru tehnoredactare.
* Zi-mi ce fruct parguit nu e rotund sau macar nu are rotunjimi (n`am vrut sa spun perfect sferic!)
* Nu sunt prima care foloseste comparatia "verzi ca veninul". Cand o sa-mi amintesc o sa-ti spun unde am mai vazut-o.
* Si la Eminescu iubita are bratele albe si reci.Si eu n-am spus "imbie", ci "daca te imbie" deci depinde de preferinte.
* Daca te documentai asupra stimei apelor ai fi vazut ca oricum ar fi are destule victime."Ochi de peste" voia sa insemne ochi reci, care nu reflecta trairea. Si avand in vedere ca e o fiinta acvatica (sau macar "semi-") nu mi se pare deplasat.
* Si daca stima e in mijlocul apei,cum poate vedea "bietul flacau" ca forma au dintii ei sau ochii??
Chrysilla
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Mesajde gaga » Joi Ian 29, 2004 3:44 pm

poi ce are baiatu cu descrierea autorului? si ce am zis eu rezulta din ce s-a inteles in urma compozitiei matale. si merci ca mi-ai gasit subiectu' sa il mut unde ii e locul :)
semnatura fara culori si nestridenta
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Mesajde zgubylytycon » Joi Ian 29, 2004 8:58 pm

Draga mea, un sfat sincer? Da' sincer rau!?
Chrysilla scrie:smulge`ti radacinile care te tin ... pe mal si fugi....

caci
cuvintele... sunt amagitoare.

iar in cazul tau e mai bine sa
fugi, nu te uita inapoi.

Motivul ar fi ca
N`ai vazut sclipirea draceasca a ochilor ei de peste

pentru ca pur si simplu ochii pestilor n-au cum sa sclipeasca. Dar probabil ca la varsta asta frageda nu ai avut cum sa auzi expresia : ,,Avea niste ochi morti ca de peste''.
Viata-i o-ntrebare cu raspunsul dincolo...
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The Legacy

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:26 pm

Salut, sunt nou pe forum si m-am gandit sa incep cu nishte bucati de poveste...
(sunt in engleza si mai au si erori de scriere, dar...va rog sa cititi)

the beginig:


(...)And they came from the sea...in great ships and boats, some with sails, some with paddles, some with great vails pushed by the winds.Ancient books say that their homeland laid somewhere in the west, beyond the great tempest that they passed when they reached the Emerald shores.
These shores were covered by Dragon scale weeds and made them glow in a bright green from the sea.The first to set foot on the land were the human sailors from the sunrise...they were called "Sachad fallum"(water's pilgrims) and settled on the hills of Fadrahan, which later became their first kingdom...soon after the city of Shad^anoor was built on The great steppes further, toards to the core of these lands.The kingdom of Ledra followed soon, brazing it's capitol on the world mountain at Leandor(named after the second king to rule in Fadrahan).
One age passed and the land gave them many fruits and grain, also meat was found in the south, near the Lake of two falls, castles and cityes raised in the middle and toards the outskirts of the human kingdom;gold and iron ore were brought by the dwarves that ventured to the cliffs of the snowy mountains in search of treasures of the unknown.Elves brought the scrolls from the great libraries of Everglade and built their city near Varga's forest.
Trade routs established soon, also great outposts were built to protect the lands and cityes, like the inconquerable fortress Maerat, Treetop cottage, Fanghir's burrow and many other...a stranger nation, known to little to be involved in the "tall nations"...they were the small hobbits, lead by two families: the Bridgewins and Lillytails.The first lived near human and dwarven cityes from which they learned architecture and metalurgie, but didn't used it so much as their fellow nations did.
The Lillytails came from Eluoon(the elven capitol from beyond the seea) and embraced the nature, setting their shire around a small, but beautifull hill called "Spring rose" because of the pink roses that grew on the meadows around it.One age passed...one age in which they grew off the land...One day, somewhere in the rule of Rafaday's reign, the humans adventured far...too far and reached a scorched earth like a dragons bellows, spreading for miles, and a river of fire that they called Thabar'vu.Foolish and naive, the human scouts walked untill the edge of the river...A gateway opened in the flames and beyond it lied a sea of hideous and mutilated creatues that make the eyes turn and hope that it is all just a bad dream.The scourge of the earth sprung out, killing every living thing in their path...burning the forests and cityes, drinking the blood of the corpses( and the living that they captured).Great ships came the second time from beyond the sea...this time the ones aboard it were barbarians, strong men and exceptional warriors and hunters that answered the call of Fadrahan.Dwarves, elves, men, mages, barbarians and the other races that did not dwell along side them but faced the orcish problem rose-up to them.These alliances lasted untill one fateful day when an Evil gathered its forces and rose-up against these great nations, taking a name for it's self from the holy Book of Life; Makir, The One Power.He lead the armies untill the capitol of Leandor, where a battle lasted for three dawns and sun sets.
Many were lost and many were crippeled.At the end of the third night, The elder council chose six souls and four adjutants to send Makir into the void.On the very plain before the gates, the ten lured Makir into a trap and after a great fight they cought him and send him into nothingness, but so did he by takin seven of them.Sixty thousnad souls fell while defending the gates of their kingdomstwenty times more were the corpses of their enemyes who laid at their feet.Blood, mud and sweat filled the pages of the book that kept this day untill the end of times...
Jericho
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a middle part

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:27 pm

a middle part:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(this part is somewhere at the middle)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(...)Walking slowly on the white marble steps leading to the council hall of Fadrahan they saw nothing in their way but grief and sorrow...the once pride of all humanity was now nothing more than a ruined reminder of what used to be a great empire, a shadow of the old times.Beggars and peasants lied down near the corners of any building they could find...hunger was their pillow and misery was thier blanket.
It was not a sight someone could be proud of.All they could do is throw them a few coins and turn their heads hoping they could end this soon.Looking at each other they knew what they had to do...the answer lied thirty feet behind the great doors that they found themselves in front of.
"We all know what is to be done!said the mage."
"Yes...but I wonder if this is worth it?followed the elf.We are walking through the land of a shadow...and nothing more...what for bother this dying land.Yes, it was once a great citadel, but that was long ago...remember we all who stand here and were chosen in the Maerat fortress stood and fought with Evil itself...."
"Remember what the king said...>...interveined Suludan...the brave will be granted salvation..."
"Yes...I remember...we all will...like Whisper of a thousand knive?followd the slippery words of the dwarf"
"He was tricked into it...and it was his choice and his alone...no one pushed him in drinking the blood offered by Qulan."
"End it!shouted Mayat.As I heard... a long time ago you all fought the vile domination of pure evil, now you face the same problems...it seems to me that the years didn't wisened you so much...we came here with a purpouse and we shall full fill it"
"The boy's right!said the mage.Let us leave this petty differences aside and do what we are suposed to...Now that I see that we all calmed, followed the mage with a calm voice,...there are twenty behind this door and the king is on the throne that lies in the middle...remember, we are not assasins, if necessary, aim for their arms, legs and no sharp weapons...turning his head toards Mayat...we two are going to use a bit of lights and an interesting conversation to persuade him...you will know what to say...Suludan, you think you could...bring these gates down?"
"It be ma' pleasure.growled the barbarian"
And with a twist of his club he bashed the gates so hard that all of Fadrahan raised on their feet when the door was torn down.
Like the wind they entered the hall with fury and decision in their eyes...The elf saw not twenty enemyes, for him it was just as well as there would be a thousand of them, his bow didn;t miss one target, nor did the dwarf as he bashed the guards down with his mighty hammer.
The mage entered the room with large steps pining the king with his tare who could kill a dragon.
"Behold...he shouted"
And Mayat entered the room in his glittering armor.He raised his arms and bright and colourfull wings of ight spread from underneath his arms...
"Hear me, Oh king of Fadrahan...I am the messenger of the skyes and guardian of men, I am the Morning and Night star, I shine on you today with a message from the Council of all times...hear my words...you foolish mortal...war is on the breach and hell's hoardes march with the undead and the dark creatures side by side...The kingdom of men asks you now to come facing the scourge with a sword and shield...what say you, king of men?thundered the room with his words Mayat..."
"What do you think it is that you could do coming here and threatening me...stood up the king"
"Silence...shouted Mayat and his glow filled more and more of the great hall...behold me in all my splendor foolish mortal...you think you can stand up to a wonder amongst men...?and the light became so powerfull that the king had to turn his eyes and he felt shame that he couldn't stand up to the boy that came in front of him"
"who...who are you?asked with fear he who beared the crown"
"I am the children of the stars and heirer of the thron of men by the right of my father, he who died taking the evil into the Great abiss..."
"I...I am ashamed...I am, was the king of men...now I have to give you the crown...followed the king with shame and dispare in his words"
"Keep your crown, said the mage, we are not here to take your crown, we came to ask for help...war is on the breach and the kingdoms of Shad^anoor and Leandor will follow the people of Fadrahan...Thabar'vu burns again to the skyes and ash and darkness fill the skyes...take a look at your capitol, people wait and hope for death because they are too weak to take their own lives...we must go to war..."
"But..I...am not worthy...I...let my people down...the king turned his head and a tear filled his eye"
"No, you didn't...you stood up in harm's way when others didn't..you are trully worthy of the crown you wear...said the mage, puting his hand on his shoulder...now, great king, and he made a sign to the others to bow, will you help us...we ask our souveran and master for help..."
"Yes...said the king standing up proud again...thirty thousna sould sill be ready by tommorow morning...Fadrahan will meat makir with a spear and bow...we'll have the last word in this war, even if we die, we will die with honor...tommorow...we go to battle"
Jericho
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The fall of Kerz

