childish quarrel.

Just something to amuse myself, once again featuring these two tykes, or so I like to call them... (Luken is the dreamer, btw.)

Ideas & characters © Samantha S. (Tsuu)

“What in the world are you doing?”
Two boys resided by the beach shore down south of Edner Shore.
“Can’t you see? I’m making a sandcastle, doofus.”
There was a moment of silence…
“What did you call me, Luken?”
Luken looked up from his sandcastle still-in-progress to his friend, attempting to look innocent.
“A doofus.”
“You’re going to regret that, dude.”
“I haven’t yet.” The boy Luken shrugged with a smirk, turning back to his castle. That was when his friend abruptly snatched the quite large sea shell that had been placed on the castle’s main entrance and replaced with a nice big rock, deforming the hole slightly.
Luken’s face was crest-fallen, much to his friend’s satisfaction.
“HEY! It took ages to find that thing! Give it back!” Luken made his best pouting face-- his trademark.
His friend smirked like a fox, feeling like king of the situation. “Sorry, I can’t do that,” and threw it in the ocean.
Luken ogled his friend like he had just done the un-thinkable. Several seconds pasted until he said: “That was so wrong.”
“I know. But you’ve learned your lesson, right?”
“What lesson?”
“About calling me what I’m not.”
Luken looked puzzled. “But you are a doofus.”
“You want your precious castle to suffer some more damage?”
Something clicked in Luken’s brain as he realized a possibility. He glared at his friend.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes I would.”
“Well, don’t even try you---“
But it was too late, as Luken’s castle met the fate that he was dreading--- it was crushed under his friend’s feet.
“NO! YOU IDIOT!”
“HEY!”

“ Who is this fair blossom that has planted herself into my cherished garden? ”

It never seems to be satisfying enough. When you finish writing something, you just made an attempt to take out ideas from your mind... Unfortunately, after being done, even though that feeling of accomplishment may be there, it is very hard for it to stay. And once that feeling is gone, you’re dying to bring it back, either by writing something completely different, or just plain better.

One of my problems is that when I write something, once I’m done, that is, even if I leave it there to sit without looking back on it for a few days, once I do re-read it… those little mistakes and funky written sentences jump at you like bright yellow flying in your eyes. It’s irritating and makes me only want to re-write it all over again. But if I do that, then I’d be re-writing things over and over and over again, non-stop. I would never continue and I’d never progress in the story.

But then again, if I don’t re-write what I could improve, then I’ll always look back on it with a annoyed feeling...

I’m sure it’s a regular dilemma for any person who does any piece of work, may it be writing, singing, drawing—it never manages to be perfect. But nonetheless, there’s got to be some logical solution to approaching it. (?:/)

Is it...

I was looking to shake off some frustration and stress... Dunno what I really mean in this, though.



....Ack, I just realized I messed up the date.

Katherine // Part 2 ( aka Chapter. 2?)

It's 11 PM, but I don't care because I was finally able to do something productive and artistic other than HOMEWORK, GAH.

Remember the story about the 2 girls, Kat' n' Jan'? If you remember that-- to the part where Katherine is waiting in the car for her friend, then great. If not, re-read it here. Once you've done that, be aware that what I have written now is a re-written part after she wakes up. I'm not a 100% happy with it, since it's still a draft, and the beginning of this sounds a bit rushed, but in any case it's an improvement in comparison to before. So I hope you'll like it better. *shrugs*

All characters and ideas © Samantha S. (Tsuu). No stealing, please.

“Katherine” someone whispered to me. I opened my eyes; frustrated to find myself at the exact place I did not want to be. It took me a moment to realize I was alone. I pulled back my wavy brown locks, hoping the grogginess would go away. As I took a deep breath, my eyesight started to clear and I could finally see the wood clearing, as the sun that probably woke me up peeked shyly through the innumerous trees. As I already knew Jane was not beside me, I rolled down my window to look outside, reluctant to simply step out. I scanned the ground, the trees, around the manor that was visible--- she was nowhere to be seen. My heart dropped in disappointment. Typical of Jane. I let Jan’ wander off to explore, and now I have to find her. As if I was her mother! I thought to myself irritably, as I unwillingly took hold of the door’s handle and stepped out, taking the key and locking it afterwards, slipping it gingerly into my back jeans pocket.

I felt a momentarily chill as a soft but cool breeze passed by me. Who would have thought it could still be so chilly in the early spring. I zipped my jacket closed and with a tired face and headed towards the only building present.

