Two Stories, One Illustration ~ Part Two ~With Kiluminvti & A.J.Tawil

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    If you haven't already read Part One (click here to read) you might ask, "What does this title mean?"  Well let me explain, this post is apart of a collaboration with the artist Kiluminvti, and writer A.J.Tawil.  In this two part series two stories are told.  The first is featured in a previous post and is written by A.J.Tawil. The second story is shared below and told by myself.  Each story is unique and separate from the other, only linked by the fact that they are both inspired by what our imaginations saw when we viewed the following illustration done by Kiluminvti. 

     Without further ado, I present my story: 

     Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  

     Her head caught in a cloud of ribbon, her shoulders brushed with it.  Her hands couldn't help but let it wind through them.  When had it appeared?  Who knew. Some said it had always been with her.  Some whispered that it had appeared out of the blue.  But no matter how people imagined it came into being... the fact was that it was.  Had she ever tried to rid herself of it? No! For she clung to it, as it was her uniqueness. None could claim, nor even remember, someone who had such a beautiful highlight of color.  Especially one that floated around, and about, and with them at all times. 

     Often people traveled to see this lady with the flowing ribbon.  It fascinated them.  The young men spoke of how it highlighted her graceful shape.  The mothers clucked and worried about their own daughters who were "not so naturally gifted." This lady never thought to tell of how sometimes it got in the way.  Of how she might be trying to help with chores, and instead she would catch in the ribbon.  As time went on, she didn't even think much of how it tore her away from work.  What was work anyway, when she had something that drew people towards her?  

     Now though, she sat.  Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  In days past she had often thought outside of the ribbon.  Outside of letting it fascinate her.  But now, it no longer just drew her away from work.  It drew her away from reading.  Sometimes away from friends.  Once she had cared, now she let herself get caught in looking at the shimmering red of it, whenever she wanted.  Lately, as long as she wanted.  

     In fact, she couldn't stop looking.  Because really, wasn't all that she was?  It was beauty, it was special, people found her to see it.  So wasn't that what she should focus on?  Slowly her fingers curled around the ribbon.  Not knowing her own thoughts and the questions brewing.  Her fingers curled around the ribbon.  She just knew it felt like everything.  Her fingers curled around the ribbon. 

     Slowly. Curled. Around. Like the drowning of a mind. 

     Loosing herself in what everyone else could see. 

     Forgetting to be

~~~

   Thank you for reading! 

If you would like to see more of Kiluminvti's art some of A.J. Tawil's writing simply click on the name of either artist (anywhere in this post) and it will take you to more of their work. 

Want to read Part One of this collaboration? Click here

Two Stories, One Illustration ~ Part One ~ With Kiluminvti & A.J.Tawil

See gossamerlens.com to stay up-to-date with the current blog.
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    What does this title mean you may ask?  Well let me explain, this post is part of a collaboration with the artist Kiluminvti, and writer A.J.Tawil.  In this two part series two stories shall be told.  The first is featured in this post and is written by A.J.Tawil. The second story shall be told by myself, next week.  Each story is unique and separate from the other, only linked by the fact that they are both inspired by what our imaginations saw when we viewed the following illustration done by Kiluminvti. 

     Without further ado, I present to you A.J.Tawil's story:

     A dreadful story it is that I am too afraid to speak it. Thus it will be written down on black and white. Do not read aloud not even in whispers for she will hear and only misery will be upon you. Arielle she was once called a beautiful and fair lady. She was kind, and lovely. At the age of 12 her mother died of a violent fever as they all mourned her death she swore an: that never in her life will she be standing idle and useless. 

     A healer she became at the age of 16. The youngest of them but the most talented. She went from town to town, leaving her father, brothers and sisters behind. Although they were proud they were sad for a presence like hers couldn't ever be replaced. She healed and treated the rich as well as the poor. She was believed by many to be a Saint. She smiled much and her gaze was enough to cure all your heart's sorrows. 

     One day in the town of Flamant she met this boy this little kid of too few a winter to die. She spent sun and moon trying to heal him until he passed away in her arms. The eldest brother, although pained with grief, grew found of the courageous and inspiring woman and she as well. He was brave young man that would anything for his family, she thought.

     They wed a year later in Arielle's home town of Lyon many attended her wedding. High lords, Nobles, peasants and kings were all there to celebrate her wedding. She was loved by all. The newlyweds went on the road together and made a stop in Ashton. Beautiful Ashton, the moon shined, the food was excellent, and the weather perfect. 

     She strolled around walking from street to street, admiring the city with her husband until a sudden pull swept her off her feet. It was two lowlifes scums pulling her towards them by her hair. She fought back but overwhelmed by a surprise hit to the head, she fell flat on her stomach. One was holding her down by the arms with his nose sniffing her beautiful black hair.She looked up for an instant just to realize that her husband the young brave man she loved so dearly was running away from the scene without a glance back. She yelled and fought so hard that the one mounting her hit her on the back of her head. ''That's a nice ring ya' have have '' he spat he went for the wedding band, while the other held her wrist. She didn't let them take it so easily, although betrayed. The rogue drew his knife and cut of the finger that was bearing the jewel.

     The rest is history. She was raped, punched, kicked and left to die.

