I had this one story last year, about this lady who finds all these dead spiders in her room(it was set in 18th century England or something) and she got them all cleaned out of her room. Then during the night they came back to life and abducted her and ate her and stuff... it was really fun to write.

Ooo, can I join please? I love writing...all your stories are really awesome

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<center><center>*Born-again computer junkie. Come on you BLUES!*</center>

Welcome Wingfoot!

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<center> .nph ftw.
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Holy buckets. Thanks!! LOL, you seem really good at that kind of thing!!! I think I have an idea, and I'll tell yawll a little later when it's been... ah, thought out a bit more.

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More ardent C.S. Lewis fan


Ardent J.R.R. Tolkien Fan

The Hit Man Gentlewoman

As man, He fled from the stones; but woe to those from whose stony hearts God has fled.~St. Augustine

Here is something I wrote for a friend on her birthday. It's very WEIRD... so yeah...



Intellectual Love

[Note: Although there is a deeper meaning in this story than appears on the surface, don't dig for it. It will force itself upon you someday, and you will realize just how golden watches, dusty volumes, and intellectual superiority can murder more ruthlessly than the greatest serial killer.]

One hand clutched the door handle, and the other hung listlessly, yet with muscles strained and pulled, at his side. It twitched in nervousness. For the seventh time his strained, bloodshot eyes burned up the scenario, as he took in all about him, turning his neck like a swollen block of wood. Nothing. No one was there, not a breath in the air besides his, nothing to occupy the endless space besides atoms bouncing off one another. His fingers twitched. Back to the handle, careful now, a rusty click, a bit of a pause once inside.

Ah, the forbidden fruit, Pandora's box, the enticing bait. One thick, aged volume on a dusty shelf; concealed by a mass of spiders silk spun in definite masterpiece. Torn by twitching fingers. He caresses the cover softly; edges so soft that they seem better than any gentle material, the pages themselves tantalizing and flirtatious. His eyes lack eloquence, however, and the extended arm isn't sure of itself. So the moment fades, and the climax is forgotten. He steps away, and faces the open door (which he just came through) coolly, haughty mode on, nonexistent eyeglass intact.

"So you came back?" she says, peering like a disconcerted little sparrow at him.
"I forgot my watch." he states. Silence.

Her eyes try to probe beneath that blue grey film of importance; trying to set into her gaze a missile of understanding that might pierce said nonexistent spectacle. Not working.

"I really have no time," he tells her, and while she goes to get his watch, the glacier melts. Ice age of man has ended for a time, and he looks at the book... lustfully.

"You don't have to leave like this," is her only plea, extending to him his one-way ticket to Hades, in a monotonous ticking form, gold. Solid gold. He grasps it, not with gentleness or any feign of such virtue. His fingers twitch around it.

And the door is shut, slam, just like that; while all the charmed stars lose their way and are forever lost in the dark. And a million and two people decided to call upon her, so that she has no time to cry, like her crumbled intellect wants.

Because intellectual love has been too conspicuous.

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

*jaw drops* i dont understand it, buts its amazing!

OMG OMG OMG!! I have to write an Anchor essay each semester! Our fall semester was on Labor Unions (Combined English and History Essay) and we had a week to write it on our own. They are really harshly graded and count for 15% of our final grade. I got... a 94!!! The highest in the class! I was sooo excited!

Anywho, I plan to dedicate our semster break (4-day weekend) to writing Flight of the Chosen, hope to advance it atleast 20 pages!

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Hello, I'm Amoniel
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Well fans, here is the story I wrote for the Young Writer's Conference, hot off the press (so to speak). It's about 1 in the morning here, and I just finished it. I hope you like it.