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:28 pm

The fall of Kerz:

(...)Sun raises upon a land raped of it's once blurishing gloom and everlasting green fields of tall thin grass and colourfull flowers.
Far in the horizon marches the line of death and sorrow.An overwhelming force of orcs and beasts rumble the ground in their aproach on the misty mountains.
In the deep snowy and foggy peaks lies the fortress of Kerz.A mighty stronghold built on a leveled peak and connected to the south and east with two bridges, each three thousand feet long and three hundred feet wide, this fortress stood up in the early ages to the endless waves of swords and axes worn by those whocame from beyond Thabar'vu, the flaming river.
For years this sanctuary for lost pilgrims, rangers and wonderers shined in the vast top of the montains, guarding the passage to Shad^anoor and Leandor.
The fortress was raised in the year 341 after the old calendars and was given the name Ubahrador, later changed into Kerz's clutch, when Felldor BraKerz fought the nightmares of the misty mountains and showed great valor when he lead his men deep into the bowels of the mountain.
Now, Kerz's clutch faced another perill, the army of evil's touch marched to the mountains with roars and growls that the thin smooth grass and flowers leaned their fraglie bodies to the ground and relinquished their essence to the great godess of life that whiped on that day seeing her children being broken.
Night pulled together her darkened vail making way for the sun to wake up the men slleping in the fortress with his tame bright and warm rays.
Two of the guards waked up with night's web still on their eyes and with weakened bones by the sweet sleep that day's sister gave them.
Raising up on their feet, the guards picked up the allmost rusty shields and silvery spears and walked the bastions.Their boots seemed like they were filled with stones and iron.Their feet moved like the spring rain snails through the cold morning grass.The spears were heavy and their arms haven't been properly prepared to hold that weight so they leaned their weapons on the wall nd yawned long into the misty peaks.
Before the southern guard could close his sloobish lips, two arrows pierced his chest with a whispering song of death.The body of the soldier colapsed from the bastion in the middle of the court yard and stared into the blue skyes with a bloody chest.
Three hundred men sleeping in that fort were awakened by a shadow fallen from the skyes, later to be discovered as one of their brethren.
"Orcs, men" shouted the eastern guard."Man your posts" followed the thundering voice of Heradric.
This old and grey guardsman is the captain of the fortress.He is the great grandson of Felldor.His kean lived here many generations and all of them served the kingdom of men.
At the end of the bridge toards the mountain orcs sprung from the forests that lied right at the end of the bridge facing the mountain versants.The once beautifull land was now hacked and chopped by the army from beyond Thabar'vu.
Goblins and lizrd men scaled the northern and western side of the mounatin to the walls of Kerz, orcs with ladders and siege engines rushed the gates on the bridges.
"More archers to the south gate" shouted Heradric."Bring quivers and bows" followed one of his leutenents.
Soldiers rushed the serpentine stairs and quivers with arrows, bows adn crossbows were given like warm bread.Bloody drips fell from the walls on top of the orcs head who stuck their tongues out to fell the sweet taste of men blood.Squeels and roars were heard from all directions and the men inside Kerz fought with terror at their shoulders.
Fright wasn't coming from the idea of being killed, but rather from the ruthe awakening that they ecieved on such a beautifull morning.
Sonn their number decreased from three hundred to two hundred, than to one hundredand soon to fifty .
The white bridges built by the mighty dwarves had a brown red colour from the corpses of the orcs.
Bodies of fallen archers on the high walls of Kerz fell on the orcs below.In less than a few moments their bodies were consumed by the blood-thirsty orcs.
"Men"sounded the voice of Heradric."The enemy is at the gates and we are out numbered...the time of Kerz has ended in these darkened times".
He stopped for a while and saw the younger soldiers who haven't reached the age of menhood whiping a blody tear on their ripped and slashed cheeks.He took off his helm so the soldiers couldn't see him too giving a tear for the young boys sonn to be slaughtered.
"Cheer up men!he shouted once more.The enemy is overwhelmig but..." and he stopped seing the young boys who haven't yet reached the age of menhood whiping a bloody tear on their slashed cheeks.
With a heavy heart he took off his helm so the others couldn't see him too giving a tear for the young ones soon to be murdered.
"The enemy will break the gates soon"followed his thundering voice."I see there are young ones here...don't be affraid to hold up your swords, for you will be the first to enter the halls of the valiant and meet our forefathers.May our death be a heroic one and our swords brake in their chests for as long as we drw breath...WE WON'T DROP THE SWORD...LET THEM NOW THAT MEN WILL NEVER GIVE UP!BLOOD IN BLOOD AND STEEL IN STELL, FOLLOW ME MEN INTO DEATH'S CLAW AND DIE WITH ME!"he shouted so hard that the skyes thundered.
Fifty of the last men defending Kerz rushed the gates with spears and swords and started slashing their way through the urgy.

Somewhere on the foothills in the east, Mayat awoke with a breath like it was the first he drew.
"What happened?"asked Suludan.
"The mountain father runs through darkness"he said with a frightened voice.
"Yes...Kerz has fallen"said the mage with a fading voice.
Jericho
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Membru din: Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:17 pm
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The longest days(END) part one

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:30 pm

The longest days(END):

(...)The leaves fell when, by the calculation of the wisest ones, over the earth ruled autumn, but the war that devoured these lands overwhelmed it in a never ending winter of pain and grief.
Five years passed since the gathering was called to vanquish the enemy, but the low mind of the human king under estimated the power of The One Evil, as told in the book of life.
"Five years of blood and five years of fire"-the prophecy has full filled...but at what cost and what end?
The dwellers of this tainted lands were wondering wether they lived a bad dream, or if they reached the realm of eternal suffering, that which is destined to all who lived a dark life.
Kerz, Ard'Khael, Shad'anoor, Ledra, Tre Namath...all these great citadels, that formes the line of defense before breeching into the world of men and elves, have fallen, only a few more outposts held chest to the chaotic hoardes of the enemy...Maerat, Winter song and Nammeth were the last two outposts.
The citizens of all of the fallen kingdoms gathered in the last bastion of humanity, Fadrahan, the first kingdom.There wasn't someone in that city who hasn't lost a soul in the great wars...the eyes of many blinded from the long nights of crying and the light of their eyes quickly faded away.
Fathers of many went to war with grief at the thought that they would never see their sons, doughters or wives again, but the only comfort they had was that their death could add a few more days to the lives of their loved ones.
The war aged eveything in the world, not only their faces, but their hearts also.
Even Raven and Claw, the gathering's Scouts, the youngest hunters and rangers in the lands were now almost grown men and the signs of the battles could be seen easely on their cheeks brazed with the memories of the battles that mearly missed in sending them to The Other Realm.Litar didn't changed physicaly, only his heart was now full of sorrow seeing the pain of all of those who couldn't defend themselves from Makir's wrath.
One of the last lights that lit their eyes and stole a smile of their faces was the love that Emra and Mayat wore for each other.
In the day's of Mayat's journey to the other side Emra watched at his head day and night careless of her condition.She kept saying old elven and dwarven heeling words and chants, she didn't even let the rough road show its signs on his face, she always washed his face and hands, and laid a warm blanket on his body.
By now Mayat carried more wisdom and knowledge about the earth and spirits than more of the mages at the tower of Kel'Asher, wounds, both flesh and spiritual, covered his body and his mind saw more than the eye's permited, he began to understand the Enemy, and sometimes even see him close to him.
In his dreams he often saw the final battle on the green field near the forests of the elves, but the dream flew away before he coudl see the end.
Darkness was spreading more and more every day...every one knew their chances and didn't care, the war would end soon, very soon, that gave them power to go on, but almost all, even the bravest ones, didn't care about how it would end, as long as it would end.
The longest pilgrimage that sometimes lacked food or water, a warm bed or even a relaxing bath, was getting shorter and shorter.Ahead on the road, the ten could see the elven city...Nammeth.
Nammeth was the first elven city built since the coming to this realm from beyond the sea, together with all the nations, after the purge of their second home.
Smaller in length than Fadrahan, but non the less more beautifull.
The walls were filled with all of the lively colours, as instructed by Rouann, the first elven king to walk these lands, also, there would be found paintings of the old times when elves first came to the western shores, paintings that resembled their history, both with good and bad events that were told in one peisage that worth more than a thousnad words.
The inside of the city was filled with shrines to the elven gods, that were decorated with the ornaments pleesing to the gods, and on the nearby stones were written in golden letters the storyes of each and everyone.
The elven cottages were built in the style left by their forefathers...long pillarsa and large windows coloured with live colours, roofs made of young tree branches and steady oak doors guarded the way in their sanctuaryes.
The most outstanding piece in the city was the king's, or rulling lord's, pallace.
Higher than the one in Fadrahan, this pallace had sky-reaching bastions and towers that flew high the flags of the elves.Great windows, bigger than the houses bellow, covered the whole structure, and two massive doors were the way in, guarded by two high elven guards who would greet those who were friends with kind words, and those who were foes would be greeted with swords and spears.
The great city was the final destination of the gathering.
Almost with their last breath, the ten reached the gates and almost collapsed in the gateway, but two roudy guards jumped to their help and called others to carry them inside the pallace.
The only ones who seemed less tired than the rest were Suludan, who was used to these kind of pilgriages, and Mayat, who's concern didn't left room for rest or tiring.
As soon as he was sure that everyone was well fed and put to sleep in their chambers, Mayat dressed in the tunic brought by the elves; covered with all of the ornaments that trully showed the majesty and talent of the leves, this robe had the special gift to hasten the rest of the bearer, as well as helping in the healing of the flesh wounds.
For a moment Mayat smiled at the warm and comfortable feeling of the elven silk.
He reached for the door nob, but he esitated, remembering the day when he fell at Ard'Khael, but there was nothing that could trully frighten him so he opened the door.
The time was almost two cloks after midnight and everyone was at their outposts or, those who coul, were asleep.
Torches lightened the way through the coridors so those who walked through the palace wouldn't stumble on something.
He walked almost an hour through the great halls looking at the paintings that showed the history of the elves, untill he saw a picture that disturbed him.It represented a human soldier in a great armor with a circlet on his head.He looked a bit like him, only he had a dark and evil look in his eyes.He held his sword in his right hand and in his left he held the throat of some beast that was painted quite foggy and couldn't see it well, though he knew what was it.
"I see you were drawn to this picture"sounded a voice in his back.
Mayat was to tired to make any sudden moves as he was used to, but he found himself in one of the safest palces at that time so he didn't turn.
"Who is the man in the picture?"he asked with a dim voice.
"Don't you recognize him?HE is very close to you"followed the voice.
'No, I don't"sayed mayat.
Suddenly the voice approached and Mayat saw that the one who spoke was the king himself.
A tall elf, with an elven short and light circlet on his head, that resembled a crown, well built, yet quite slim, his blue eyes reached into Mayat's heart and preasented himself as a kind man, so Mayat loosened up.
"No, how could you..."followed the elf."Any way, he is your father..."
"My father?"intrerupted Mayat.
"Yes, he is Dragarn...the follower of the dragon men...and this is Darg'un, one of his amirals".
"What happened?"asked Mayat a bit confused.
"This is a very old picture...your father led his men on the seas after our last homeland burned.He reached a line of caves a far distance from the homeland, and the men felt the need of touching solid soil again with their feet so they landed on the shores.Darg'un and a hand of men walked into the caves in search for the treasures that no one ever saw from the begining of time.Three days they walked the caves, untill, in the night of the third day, Darg'un left the caves alone...he said that they found a great evil inside and they should leave.Once on the boat, Darg'un began to raise the men against Dragarn and finaly he wanted to execute him, but he found it proper to do it on land, but when they reached the shores, a hand of elves that followed them from above shot their bows into the corrupted men, killing almost all.Than your father grabbed Darg'un by the throat and unshielded his sword...as you can see in the painting, but Darg;un stabbed him and ran toards the scorched earth and jumped through Thabar'vu.The hgih elves could do nothing for your fathers with their healing powers, so they called upon the power of the gods who gave your father immortality and raised him to the skyes, untill, a few years agp he fell in love with your mother...after their sign of love you came, but the elven gods got angry because he didn't obbey their orders, so they turned him into a river and your mother went there and wheped days and months untill the gods turned her into a willow.That place isn't very far from here and I shall take you there if the war ends to our favor...understand that the gods didn't turned them into nature elements from an evil sent, but they turned them so that they could share their love for eternity, that place is protected by the gods, and will be shut in the great forrest once Evil gets near to it, but it will open a path if they sence a kind heart on the road..."the king finished his story as the sun almost risen and allready the palace gave signs that the others woke up.
Jericho
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Membru din: Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:17 pm
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the longest days(END) part two