~~~

   Thank you for reading! 

If you would like to see more of Kiluminvti's art some of A.J. Tawil's writing simply click on the name of either artist (anywhere in this post) and it will take you to more of their work. 

The Birth of a World

See gossamerlens.com to stay up-to-date with the current blog.

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     Many of my memories have been made with family, and many others with friends.  However, the one I want to share with you was made with family that are also some of my dearest friends.  This memory was made on a day that seems like it was not long ago.  But, it was made when I was about 10.  Not long ago, but not yesterday either...  

     We were bored and tired.  My family, minus my dad, and my mom’s sister and her kids had been staying at our Nanna and Grandpa’s house for our spring vacation.  For the last couple of days our main project had been running a restaurant.  However, serving the same four people breakfast, lunch, and dinner had become pretty boring.  It was too much like real life; it was too monotonous.  

     So, it ended up that my six-year old cousin, Jonah, and my ten-year old self were sitting in our grandparent’s living room trying to decide what we wanted to do.  We could have been digging for China in the back garden with our siblings.  My cousin and I, with our superior wisdom, knew that trying to reach China through that route was futile - also it was hot outside.  

     My cousin broke the silence of concentration, “We could go rescue a princess.”

     “A girl can’t help a boy rescue a princess.”  I retorted.

     He took a moment before saying, “You could be the princess.”

     “No, I would have to wait for you and I would get annoyed and just end up rescuing myself and then it would be no fun for you.”

     Again we lapsed into silence.  I tried to think.  We could swim, or play house, or make a fort out of pillows; but we had done all of those things more than twice in the last week.

     Jonah sighed.  “What is your favorite color?” He asked.

     “Red.  Why?  What’s yours?”

     “I just wanted to know.”  He responded, “Mine’s blue.” 

     Suddenly I had a thought.  It involved elves, dragons, and magic. 

     “I have an idea!”  I whispered to him.  His eyes brightened and I went on, “OK, first we have to have armor.  So, I have on an elegant chain mail dress with a red sash and thin leather boots with silver buckles.” 

     Jonah spoke up, “I have on a blue jerkin with a silver helm and leather moccasins.” 

     “Great!  Now we need weapons.”  

     “What are we?”  Jonah asked.  

     “Elves.  Well, we are warrior elves.  We are trained to do awesome fighting moves and we can use magic.”  I paused.  “So, I have a small dagger, a white ebony re-curve bow, and three knives that I can conceal in the skirts of my dress and throw with accuracy.” 