I suppose you could say the man was experiencing both déjà vu and amnesia. He was standing on a main stretch of road in the middle of nowhere (at least, he assumed this because the road was nothing but dirt). The road went on forever, with nothing but dust and cacti as far as the eye could see.
Something told the man that he was somewhere in Arizona, though he had no idea how he had got there, because he knew he lived in Maine, though he had no memory of that, he had no memory of anything before standing on this road. Dimly he realized that there was something wrong with this, but it didn’t bother him. What did bother him though, was the feeling that he had been here before. He had had been here many, many times before. But he couldn’t remember that either, not really.
‘She’s late.’ He thought to himself suddenly, though he had no idea who ‘she’ was. It struck him suddenly how dark it had gotten so quickly. He would have sworn on his mother’s grave (he of course, didn’t remember his mother either) that it was noon only a few moments ago, and now it was pitch black, as if it were midnight.
‘Cliché, but a nice touch,’ he said to himself. He was distracted from these abstract thoughts by the glare of headlights approaching.
‘Finally,’ he said aloud, though this time he didn’t wonder about it. Automatically, not even registering his own movement, he stuck out his arm. The car slowed, as he knew it would.
The car, a black Audi, pulled over. The man, in a daze, walked over to the driver’s side of the car, looking steadily at the woman behind the wheel, as she rolled down her window.
‘Nice seeing you again.’ She said with a forced smile. The man gave her a puzzled look.
‘What do you mean, again?’ At least, that’s what he meant to say. When he opened his mouth, the wrong words tumbled out. ‘Nice seeing you too.’
Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure, the woman hadn’t said “again” at all. The same look fell over her face, and he knew she felt the same way. She hadn’t heard what he had said, but what he had thought he was going to say. The man and woman simultaneously shook their heads. The woman smiled again, and gestured for him to get in. The man did so, without even pausing to wonder if the woman was dangerous. Both had seen that old movie… what was it called? Oh yes, “The Hitcher,” but neither worried about the other.
‘Horrible night, don’t you think?’ The man said conversationally, opening the passenger and climbing into the car. The woman smiled, that same forced smile, a smile that seemed very odd, as if her lips were moving into the position without her brain telling her to do so. In fact, as the man looked at her, he realized everything about her was that way. Her pale face, still strained into that horrible smile, was rather long, but still comely. Her gray eyes (unnaturally gray, the man thought) looked as if they were looking out from a long distance away, and her features were terribly tired looking. Her left hand, which was whiter than her face, was twirled around a single lock of her raven hair, her right hand on the wheel of the car. The man found himself strangely attracted to her.
‘Oh yes, absolutely horrible.’ She said, wiping that ghastly smile from her face. Attracted as he was, the man hated that smile with all of his might. He simply wanted to smack it right off her face. The man was frightened with the hatred he felt flowing through himself. He clenched his fists in his lap, as if that would put an end to these emotions he couldn’t control.
‘So, where are you headed?’ The man said now, though he really wasn’t interested, he had nowhere to go anyway.
‘I’m not quite sure.’ The woman said, biting her thin bottom lip. ‘But, at least we can go nowhere together.’ Once again, here was proof that she knew more about him, she shouldn’t have known he had nowhere to go. The man looked away from her, and tried to force his lips into words that would not come.
‘My name’s Raven, by the way.’ She added, pulling back onto the road. Hmm, fitting, with the hair, the man thought. Then something clicked in his mind.
‘Mine’s Sean.’ He said, though it wasn’t. His name was Jonathan, and he had no idea why he hadn’t told her the truth. ‘I think it’s awfully nice of you to pick me up. Not many women I know would have done that.’ A true statement, but only technically, he could not remember knowing other women.
‘Well, I’m not many women, Sean. And I couldn’t just leave you out in the rain.’ She said, looking at him for a moment, and then turning her eyes back to the road of dust. As she said this, Jonathan looked out the window to see that it was pouring outside, though he wasn’t wet. It wasn’t raining when he got into the car, was it? And what was he thinking, road of dust? It was nothing but mud out there.
In fact, it looked like it had been raining for hours. He pushed a sopping wet strand of hair out of his face. He brought his hand down slowly, wondering at the wetness there. Of course it had been raining, how could he have not noticed?
‘You certainly are a brave woman, picking up a man in the middle of nowhere, at midnight, in the pouring rain.’ He commented, his lips moving, not obeying his dazed mind. ‘I could be a serial killer for all you know.’
‘Well, are you?’ The woman said with a laugh. She swapped hands on the wheel and put her hand on his. The man felt two emotions tearing him apart; loathing and affection. However, the man laughed too, realizing how hollow it sounded, and how forced. He now understood the woman’s smile.
‘Well, I’m not a serial killer.’ He said as a joke, but he knew in his gut that he was being serious. He fought himself internally, his déjà vu telling him what would happen in the future. But, he refused to let this take hold of him. He was not, under any circumstances, going to kill this woman. Raven (a beautiful name, Jonathan had always loved it) laughed, unaware that death lingered around her. Jonathan, still fighting himself, turned from her and looked out the window, his hand still in Raven’s.
‘Well Raven…’ he trailed off, unsure of what to say. The woman turned to him, and looked at him as if he were crazy.
‘My name isn’t Raven.’ She said, her voice unsteady, now wondering if she should have pulled over for him. ‘It’s Meghan.’
‘You just told me it was Raven.’ Jon said, dazed. The woman… Raven/Meghan… cringed from him.
‘No, I said my name was Meghan, and you said your name was David.’ She said, pushing her blonde hair from her face. Jonathan blinked. Her name matched her hair, he remembered that. He was sure of it. This woman must be crazy. And he said his name was Sean, not David. Or had he? Even as he questioned her sanity, he realized she had said her name was Meghan, and he had said his name was David.
‘I’m sorry.’ Jon said, shaking his head with a smile. ‘I don’t know what came over me. You must think I’m completely crazy.’
‘Not completely crazy, David.’ She replied with a laugh, though Jonathan knew was lying through her teeth. This filled him with sorrow, that the woman he now realized he was deeply in love with thought he was a lunatic. It filled him with rage. A silent tear ran down his cheek, but he was unsure of what he was crying for. He assumed it was the fact that everything was so out of his control. Meghan noticed this, and she put her hand that had previously held his to his face and wiped the tear away.
‘Pull over.’ He said suddenly, weeping.
‘What? Why?’ Meghan said, turning to him in concern, not keeping her eyes on the never-ending road, not like it mattered, that was not how they were meant to die.
‘JUST PULL OVER THE CAR!’ Jonathan demanded. Meghan did so, rather startled. Neither noticed that they pulled over in a spot that looked exactly like where she had picked him up.
‘What’s wrong, Jeremy?’ She asked, pulling her key from the ignition. Jonathan began to weep harder at this.
‘I don’t know what’s going on! I can’t handle this, Ancera!’ He said loudly, still weeping profusely. He stopped suddenly as he realized that he had called her by a different name, but she hadn’t reacted. Filled with sudden rage, he pulled the knife from his pocket and stabbed her. She didn’t look surprised, she simply wrenched the knife from his hand, bleeding to death as she did, and returned the favor.
‘Well, something new.’ He tried to say, but his lips didn’t obey him for the final time. As Ancera slumped over and died, and as the lifeblood ran from his veins, Jonathan saw a vision with shocking clarity.