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:31 pm

When Mayat turned, the king wasn't there any more, instead Emra looked at him with her deep blue eyes, full of love.
"How are you, my love?"she asked with a trmbeling voice.
"Tired"responded Mayat.
Though Emra hoped for a better answer, her eyes lit at the sound of Mayat's voice, since those words were the only ones he said in a log time.
"I waited for you last night"she said while getting close to him, although with a little bit of right because she didn't want, nor needed rejection...the war allready had done that.
"I'm sorry"said Mayat, and to Emra's delight he grabed her in his arms."I talked to the king...I found out about my line of family...I am..."but his words were intrerupted by Emra "Hush now!We will speak when we will have time...rest now, you were awake all night, you need your rest"she said with a kind voice.
"Perhaps I am"sayed Mayat."Come wit me untill my chamber..."and he almost colapsed, but Emra cought him and carried his arm arround her silky smooth hair untill he liad in bed and fell in a deep sleep.
When she left his room, Suludan and Litar waited in the door.
"We must speak Emra."sayed Litar with a concerned voice.
"Yes, we must...let's go in the council room...the king waits there"followed Emra, whiping the tear from her cheek.
Slowly and quietly they walked to the throne room, where the king waited at a round table, filled with silver platters with food and elvish ornaments.
"Come...sit"he sayed.And they did so.
"The final battle will be fought tommorow...where we call the fields The Plains of Judgement..."he followed.
"How ironic!"said Litar."But, what better name for the end of such a great war"...
"I wonder how many years from now this war will be talked about..."followed Suludan.
"No doubt that tales will be told for thousands of years..."sayed the king.
"Emra, why do you sit so quiet...do you have nothing to say...?"asked Litar.
"How could I say anything...my heart allows me only to cry inside for my love...Mayat's dying"she sayed with a low voice, holding her sight pined to the ground.
"No, he isn't...he's astrong lad, any way, death seems to be afraid of him"jocked Suludan, trying to cheer up Emra.
"No...he REALLY is dying...his heart is weakening, this war ate his very essence...if it doesn't end soon he will surely die"she said and a tear fell from her eye and sounded painfully in the quietness of the hall.
"The war will end tommorow, my child"sayed touched her hed softly.
"I'm affraid that he won't hold up untill tommorow"she sayed even with more pain in her heart.
"The Roots of Earth should help him, it's a healing robe that was passed on to me from the dawns of time...it is just a tunic, but its powers are vast"sayed the king.
Suddenly Emra raised up and ran through the halls away from the table.
Litar raised from his place, but Suludan thundered the room with his colosal voice "Sit down Litar, I will go and talk to her, she needs a shoulder to cry on" and he left for her.
He found her crying on her bed, holding the scarfs that Mayat wore that day at Ard'Khael.
"Hush child, hush"sayed Suludan and held her.
"He is dying and I can't do anything"she sayed between tears.
"You allready did more than you were supposed to, you cared for him day and night for months"he sayed.
"But what about him?"she asked and pulled back "He gives his life willingly, and he know there are other watys, but even if there aren't he would gladly go unarmed and suffer torture and endless pain behind Thabar'vu only if he would know that we woudl get to live...his body si full of wounds and his heart suffers an imaginable pain, and I curse the skyes taht they didn't gave me the power to take some of the pain for my own..."but she couldn't go on for the tears she shed almost chocked her.
"Dear child, you don't need to remind me what I already know...he is indeed great...valor fades at hte sound of his name...but maybe it was written this way"sayed Suludan.
"Nothing is writen!"shouted Emra."He chose to die..."and she bursted into tears again "But I love him...why does he have to go...he is still young..."
"Oh my child, I can only imagine what you feel"and Suludan caressed her hair."Once, a long time ago i felt the miracle of love...I was young...I lived in the great city of Fadrahan, but the civil war took her away and I left the civilised world and lived in te desert..."
They stood and talked untill late at night when Emra finaly colapsed from exhaustion in bed.
Suludan left quietly and closed the door behind him.
The night passed as swiftly as the sprin rabbit runs through the plains in a wet morning, feelin the wonders of life, but these times stripped nature from the small pleasures she gave to the people.
Hoardes of orcs and beasts marched to the end of one of the powers that woudl clsh this day.
Makir was pulled in a dark golden throne of bones, wearing an armor of darkness that imbued him with increased powers, beasts and cyclops marched along them, even the ogre from the mountains came down to the call fo Makir's evil.
Palgue once again spreaded through the lands and the cure could be found only on the tip of the breaves' swords.
The alliance of man, elves, barbarians and the last of the dwarves was assembled a few miles from the Plains of Judgement.
Jericho
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Membru din: Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:17 pm
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the longest days(END) part three