As I walked toward every child’s favorite spooky story, I started to backtrack my memory and remembered that I had heard someone whisper my full name right before I woke up. I shrugged it off, for it was obvious, now, that I had dreamt it. After all, nobody had been in the car with me—and I had locked the car. Unless the boogieman is out to get me, I joked to myself.

I smirked to myself despite my restlessness the night before. Somehow, things seemed easier to deal with in the daylight. The sun and the clear sky was a reassurance to me. Even the manor appeared less daunting in the day, I noticed, as I stopped in front of what seemed to be a tall oak door. Its center displayed a pretty tainted glass window, featuring many different flowers. Beside the main door were the walls of stone, almost completely covered by moss and vines. Scattered across them were, strangely enough, lilies.

I looked behind my back at the van. It looked inviting. I sighed. There was no way out of it.

I opened the door of the manor, and as if on cue, the door’s rusty hinges creaked as I opened it wider. I felt like I was in a novel, where the heroine was about to discover her true identity.

But instead of discovering my identity, I found myself stepping inside and discovering something that by no means looked like a regular old manor. For all I knew, at first I felt like I had just stepped outside again. I was expecting grass beneath my feet, but instead my sneakers met the cold tile floor. I simply stood in mid stance, staring at the tremendous amount of plants, small trees and flowers scattered across a very, very spacious, “living room”. Even the ceiling had a large sunroof to lighten the room.

The last owner must have been some nature fan, I concluded with an open mouth.

I was dazzled to say the least, as I let go of the door and took a few steps forward toward this exquisite garden, forgetting the sound of the slight bang of the door closing. Walking closer to the center of the room, I spotted a charming wooden bench that sat behind a small concrete fountain that even now, seemed to be working, as the water sparkled in the sun’s reflection.

Something came over me, as I became excited and quickened my pace to the bench, momentarily forgetting completely what my main goal was, or any logic of what I was seeing. I sat down, like a child receiving her first toy, and smiled contently as I took a better look at my surroundings.

The room itself was enormous, the floor, a mix of grass and ceramic title. Bushes of many kinds made almost a hedge behind from where I sat. And beyond that were large oak doors, all going in different directions, all with tainted glass. Flowers, any flower you could possibly think of, were present. It was a rainbow of color, never ending, always beautiful. I looked up to see the glass sunroof. The sun was high in the sky, and sky itself, clear blue, with not one cloud to be seen.

Then I noticed something more, as I finally took a better look at the fountain before me. It had three bowls. On the very top the water trickled gently down…

But something was erect in between the water that flowed from the top. A white rose. My favorite flower... I stood up to take a better look, almost not believing my own eyes. I touched the petals delicately, and sure enough they were soft as any rose. Its stem stood sturdy between the constant flowing water. The flower had a strong, sweet smell to it.

And yet again, something came over me—I acted before I thought straight about what I was about to do, and plucked the flower out of its place. Knowing roses, they have thorns, and sure enough, my thumb was bleeding. I cursed under my breath and was about to suck on it until I saw that this cut was far too diferent.

The cut that at first was just a mere line, was now becoming something else. The cut opened more, making a journey around my thumb, tracing something. I was shocked as I realized that my thumb did not emit any pain, it merely tingled profusely. I watched the cut finally finish its course and stop bleeding, my thumb now numb, and finally saw its goal. It had traced a letter, in a elegant, old-fashioned script. The letter K.

"K" for Katherine.

Btw, I'd LOVE to have some pointers on how I can make this seem interesting and catch the reader with such a piece with no dialogue. I find it hard to write nicely without dialogue... Open to criticism. <3

The joker.

“What to do, what to see?
In a word, it’s three.
If you solve my riddle,
You shall be heard your plea.”

Such were the words of the joker. Meaningless and yet unfathomable behind his cheshire smile. Hands swift, caught was the apple that fell from my hands, into the endless dance of spheres it went. Brave and confident, he seemed to be, as he balanced on the trapize of the world, almost as if believing he could overcome it. Yet behind the painted face and diomond filled smile, his eyes, ever so dark, said otherwise.

The joker was a gamble. A gamble of wits, a gamble of hearts. A gamble of kings, queens, knights—a gamble of life.

More gibberish.

It's the COLOR.

Color is the music, music is the color.
Stars are its melody, twinkling each note like a chime.
Always in tune, always in line.
They are your eyes as they are mine.

A churning mix of paint,
never changing,
always turning,
as our orbit takes its daily course.
This colorful piece of bitter chocolate we call Earth.

Random stuff.