A heavy set man sat over an old-fashioned typewriter, sweat running from his furrowed brow. He suddenly ripped the paper from the typewriter in frustration, threw it into the trash. His wife, watching from the door, shook her head in disappointment.
‘I can’t get it right!’ The man said angrily, running his hand through his already ruffled graying hair. ‘I must’ve rewritten this story a hundred times! Is the woman named Sarah, or Hannah, or Raven? Does Jonathan tell her that his name is Ethan, or Andrew, or Jeremy? Does he kill her and move on to his next victim? Does she wrench the knife from his grasp and kill him, dumping his body and moving on? Or do they kill each other? None of it seems right!’ With this, he put the new paper into the typewriter and began furiously typing away. His wife simply shook her head again and left.

I suppose you could say the man was experiencing both déjà vu and amnesia. He was standing on a main stretch of road in the middle of nowhere (at least, he assumed this because the road was nothing but dirt). The road went on forever, with nothing but dust and cacti as far as the eye could see.
Something told the man that he was somewhere in Arizona, though he had no idea how he had got there, because he knew he lived in Maine, though he had no memory of that, he had no memory of anything before standing on this road. Dimly he realized that there was something wrong with this, but it didn’t bother him. What did bother him though, was the feeling that he had been here before. He had had been here many, many times before. But he couldn’t remember that either, not really.

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Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!

that was interesting... but good! Yay Amoniel!

W.O.W. That was SO AMAZING. Wow. I... I'm completely dumbstruck!!! That was SO GOOD!! How do you WRITE LIKE THAT??? WOw. Great job.

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More ardent C.S. Lewis fan


Ardent J.R.R. Tolkien Fan

The Hit Man Gentlewoman

As man, He fled from the stones; but woe to those from whose stony hearts God has fled.~St. Augustine

Congrats, Amoniel!! That's awesome!!

Great job, Argetlam!! I really liked it.

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"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

Amoniel, that was awesome! I loved that story, it was so well written.

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Heh. I actually changed my sig. Wow.

"I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand." - Levin

Haha, I love how you used interesting as a bad thing.

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Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!

oh, that wasnt meant as a bad thing, i guess it just came out that way...

Oh my goodness, that was AWESOME Tar!!! Incredible, I LOVEDLOVED it! Was that idea originated by Stranger Than Fiction by any chance? And do you mind if I read this story to a couple of friends? [copyrighting it to you of course!!]

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"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Thanks love.

Actually, I've never seen Stranger Than Fiction. And feel free to show it to your friends, I'd be honored.

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Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!