Mesajde Jericho » Dum Feb 15, 2004 6:32 pm

Once again the armors of men, elves and dwarves shined united under the sunlight.
It was the first day in months when the sun shined so bright and warm, even a short and mild rain fell upon the heads of the last soldiers who felt warm inside.
The march to the battle was carried out swiftly and soon, The Plains of Judgemnet were flanked by two armies, both great and large, each one holding the side of good or evil.
Threats and howls came from both sides, untill the words and sounds turned into arrows and magic.
And on that sunny day, the two armies clashed so hard that the skyes screamed from that sound and heaven unleasehd its fury upon theose who shed blood.
Arrows both elven and orcish flew from one side to another clouding the sight above with a thick chain shirt of wooden death stings.
Here, death walked the fields claming the souls of the fallen ones sending them to the heavens or to eternal torture...the shadow world filled so much taht in some parts of the firlds could be heared the mouns of the dead ones.
Raven and Claw were the ones closer to the appearance of Evil and seemed to cut a cicular row so the armies of Good could pass; they fought with the might of lions and weren't touched by the hand of death.
Even Litar threw himself in the middle of the battle, wielding Janur, the blessed sword of the Medjiah, he leveled to the ground any foe that dared to come with his axe or sword above his head.
Again, Emra fought direly, but this time Mayat held her side and fought not through the power of steel and fire but through the power of their love, a greater power that could not be tamed or faced neither by the greatest evil in the world.
"Back, back to the tree line"shouted Suludan when he saw that more and more soldiers of their kind fell.
The chaos seemed to dim itself, and even Makir held back his troups.
At the safety of the trees Mayat followed Emra in a small clearing and took off his helmet.
"The ods are against us"sayed Emra with her eyes sorrowed.
"They are, aren't they"followed Mayat, aranging his sweaty hair."But if this is the end, I will be the last to die and I shall do that woth my sword stuck up Makir's throat, and even if my sword and body will be broken, I will still die with his neck in my hands"he sayed with anger.
But he quickly finished his words, Emra was crying again...this war took out of her the soft touch of the young woman she was.For five years she lived in the darkest and roughest times of all.She was like a flower left to grow on the rocky peacks of the wasteland mountains...she still shined, but the winds and harsh conditions pulled her down.
With out any thought, Mayat grabbed her by the middle and pressed his lips against hers and a fiery passion grew in that kiss that their wounds healed.On that dark day, the light of love was more than welcome.
"Call the Raven Caw...we ned his help"sayed Mayat decisivly.
"You think that they can still do this?It's been a long time"ased Emra.
"I don't think so...I'm sure"sayed Mayat and his eyes glew again that light that appeared in his eyes when he could move mountains if he wanted to.
"Neroth hath lakoth eker skel"whispered Emra in her old tongue and, suddenly, from the bushes appeared the two Scouts.
"Why did you called us now?"asked Raven "I was just slashing a cyclops, I think I heard him curse me and I wanted to take out his tongue before hif life"sayed Raven smiling wile whiping the blood of his blade daggers.
"Charming as ever, Raven"sayed Mayat."But now listen...we need the Raven Claw...once more we ask for your blade talent master Scouts..."replyed Mayat and he held their shoulders in his palms.
"Are you going to do what we think you will?"asked Claw with a cunning grime.
"Yes...now go, tell Suludan and Litar to open my way"sayed Mayat.
After the two Scouts left, Emra closed up to Mayat."What are you going to do?"she asked.
"Don't worry...Makir will finally taste my wrath"he replied.
"Don't go..."she said and threw herself at his chest."If you go this time I will surely lose you..."and she fell into tears again.
"My dearest..."he said and held her tender face in his fingers with the softness of the spring breeze."If I don't do this I may never get another chance...Please, don't cry...This is the end of the tale of Dolin and Inoa...and the begining of our story...don't you see...that kiss".
"Yes, that beautifull kiss"intrerupted Emra.
"That kiss set their souls free...I felt it...they wish for us to be together forever...so they said...One more time Dolin will appart from I noa so he could watch over me and Inoa over you..."he sayed.
"Oh...only if it would be like this...but untill then kiss me again"she sayed.
And again they kissed there in the tree clearing, until the sound of a horn broke the magic of love.
"I must go"sayed Mayat."Suludan is gathering the troops".
"I will be right behind you my love"Emra responded.
And Mayat ran and jumped on the horse that carried him for five years and almost could read the thoughts of his master.
"Come Elouenar, we ride one last time, we must do this..."he said with a calm voice, the he shouted "Raven Claw and swords of the sun...LET THE ENEMY FEEL THE MAJESTY OF THE FORJERS AND MEET US IN THIS DAY WITH THEIR HEADS BOWED TO OUR BLADES...NO ONE HOLDS BACK UNTILL MAKIR FALLS, HOLD YOUR SWORDS AND SPEARS, FOR LIFE AND GLORY RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"sounded again that well-known roar of anger and the army leaped into battle with a roar so mighty that Makir himself shook on his feet.
Raven claw and Suludan ran through the helpless orcs like a rock slide through the grass, opening a path for Mayat who rode with his sword held forth and shouting as much as the skyes trembelled.
A moment, an instant...and the last thing everyone saw was Mayat charging with his sword into Makir's chest through his shield.
An explosion so hard knocked everyone consciensless on the groun so they would wake up the next morning.
Once again birds and the forest's dwellers made their lively noises and the sun smiled down on them.
Except for the few bodies of the orcs left on the field, no one could see the signs of the great battle that decided the turn of mankind.
Litar, Suludan and the others looked with confused faces throughout the lands and couldn't belive their eyes, nor could they see Mayat or Emra, neither Raven or Claw.Only the all-knowing elven king stood and smiled and did not say on word.
As well as we are concerned on this part of the story, this is knowed: Raven and Claw were the first ones to wake after the shock, after Mayat and Emra.Mayat and Emra were holding each other adn when Raven and Claw came they talked a little while and gave their brave fallen soldiers a heroic funeral.Once finished, Raven and Claw took some artifacts and left to live a kind life.
Mayat and Emra climbed on Elouenar's back and dissapeared into the myst, to live their lives in peace, loving eachother, but first, Mayat went to see his parent's resting places.
The war was finaly over and the dark shroud was being pulled from the lands.
For generations peace roamed untill another war came and another...but for several years peace was the only ruler this realm had.
Mayat, Emra, Litar, Suludan and the others had more adventures by their own, but sometimes the faith brought them together again.
The day and story ended with the love song that Emra sang to Mayat at Ard'Khael, only that this time love conquered all, even death...
"Se luenne Se luenne Ner lunom elle terie Me lanne noro seum Amunar taheio Olod ranas fae......"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Sper ca v-a placut, dati-mi un mail :)
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Mesajde stefan » Lun Feb 16, 2004 11:20 am

Jericho, daca ai o chestie mai mare de pus pe forum as prefera sa o pui undeva pe web si sa pui doar un link pe forum. Nu de alta, dar daca trantesti 6 post-uri consecutive, fiecare de 10.000 de caractere (n-am stat sa le numar, dar presupun ca d-aia-s 6) sa nu te astepti sa sara lumea sa le citeasca. Am lasat primul post pentru ca lumea sa-si faca o idee despre talentul tau (sau lipsa lui).

In al doilea rand, am recreat subiectul cu proza productie proprie, consider ca pentru inceput toate bucatile de proza sa fie puse acolo. Stiu ca fiecare din cei ce au pus proza pe forum ar dori sa aiba subiectul propriu, dar deocamdata, la nivelul de trafic de pe literatura, eu consider ca e suficient un singur subiect (thread).
subpolar homesick fane

"This here post might offend you some
If it doesn't it's because you're dumb"
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The legacy

Mesajde Jericho » Mar Feb 17, 2004 4:43 pm

Sal
sunt nou si as vrea sa va cer parerea despre un post mai vechi la adresa
http://speculativevision.com/forum/messages/29/4049.html
scriet-mi va rog :)
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abia acu' am vazut

Mesajde curly » Mar Mar 02, 2004 6:26 pm

danone scrie:poi ce are baiatu cu descrierea autorului? si ce am zis eu rezulta din ce s-a inteles in urma compozitiei matale. si merci ca mi-ai gasit subiectu' sa il mut unde ii e locul :)



de obicei cande te apuci tu de cartit,n-ai haz,dar acum imi place de mata,te-ash lua de nevasta,dar eu prefer napolact shi prodlacta.ghinion!
rau de gura!
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Biblioteca science fiction

Mesajde ovidiu bufnila » Mie Mar 03, 2004 2:57 pm

NORI PE MARE
short short story
de Ovidiu Bufnila

Intr-un dialog, Asampatre, filozoful din Kareo, l-a dojenit pe meduzoidul purpuriu din Manasa pentru că, chipurile, acela ar fi anunţat cu surle şi tobe sfarşitul Istoriei. Asampatre trăgea vartos la măsea şi canta prin străzile tubulare din Kareo din zori şi pană-n noapte. Prinţesa Budulina, aia creaţă şi oacheşă, a plătit un vanător de capete să-l aducă fedeleş la picioarele ei pe un batracian sticlos din Habumbe, oraşul norilor de dincolo de orizontul nostru vizibil. Batracianul le avea cu filozofia şi, in public, putea să ţină piept oricărui filozof. Budulina voia să-i mai taie din nas lui Asampatre. M-am dus şi eu să văd infruntarea. Nişte soldăţoi au vrut să mă alunge dar i-am adormit cu nişte pase magnetice şi le-am furat codurile de intrare in evenimentul inelar in care s-a desfăşurat dialogul. Mulţimile purpurii la trup urlau de mama focului. Era şi un dragon care se pregătea să-l hăpăie pe infrant şi o balenă vorbitoare care se tot lăuda că ea o să inghită intrega suflare. In balamucul general, batracianul cel sticlos s-a luat prea in serios şi l-a ucis pe filozoful nostru oficial. Prinţesa Budulina a reuşit să fugă cu un poştalion dar batracianul a fost călcat in picioare de mulţimile infierbantate.
Cand ii povestesc toată chestia asta lui Jib'Kajib, mentorul miracolelor din Golphiz, cerul se face stacojiu, se umple de nori şi se aud trompeţii pe care Ghilda Navigatorilor i-a angajat cu ziua să facă oleacă de atmosferă. Jib'Kajib se scobeşte in nas şi-şi bate joc de mine. Nu mă crede defel in stare să compun un eveniment fără de cusur. Mie nici nu-mi trece prin cap să ne luăm la intrecere deşi Maona Kosamona, nevestica lui, aia cu şapte ţaţe, tot bagă fitile.
Eu m-am interesat in stanga şi-n dreapta să aflu care e tărăşenia cu ea. Nu era din os domnesc, mătrăguna şi fitilista! O aruncase o furtună pe ţărm. Albatrosul Pigdameu, un prietenar de-al meu, m-a dus la capătul peninsulei să văd locul unde apăruse Maona Kosamona. Am făcut eu nişte calcule şi am inţeles că universul plin de universuri hotărase ca fabuloasa aia de fitilistă să intre intr-o istorie cu mine ca să fiu pus la incercare. Bineinţeles că am plătit bani grei să pot angaja un echipaj şi o corabie ca să plec in căutarea furtunii.
Intr-un tarziu, Peşte Orb, baharul care stăpanea mările de carton ale Patoliei, ţinutul viermilor informaţionali, mi-a vandut o hartă şi un toiag magic. Sigur că m-a păcălit peştoiul dar nu era prima dată cand cineva era mai ager şi mai şmecher decat mine. In tot cazul, vanzoleala aia pe mare a norilor m-a scăpat de angoasele mele şi de agonicele care se ţineau scai de mine, doar, doar le voi zice unde se sfarşesc toate căile de apă care izvorau din corporalitatea universului plin de universuri.
Inmultirea fiintelor la nesfârsit tine de o economie a viului dar si de filozofia textului, fictionalul fiind constructul fundamental.
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Portret

Mesajde Chrysilla » Mie Mar 03, 2004 8:31 pm

N`as fi crezut ca voi incepe sa-ti simt lipsa.Ma obisnuisem fara tine,
cealalta jumatate,si credeam ca voi putea trai asa.Visam singura pe malul
marii un vis care mi se parea atit de cunoscut,in care ma simteam implinita.
In lumina amurgului,cind parul meu devenea flacara si pielea parea de aur,
paraseam valurile ,lasindu-le sa viseze ele mai departe, iar in spatele meu
auzeam, tot mai stins, cintecul sirenelor.Dar am inceput sa te visez,noapte
de noapte,venind spre mine, iar cind voiam sa te cuprind, te destramai usor.
Ma trezeam cu un mare gol in brate...

Asa ca am trimis pasarile sa te caute in lumina pufoasa a norilor,deasupra
marii unde sirenele canta, seara, invelite in lumina apusului.Am trimis
fluturii sa te caute,scuturind visele florilor.Am rugat stelele sa te aduca
din intunecimile noptii,cand luna nu se mai aprinde.

Din puful aripilor, am tesut pinza pe care am inalbit-o apoi cu rasuflarea
mea.Din fulgi de nori si de lumina mi-am mesterit pensula,din visele florilor
mi-am faurit culorile.Am respirat adinc, cautindu-te in mine - si am inceput
sa pictez.

Din vis am scos la iveala chipul tau, si mi-am muiat pensula in noapte
pentru parul tau. Ca sa-ti pictez ochii, am cautat in ape,acolo unde lumina
nu mai poate patrunde,unde adincul devine intuneric brun.Din inima de arbore,din umbra de padure,din suflare de crivat,din putere de val,cu unduiri de felina pindind,ispititor ca un sarpe - ti-am pictat trupul asa cum te-am
visat.

Apoi am luat in palma praf de fildes si am lasat briza sa-l sufle peste
contururi,dind corpului umbre si mladieri.Pentru a incheia,am aruncat culorile
si pensula deoparte.M-am apropiat de pinza din care imi surideai.Soarele imi
poleia trupul gol si alb cu aur.Inima imi batea nebuna - atat de bizar pentru
o statuie. Mi-am lipit sinii tresaltind de pieptul tau,de inima ta nemiscata,
fildesul pielii tale m-a mingiiat.Din amurgul parului meu ti-am facut haina
care sa te incalzeasca.Ochii mei albastri ti-au aratat lumina cerului, buzele
mele pirguite ti-au dat caldura dragostei.Te-am chemat in soapta,caci glasul
nu indraznea sa sparga linistea.

Si am asteptat sa te trezesti,Pygmalion,eu,Galateea ta.
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Mesajde Chrysilla » Mie Mar 03, 2004 8:32 pm

Cantecul inorogului albastru

Mai intai,ce este un inorog?
"Inorogul este un cal",ar raspunde cel intrebat.
Dar inorogul,sau unicornul,este un cal cu un corn in frunte.
Cu cornul lui de fildes si de nestemate,de piatra si de argint,inorogul aprinde stelele.
Seara,cand soarele se stinge si luna se inalta,cornul inorogului ajunge pana la cer.
Lumina palida face aripile inorogului sa sclipeasca argintiu.
Stelele il asteapta gata de bal; inorogul isi desface aripile albe ca ale ingerilor,isi face vant si paraseste pamantul.
Atinge cu cornul lui de fides stelele mici.
Atinge cu cornul lui de argint stelele albastre.
Atinge cu cornul lui de piatra stelele moarte.
Atinge cu cornul lui de nestemate Calea Lactee,care nu e decat calea pe care paseste inorogul in drumul lui spre stele.
Cu coada lui matasoasa stinge soarele.
Rasuflarea lui cu miros de stele aprinde luna.
Acesta este inorogul alb.
Insa inorogul albastru...oh,inorogul albastru are cu totul alta menire.
Iinorogul albastru e purtatorul viselor.
El apare dupa ce inorogul alb a adormit in culcusul lui.
Inorogul albastru tropaie.Copitele lui scapara.Coama i se infoaie.
Ciuleste urechile. E plin de neastampar.
Coada ii biciueste coapsele.
Asteapta.
Ce?
Asteapta ca fiecare copil sa`i pregateasca traista albastra cu fan aromat albastru si cana albastra care face ca apa neinceputa de izvor sa para albastruie sub cerul albastru de seara.
Asteapta ca aripile lui albastre sa se coloreze cu parfumul albastru al padurii fermecate albastre.
Dupa ce zanele ireal de albastre ii infoaie coama cu vise calme,albastre, inorogul isi inmoaie botul albastru in apa albastra,soptitoare a izvorului fermecat si bea indelung.
Apoi isi desface aripile albastre,bate aerul de cateva ori si se pierde,inghitit de cerul albastru inchis.
Din aripile albastre se imprastie spre case visele albastre.
Nimeni nu`l vede,nimeni nu`l aude,caci inorogul albastru se confunda cu aerul albastru si aburul rasuflarii lui seamana cu visele.
Cand lumea se trezeste,dimineata,in traistele albastre nu mai este nici un fir de fan aromat albastru,iar din apa albastra din canile de lut albastre nu a mai ramas nici un strop.
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Un inorog fabulos!

Mesajde ovidiu bufnila » Joi Mar 04, 2004 9:01 am

Chrysilla,

Ai scris un ficional fabulos! Ia legatura cu Marius Damian, editorul sef de la www.avangarda.bn.ro! Inorogul tau atat de plin de farmec merita sa fie publicat pretutindeni in lume!
Il poti traduce in engleza?
L-am putea "misca" in USA, Marea Britanie, Australia! Daca te hotarasti, spune-mi aici pe lista si sunt gata sa-ti dau o mana de ajutor.

Ovidiu Bufnila
Inmultirea fiintelor la nesfârsit tine de o economie a viului dar si de filozofia textului, fictionalul fiind constructul fundamental.
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Mesajde gabuba » Joi Mar 04, 2004 11:41 am

"Ne-am ales odata un porc. Porcul era atat de porc incat a porcit pana si scroafa cea ingrijita. Acum toti sunt niste porci cu aripi si zboara, departe, departe de tot, in lumea ingerasilor cu coronitza si aripi de un alb imaculat.
Multi, ce se doreau inteligenti, i-au contestat plecarea, dand totul pe seama celui mai necurat dintre necurati, care ii tine de partea lor. Acum ei ar putea fi mana lui dreapta, si-si merita locul pentru toata porcimea facuta unor semi-porci."

Porcul si purcimea-Prologul vremii ceausiste. :D
- S-a strans toată lumea?
- Toţi in păr!
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Mesajde Chrysilla » Joi Mar 04, 2004 3:35 pm

ovidiu bufnila scrie:Chrysilla,

Ai scris un ficional fabulos! Ia legatura cu Marius Damian, editorul sef de la www.avangarda.bn.ro! Inorogul tau atat de plin de farmec merita sa fie publicat pretutindeni in lume!
Il poti traduce in engleza?
L-am putea "misca" in USA, Marea Britanie, Australia! Daca te hotarasti, spune-mi aici pe lista si sunt gata sa-ti dau o mana de ajutor.

Ovidiu Bufnila


Multumesc pentru apreciere!!! Ma bucur ca in sfarsit unul din "cantecele" mele a placut... pacat insa ca celelalte nu!! :(
L`am tradus in engleza, insa nu suna la fel de bine... poate ar trebui tradus de un profesionist...
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Toate:

Mesajde ovidiu bufnila » Joi Mar 04, 2004 4:05 pm

Chrysilla,

Toate cantecele tale sunt fabuloase. Inorogul e locomotiva de imagine pentru mineeeeeeee!
Cum facem cu traducerea in engleza?
Astept.
Daca da, vino cu mine sa navigam prin oceanul digital si sa publici pretutindeni! Sa-mi spui mai multe despre tine. Daca te hotarasti, o sa te invit in Ghilda Scriitorilor. Acolo sunt cativa scriitori tineri de exceptie. Ei te vor ajuta. Bineinteles ca in apele Ghildei pluteste si meduza bufniliana.
Cu toata prietenia.

Ovidiu Bufnila
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Mesajde eyewitness » Joi Mar 04, 2004 4:16 pm

ce-ar fi daca domniile vuastre, prozatorii, v-ati da limbile apreciative pe pemeu sau ymeu vaslind prin pacificu dijital evitand cu maiestrie valurile offtopice de pe acest thread?
If you want to be a hippie, put a flower in your peepee
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Mesajde Chrysilla » Joi Mar 04, 2004 7:05 pm

ovidiu bufnila scrie:Chrysilla,

Toate cantecele tale sunt fabuloase. Inorogul e locomotiva de imagine pentru mineeeeeeee!
Cum facem cu traducerea in engleza?
Astept.
Daca da, vino cu mine sa navigam prin oceanul digital si sa publici pretutindeni! Sa-mi spui mai multe despre tine. Daca te hotarasti, o sa te invit in Ghilda Scriitorilor. Acolo sunt cativa scriitori tineri de exceptie. Ei te vor ajuta. Bineinteles ca in apele Ghildei pluteste si meduza bufniliana.
Cu toata prietenia.

Ovidiu Bufnila


Ma bucur ca in sfarsit cineva m-a observat... Intr-adevar "Cantecul inorogului albastru" a fost primul din seria "cantecelor", serie pe care am "botezat-o" Crini de padure .
Cu traducerea, nu stiu, ti-am spus, mie nu mi-a iesit prea bine, ar trebui sa apelam la un bun cunoscator al limbii engleze.
Vreau sa te intreb: as putea publica (fie si pe net) sub pseudonim? Si daca da, cum as putea dupa aceea sa demostrez ca eu sunt autoarea?
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The Map Seller

Mesajde UnSlayne » Joi Mar 04, 2004 10:19 pm

The Map Seller
by Bogdan Gheorghiu

I'm standing in the middle of a an almost empty nameless street at midnight, looking up at the twin searchlights on top of the Universa Dream Company building, and at the building itself, reflected infinitely inside my head only to complete the obsessing image of The Senior's three-dimensional face with a grotesque nose.
Memories of a terminal's LCD, the conventional representation of the AI talking to me one-way. Fast-forward vertigo, images of myself running out of an elevator, displayed on some surveillance camera output screen in the hallway of an apartment building back in Midland City, my hand throwing cash over the rent payment desk, one end of a data stick coming out of my pocket at times, everything left behind me, sliding doors closing.
The Senior's men on my trail.
Countless days spent in countless cities, days of quick eating, quick dinking and public terminals. Days and nights without a minute of sleep.
I was rushing everytime towards a single contact person, through crowds of people I didn't know, always fearing that some of them might know me.
By that time I had no idea of how extended the Senior's network of agents and agencies could have been.
My last day of running away from them caught me realising that I was running the wrong way. They knew that I was looking for a refuge, and sooner or later they would have found me.
Buy I was sure they were done looking for me in Midland City, the place where it all began. So I quickly returned to my apartment building only to find it closed and labeled 'crime scene'.
The Senior's men had gone in and killed everyone, just to make sure. Those had been the orders.
Now I'm no longer in Midland City. I had to leave it again later, once and for all. But that's one of the many things I don't want to think about.
Back then, after my return, my life became an endless row of unexpected acts. I knew that I would stay alive for as long as I could find new ways of running and hiding.

I'm looking at the high ventilation shaft on the inside surface of the city dome, and everytime the holographic sky reveals it for one second, I begin to dream of flying...

...but then I fall and turn my back on the tall building, images striking me again...

...virtual flames, neon dance, muzzle flashes, a carnival of spectral hallucination meant to bring me down for good.
Myself passing out next to the terminal, the screen showing nothing but the goggles' frame rate.
An uncertain morning, the damp taste of disorientation in my mouth as I woke up in my bed at the hotel where I had spent the previous night, the terminal missing, replaced by a handwritten note. I can still remember every single word of it:
' I just saved you. The Map Seller's flashes had turned you into a sitting duck for his hired men. They were triangulating your terminal, so I came in and took it away.
' Now I have finally returned your favor.
' The hotel terminal is gone, your data completely transferred onto a mobile one. Come pick it up. '
There was an address and a signature.
' Someone you used to know. '
So death had once again been avoided carefully.
In that very moment I became aware of The Senior's true power.
Avoided, indeed. But only for me.
The Senior. The Map Seller. The built-in deceiver.
A corporate AI probably as old as the network itself, written by some of the first official brainmappers in order to centralize AI map domain sales. In a short time it took control of what it was meant to supervise. It monopolized the market, turning itself into the one authority, the only seller.
They had designed it to be specifically mercantile, and to guide its every action by a scripted survival instinct. So it slowly eliminated its makers, it owners, then every client AI that sold domains through it.
It assumed an identity of its own, renaming itself. Renaming himself. He became The Senior. The tyrant of the AI market.
The Map Seller was the one who sold the brainmaps, the mainframe, the net domains, and the other kind of maps, the intricate maze of proxies and links, hundreds of logins, the labyrinthic security system used by the buyers to access the AIs in write mode.
We were the last of his enemies. The Traders' Guild. The pirates of brainmapping.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of people, most of us not knowing each other in real life, talking and making deals over paranoid-style screened connections.
To The Senior, we were outlaws.
And to everyone else, The Senior was the law.
No one knows how exactly he found us, but we all know he did.
He started hunting us down one by one, meticulously and silently eliminating our men, breaking our deals, compromising our sales, stealing our domains, our mainframes, destroying what he couldn't steal, erasing every AI we had mapped, thus killing some of our clients...
...ravaging as programmed.

The Universa Dream Company building is now behind me, the two spots of light artistically sweeping the street and the buildings on the other side of the road.
I'm now looking at a group of stars on the random sky, and another familiar face makes its way out of my mind.

The note, the missing terminal, the anonymous cab driving me through the dark heat of that night.
The address, my hands and eyes checking the note once again in front of the open door. I don't remember the number on it, the floor, the building it was in. I don't remember anything more than her empty stare, her pale and cold skin as I turned her face down on the unmade deathbed, hoping that I might take that look out of my head.
The look that is still haunting my late night dreams, turning them into instant nightmares, waking me up too early in the morning and too late at night, unable to fall asleep, unable to wake up.
I remember it all as if it had happened yesterday. No blood. No sign of a fight. Everything clean. The mobile terminal screen blinking, the light making her pale skin look almost transparent.
My eyes blurred with pain and anger, reading the note.
' I have finally returned your favor '
The small piece of paper falling down from my shaking hands, my own body falling over it, on the floor, punching nervously. I had left her behind. And it was too late to go back now.
The Map Seller was a professional. I knew it from before. And this came as a sarcastic demonstration of his mastery. I was absolutely sure that it was his work.
I ran. I went out of Midland City. Then I ran some more.

Now i'm in some nameless city, waiting for the first tube train to depart, ready to board it no matter where to.
I left my data on the mobile terminal in that room.
I'm doing what I can to dealy the inevitable. My death.
They say the Senior was written as the most trustworthy business partner and as the worst, most diabolical enemy.
I never came to know him as a partner.
I can't do anything against him now, and he knows it. He uses it. I can't even kill myself or let his men do the job. He would surely allocate one of his free domains for a permanent AI copy of mine, with fully preserved memories.
I'm still looking at the holo projected sky, my eyes moving away from the unbearable look on her face in the digital stars to another random group, another face I used to know.
The Senior. Again. Behind me, in front of me, all around me.
Sometimes I wonder if he has any control over the sky randomisation system, if he is doing this to me on purpose.
The tube station entrance, a scrolling list of arrivals and departures.
Ten minutes until the first train departs. My train.
I'm scanning the surroundings, looking at a group of usual hoodlums weaving their small knives at each other.
I see one of them looking in my direction, his eyes meeting mine.
He's approaching me, followed by some of the others, asking me for money.
I prepare to give them the money I have, then I change my mind and tell them that I've got none.
They ask me again
and again
and again
A punch in my face, hands searching through my pockets, voices asking me, yelling at me, threatening me
' You're gonna die mothafucker! They ain't even gonna find your fuckin dead body. '
The echo of those words beyond my ears, as they keep gaining new and better meanings.
More fists hitting me, putting me down, feet breaking my ribs, the words, the knives, the voices, again
and again
and again
I am saved.
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Mesajde demonicus » Vin Mar 05, 2004 2:54 pm

Cartea mortilor
Marius Damian

Sunt un cititor. Citesc orice. Cand nu am carti, citesc ziare. Reviste. Etichetele de pe produse. Prospectele de la medicamente. Reclamele de pe marginea drumului. Tot ce este o insiruire inteligibila de semne tiparite imi creeaza o stare placuta si nu ma pot abtine.
Cand eram mic citeam sub patura. Aveam o lanterna facuta rost de la un prieten si citeam ca nebunul. Dimineata de-abia ma trezeam pentru a merge la scoala. Lanterna era excelenta, incercasem prima oara cu lumanarea, dar era sa iau foc cu totul si era gata, gata sa ma prinda ai mei...
Intr-un an am fost plecat la munte. Am niste prieteni acolo. Nu au curent, apa din fantana. Peisajul este mirific. Un singur ceas in toata casa. Un ceas mic, de mana, rusesc. Arata ora cea veche si vara, nu-l schimbasera dupa ora de vara. Oricum, timpul era mai dilatat acolo. Am plecat linistit, gandindu-ma ca voi sta cateva zile departe de televizor, radio, telefon, carti si tot ceea ce inseamna civilizatie. Pentru mine, desigur. Primele zile au trecut usor. Am urcat pe varfurile din apropiere, am baut apa minerala din izvoare, am mancat zmeura si am cules afine. Insa foamea de litere ma devora in interior. Dupa doua zile am inceput sa ma simt rau. Trebuia sa citesc ceva. Orice. A, am uitat sa va spun ca citesc si cand mananc. Atunci citesc cel mai bine. Sunt linistit si nu ma deranjeaza nimeni. In sfarsit... Am inceput sa caut nervos printre lucrurile prietenilor mei. Nimic! Am mai stat o noapte fara... M-am zvarcolit intr-una si am visat carti! O multime de carti, insa in momentul in care puneam mana pe ele si le deschideam, foile erau albe! Dimineata m-am trezit nervos si lac de sudoare. I-am intrebat pe ei. Au spus sa caut prin pod. Am urcat plin de speranta si am inceput sa cotrobai. Dupa doua ore, plin de panze de paianjeni si praf, am reusit – gasisem o carte. Nu conta ca era fara coperti, ca nu avea nici inceput nici sfarsit! Am coborat in goana scara podului, cu ochii in carte ( era sa imi rup gatul coborand, calcasem pe langa unul din fusteii scarii ). M-am asezat pe o patura in spatele casei si am inceput sa citesc. Era o carte scrisa de un scriitor rus, cred, cu niste tovarasi care lucrau entuziasti undeva prin Siberia – nu conteaza oricum, spre propasirea societatii socialiste multilateral dezvoltate. Am sorbit-o asa cum era, in doua ore. Chiar daca nu stiu cum s-a terminat, excursia la munte a fost excelenta, in cele din urma...
Nu mult dupa aventura de la munte, ma apucasem de yoga. Si, bineinteles ca am inceput sa citesc carti scrise de diversi yoghini, Swami Vivekananda si altii. Eram fascinat de universul care mi se revela din carti. Faceam si exercitii. Ce puteam si eu, bineinteles. Acele lecturi m-au indrumat spre studiul mortilor, a reincarnarii, transmigrarii sufletelor. Yoga m-a facut mai atent la energiile subtile. Mi-am dat seama ca fiecare lucru este insufletit de “atmanâ€Â
demonicus
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Pisicuţa Galeşă şi tunarul Boris

Mesajde ovidiu bufnila » Lun Mar 08, 2004 1:20 pm

Pisicuţa Galeşă şi tunarul Boris
short short story
de Ovidiu Bufnila


Pe toţi dracii!
Cum să nu te ia cu friguri cand dai peste un zid nou-nouţ, numai bun de scribălit?
Asta-i, gagiilor!
Mi-am scos tubu'. Fleoaşc! Fleoaşc! I-am pictat o misivă mişto lu' Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj. O ştiam eu, haimanaua! Pe vremuri scria scrisorile rozalii la Europa Liberă. Se dădea in vant după năucu' de Page.
Cum să nu-mi aduc aminte? Păi nu ne-am giugiulit la cantonu' acela părăsit din Bărăgan? Nu mi-a povestit ea mie cate-n Lună şi-n stele?
Ce buze avea! Ce focoasă!
Sigur că m-am crucit! I-am citit mesaju' pe un zid crescut ca din pămant in preajma Gării de Nord. Fain! Zicea cam aşa, ţăcănita: Pupaţi-l in cur pe tunarul Boris!
Ea trebuie să fie, mi-am zis ciudos. Şi eu care imi inchipuiam că haimanaua se măritase cu un domn bine. Că-şi pierdea vremea prin cele străinătăţuri, braţ la braţ cu vreun şmecher cu ţăcălie şi cu post ca lumea la Ministeru' de Externe!
Ce chestie, dom'le!
Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj revenea in forţă. Călărea strada, draga de ea! Se dădea in stambă. Se ţinea de şotii, nebuna. Le făcea in ciudă la oficiali! Păi cat se canoniseră săracii să pună mana pe ea s-o bată bine de tot cu bulanele de cauciuc! Asta tre' să fi fost prin anii '70. In beci se ascundea, haimanaua! Stătea cu trezitoru' la urechiuşă. Era moartă, moartă după ăia de peste ocean, ha, ha, ha! Păi mi-a zis ea că bunică-sa ii aşteptase mai bine de un deceniu. Pe muchie. Invăţase să şi injure pe englezeşte, băbătia. La Socola au dus-o. Păi cum altfel cand se tot lăuda că-i amanta lui Elvis? Adevăru' e că hoaşca avea un picior de sticlă. Păi, uite-aşa! I se transformase peste noapte. íŽi strălucea. De la o ploaie de primăvară. Pun pariu că nu credeţi nici o iotă. Da' să mor dacă mint!
Fleoaşc! Misivă pentru Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj:
"Iubiţico, pe unde-ai umblat atata amar de vreme? Sunt pe-acilea, dai de mine in doi timpi şi trei mişcări".
Semnat, Papagalu' Rozaliu!
Eu sunt papagalu', nu vă mai obosiţi. E drept, m-am ramolit. Am cearcăne nasoale de tot. íŽmi scarţaie genunchiu' stang. Am ameţeli, mi s-au ingălbenit degetele de la chiştoace, mă lasă memoria.
Şi-s flămand.
Ce mincinos! Acu' o săptămană am ras un carnăcior de pe-o tarabă. Să fi văzut cum s-au luat după mine poliţaii! Buluc, dom'le!
Aşa, pisicuţo! Te-ai dat la fund atata amar de vreme. Şi-acu', hop, la lumină!
Muream de emoţie. I-am scris o mie de mesaje. I le găseam pe ale ei prin WC-urile publice, pe zidurile primăriei, pe coşmeliile din staţiile de autobuz. Parcă se juca cu mine!
O grămadă de boschetari s-au inghesuit să mă pocească. Să mă tragă de limbă. Că cine-i gagica. Că Boris ar fi homosexual şi guşă la poliţie. Că-i zice tunar aşa, la mişto, fiindcă are o sculă cat toate zilele. Ce babardişti!
Uitaţi-vă la mine. Persoană respectabilă. Nu umblu cu şuşe de doi lei. Fac şi pe dracu-n patru să nu mă duc la fund. Să nu ingroş drojdia societăţii noastre civile. Supravieţuiesc, dom'le, imi ţin coada pe sus!
L-am cunoscut ieri pe un metalist, Popescu Lamă de Oţel. Ce să-i faci dacă lui ii plăcea numele acesta? Se urina la WC-ul public din Gara de Nord. N-am mai văzut aşa ceva! I-au trebuit cinci minute să sfarşească. Ţaşnea urina din el! M-a văzut că mă binoclam. Mi-a ras in nas. L-am intrebat:
- íŽl cunoaşteţi pe tunaru' Boris?
- Ce şmen ai cu el, bărbăţele?! Mi-a strigat metalistul trăgandu-şi fermoarul la pantalonii lui plini de lănţuge. Dacă-l ştiu, o să pun o vorbă bună pentru tine, moşulică!
Auzi la el! Măgarul!
Da' era simpatic. Noua generaţie. Cu capu'n nori, bag seama. N-o cunoscuse băiatu' pe Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj. Nu-i pipăise bulanele mişto! Nu-i molfăise sfarcurile, bietul de el! Păi, să-i fi spus eu ce pierduse, nu?
Mi-a zis făcandu-mi cu ochiu':
- Te pricepi la calculatoare?
- Ţţţţţţ!
- Am eu un fişier cu toţi golănaşii de prin zonă! O să dăm de el, n-ai nici o grijă!
펺i făcea veacu' intr-o mansardă mucegăită. Ce mai puţea! Plină de gandaci. Aia se căcaseră pe monitoare şi pe claviatură. Da' nu-i păsa lui Popescu Lamă de Oţel. Săracu'! Visa revoluţii. Visa să conducă lumea. Să fie cel mai tare din parcare.
I-am spus in şoaptă:
- Băă, mucea, las-o moale! E fumată chestiunea! Ai auzit de Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj? Intreab-o pe ea cum devine cazu'! Are experienţă, gagica!
Popescu Lamă de Oţel m-a privit neincrezător. Mi-a zis de la obraz că-s diliu, că mă caută moartea. Că-s limbut. Că-s gargaragiu. Că pisicuţa trebuia să fie acum hodorogită. Că nu există nemurire. Că s-a dus vremea noastră. Gata, la groapa de gunoi a istoriei. Că-i timpul gagiilor cu capu' cat baniţa, crăcănaţi peste claviatura aia ochioasă.
Nu l-a găsit pe Tunar in fişierul lui. Da' mi-a şoptit:
- E chestie politică la mijloc!
- Hai sifon, puştache! I-am zis eu. Pisicuţa nu le avea... Era doar o rebelă, inţelegi? Ar fi răsturnat lumea numai din varful buzelor dac-ar fi putut! A scris şi trei manifeste! Ei, poezie, tipule! Să radem lumea c-o floare! Să mori de ras, nu alta! Da' era o figură!
Popescu Lamă de Oţel m-a injurat. S-a lăsat prins in mrejele unui progrămel. Nici n-a mai vorbit cu mine.
L-am tapat de-o ţigară. Pe stradă se tot faţaia o curviştină. Scumpă, scumpă. Mi-a făcut semn să mă duc cu ea! N-o durea mana. Şi-a tras un pic fermoarul. Să mă bage in viteză. Nici aia nu mancase de-o săptămană. Se vedea de la o poştă. I-am strigat:
- Mimi, l-ai văzut pe tunaru' Boris?
Curviştina m-a porcăit in fel şi chip. Mi-a zis că-s sărit de pe fix. Uite-aşa mă arunca Pisicuţa Galeşă din Cluj in braţele pierzaniei.
- Inchide geamul! A ţipat la mine Popescu Lamă de Oţel. Am găsit ceva despre pisicuţa ta! Fii atent!
Cică un peşte de pe Lipscani avea o tipesă cu porecla asta. Ei, mie nu prea mi-a venit să cred, fi'ar a dracului de treabă! Pentru mine, pisicuţa fusese un mister o viaţă-ntreagă. Şi-acu' s-o găsesc făcand trotuarul?
Ne-am mişcat intr-o clipă. Peştele zăcea pe o terasă, la soare. Bine făcut. Fălci de taur. Muşchi turnaţi pe el cu lopata. Avea un ranjet periculos. Da' sufletu' ii era ca de furnică. L-am luat repede. S-a fastacit. S-a balbait. Că era o confuzie. Că auzise el de dama asta da' că nu era in proprietatea lui.
- O fi una care face pe independenta! a marait peştele trăgand o duşcă din berea-i austriacă. Mai sunt şi din astea. Am auzit că tipele astea lucrează cu barosanii de la informaţii. E minat terenu', nu vă băgaţi!
- íŽl ştii pe unu' Boris, zis tunaru', l-am intrebat, săltand de pe un picior pe celălalt.
La Universitate, pe zid, scria ceva despre el! N-aţi citit?
- O ştim pe aia! Ai vreun pont? Am spus repede.
Inimă de Leu are! Ăla le ştie pe toate! Prin Piaţa Romană se invarteşte, bulangiul! Da' vinde tare scump.
Am luat metroul. Baz. Baz. Sus, pe scări. La lumină. Inghesuială. Tuse canceroasă. Strigăte guturale.
L-am găsit pe valutist. 펺i infundase fundu' in scaunu' unei Lancia. Ce grande se dădea!
El ne-a ochit. I-am sărit in carcă. L-am luat de moţ. Nu prea i-a plăcut. S-a fastacit. I s-a inroşit guşuliţa. I-au luat foc urechiuşele. L-am ameninţat. Prostu'! A pus botu'.
- Asta-i adresa pisicuţei...e... Pisicuţa Galeşă... din ....din... Cluj ... pe cuvant, gagiilor... acu' două zile era la adresa asta! S-a balbait valutistul.
I-am zis adio, hahalerei!
Gata, gata, flecarule, i-am zis. Coboram la prima. E un bloc vechi acolo, italienii l-au construit in '40. In colţ e o berărie, mai incolo o staţie de benzină. Ţine-ţi gura, vedem noi cum devine cazu'. Fii respectuos!
Un moş, c-un caine jigărit după el, urca la deal. La număru' nouă, e fătuca! Aha!
Să-l fi văzut pe Popescu Lamă de Oţel cum şi-a bulbucat ochişorii. Ei, metalistule, să te văd!
Am urcat o scară crăpată. Puţea a gunoi. Un bec chior se legăna pe palierul prăfuit. Pereţii, jupuiţi. Undeva răcnea un beţivan. La etaj sufla intr-o trompetă. Mirosea a rantaş de te trăznea.
- Aici e! Am zis gafaind.
Cioc, cioc! Am venit, iubito! Intră. Voce cristalină. Stătea intinsă pe pat, pisicuţa mea. Fragedă, fragedă.
- Cine-i tipul, Papagalul Rozaliu? M-a intrebat Pisicuţa Galeşa din Cluj.
L-am prezentat pe metalist. Bineinţeles că Popescu Lamă de Oţel nu era convins. Tot ranjea, prostul. Credea că-l adusesem la giugiuleală. I-ar fi plăcut, nesimţitului. Da' pisicuţa era un simbol. O amintire. Trăgea să moară. Numai capul ei drăgălaş se mai mişca. Restul trupului se transformase intr-o bucată sclipitoare de sticlă.
- Aţi auzit de tunarul Boris? ne-a intrebat pisicuţa oftand.
- Ţţţţ! Am făcut eu inroşindu-mă de ruşine.
- Boris a luptat in Afganistan. Intr-o bună zi carnea lui s-a preschimbat in sticlă.
- Aha! Am marait eu făcand pe interesantul.
- Un grup de cercetători din New York i-au introdus matricea informaţională pe computer!
- Sanchi, pisicuţo, am spus eu. Nu te-am văzut de atata vreme şi tu te ţii de şotii dintr-astea! Cum să te cred?
- Taci! Mi-a urlat in ureche Popescu Lamă de Oţel. E posibil, moşulică! O pot face şi eu! O să-mi aduc indată sculele!
Şi a ieşit valvartej pe uşă.
Eu m-am tolănit intr-un balansoar. Am inchis ochii. Se auzea sticla.
Infuleca hulpavă carnea Pisicuţei Galeşe din Cluj.
Dar ce-mi păsa?
De ce să mă mai impotrivesc? íŽmpotriva cui să mă lupt? Valuri uriaşe de Timp se prăvăleau peste mine. Mă duceau cu ele. O voce din eter spunea pe un ton egal:
- Şi acum, pentru Papagalul Rozaliu din Bucureşti, TIME cu PINK FLOYD!
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ovidiu bufnila
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Ecologically right

Mesajde Roxana B » Vin Mar 12, 2004 5:01 pm

ECOLOGICALLY RIGHT

De dimineaţă cand m-am dus să-i dau de mancare, calului meu ii dispăruse o ureche. Dispăruse pur şi simplu. Am vrut să chem veterinarul, dar, cum nu avea nici o rană şi părea că se simte bine, am renunţat.
L-am chemat insă peste cateva ore, cand am văzut că i-a dispărut şi cealaltă ureche şi coada. Veterinarul l-a examinat, a văzut şi el că nu are nici o rană şi pare că se simte bine, şi a ridicat din umeri. Mi-a zis să-l hrănesc bine şi să-l scot mai des la plimbare, apoi a plecat lăsandu-mă singur langă calul meu fără urechi şi fără coadă.
Ne-am plimbat mai mult decat de obicei, căutam să observ vreo problemă, un semn de oboseală, de slăbiciune, ceva, dar totul părea in regulă. Aveam un cal sănătos, doar că arăta ciudat aşa cum era acum. La intoarcere l-am ţesălat indelung, i-am pus mancare ceva mai multă ca de obicei, l-am mangaiat, iar el mi-a răspuns cu aceeaşi privire caldă dintotdeauna. Nu m-am putut impiedica să fiu puţin suspicios.
Cand am ieşit din grajd, mi-am ridicat exasperat privirea spre cerul de plastic. Cu ce greşisem oare să merit un cal fără urechi şi fără coadă?! Maine o să chem un alt veterinar.
L-am chemat chiar in aceeaşi seară. S-a uitat şi mai suspicios decat mine la calul fără urechi, fără coadă şi cu trei picioare şi a ridicat din umeri. Nu avea nici o rană şi părea că se simte bine. Ba chiar a sforăit vesel cand i-am intins o bucăţică de zahăr, şi m-a privit cu căldură. Veterinarul mi-a zis să-l hrănesc bine, şi probabil mi-ar fi zis să-l scot mai des la plimbare dacă nu şi-ar fi amintit că are doar trei picioare. Mi-a recomandat un supliment nutritiv şi mi-a zis că pot să-l chem la orice oră dacă se mai intamplă ceva.
Nu l-am mai chemat. La ce bun? A doua zi dimineaţa, calul meu nu mai avea picioare deloc. Am simţit un nod in stomac cand l-am văzut zăcand pe patul de paie şi privindu-mă cu ochii săi blanzi. Mi-am reţinut lacrimile şi l-am mangaiat, l-am curăţat, i-am pus mancarea - cu suplimentul recomandat – şi apa langă el ca s-o poată ajunge uşor, l-am alintat, i-am dat o bucăţică de zahăr in plus şi i-am promis că mă intorc repede. Am ieşit din grajd cu ochii in lacrimi, am intrebat din nou cerul de plastic cu ce am greşit de mi se intamplă asta tocmai mie, apoi mi-am văzut de treabă.
După amiază m-am intors la el, nu-i mai dispăruse nimic, şi m-am hotărat să nu plec de acolo, dacă i se mai intamplă ceva măcar să ştiu cum şi de ce.
Dar am adormit. Spre dimineaţă m-am trezit, speriat, şi aveam şi de ce. Din cal nu mai rămăsese decat capul şi o parte din gat. Am sărit in picioare ingrozit, iar calul – capul de cal – mi-a spus:
- Calmează-te, şefu’. N-am nimic cu tine personal. Alta e problema. Conform drepturilor cailor liberi, nu mai vreau să stau intr-un dom inchis, intr-un microsistem artificial.
“Drepturile cailor liberiâ€Â
Roxana B
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Mesajde gaga » Vin Mar 12, 2004 6:03 pm

Exceptional, marturisesc, spre surprinderea mea mi-a placut foarte mult ce a scris Roxana.
Nu am de gand sa fac o analiza, pentru ca desigur ash avea si ceva carcoteli fatza de folosirea unor metafore, dar per total, daca era dupa capul meu, ash fi obligat fiecare fanclubist cu pretentzii de mare literat sa citeasca si sa INTELEAGA nuvelutza de mai sus.

mai ca imi vine sa ma rog la dzeul lui manelesux sa nu mai puna alta bucata fata asta, ca sa nu fie proasta si sa fac scandal :)

domnitza, cele mai calde strangeri de mana, ai o bere de la mine
semnatura fara culori si nestridenta
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