     "I have a sword, knives to throw, and a staff made of blue metal but made to be exactly like the long-staff Little John uses in Robin Hood.” 
     We spent the next hour telling each other the story of the elves’ history.  We came up with a whole new world which was filled with elves that had divided against each other.  We were a part of the few good elves left, and our goal was to restore peace to the world while shedding as little blood as possible, but we would fight when necessary.  By then we were hungry, so we moved to the dining room along with our siblings who had just come inside.
     After lunch we headed into the front yard with our siblings.  In the center of our grandparent’s front yard was a tree.  It was a tree that I would call big, although it seemed larger then.  Its trunk split only a foot away from the ground and the limbs were broad and flat.  All of us could climb it.  It was chosen to be the home of the elves, the Life Tree.  Everyone chose a color, which determined their elvish clan, and then they briefly described their armor and weapons.  
     We began and in only a couple minutes my brother had chosen to turn against us.  We laid a trap for him, but it failed.  Then we defeated the Dragon-of-Darkness, the most feared of all dragons.  We fled as we were hunted by our used-to-be comrade.  
     The dry smell of sand seemed to vanish as we moved from Las Vegas, Nevada, to the new world we had created.  We became alert to the imagined dangers surrounding us.  
     My cousin found the Ruby of Fire, which was the heart of the world.  From it we learned the language of magic, and went on to defeat a whole army of opposing elves.  We convinced a group of dark dragons to join our side.  Then, when the Life Tree was burning down we saved it through our magic.  My sister, the Rose Elf, was killed and then came back alive when the Ruby of Fire brushed her skin.
     When we were called for dinner, we reluctantly let the imagined world slip away.  For once my always-hungry brother was slightly disappointed because he had been called to dinner.  We had found something that entertained us all.  
     The last seven days of our vacation was spent mostly in the world my cousin and I had created.  Our minds, together, had given birth to a world that became a game that we would end up playing every time we saw each other.  

     Our world has had stolen brides.  There have been lakes where the water is so pure you can see right to the bottom where mermaids used to live before they were slaughtered by sea serpents.  We have fought dragons that seemed like mountains because they were so big, and forests that held dark secrets about the past.  We have witnessed plagues that killed most of the life on our world, and with magic we have fixed the damage.  

    We call it “The Game of Elves” and, as of yet, it has never left us bored.

Short Story: Shadows Passing

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     Sometimes I just want people to read what I write.  Mostly I want my wonderful family to read what my mind makes up.  But other times I just wish that it could float out there, for people to read sometime, when boredom sets in and they have nothing better to do.  So here is one of those stories, that I wrote sometime ago and wish to let float.  So if you have time and want to read this, or are simply really bored, here it is.  Read it, if you want to, and hopefully you enjoy it too.

          Shadows Passing

     This event is happening as I write; and I will share with you what I see.  Two rivers run through a wood, that we would call paradise, almost exactly perpendicular to each other.   It is a place where no humans have ever been, at least nothing that was truly and fully human.  In the wood is a clearing, one of many, that rests on the side of a river.  The river bubbles and foams, however, it only adds to the beauty of the place and leaves the place quiet and peaceful.  

     The sun begins to brush the tree tops in the west, and the animals that live there are preparing their beds and nests for the night.  The sun’s rays still light the clearing and it is alive with color; however, the brightest thing in the clearing is the silver glow of the harp which stands upright atop a grey-brown stone which lays on the rivers bank.

     A dark shape moves through the woods that lay on the opposite side of the river.  It travels towards the clearing; and as it comes closer, it looks less and less formidable.  Suddenly it emerges from the woods.  It stands still on the edge of the rivers opposite bank. The figure stands for only a moment and then leaps from the edge to a rock only a couple feet away from it.  It leaps stone to stone across the river.  And when it reaches the side where the clearing is it stops.  The figure holds its head high but the large hood of the cloak keeps the figure’s face in shadow.  

     The person glides over to the harp and slips its arms outside of the cloak and unclasps it.  The figure slides the cloak off and the dark black fabric of the cloak billows to the ground and settles around the personage's feet.  The now-revealed figure is a girl.  Her straight, black hair hangs down to her slim waist; and she wears a form-fitting white dress which brushes her ankles and has long sleeves.  She bends and spreads the black cloak over the rock in front of the harp.  She then sits on the ground by the harp.  She lifts her hands to the strings and begins to play.

     The music is eerie and yet beautiful.  After a few minutes wisps of smoke start to come off of the strings.  She playes until the sun goes down and the sky darkens, and she continues.  The whips of smoke float away from the strings and lengthen into the shadowy representations of people.  Hundreds of shadowy figures surround the girl in the clearing by the river, and she plays on and on.  The moon comes out and still shadow people are forming in the woods that directly surrounds the clearing.  The stars come out and the music slows and then stops.  The wisps of smoke vanish.  Yet, the shadowy figures remain.  

     The girl stands and steps away from the harp.  Her dress stands out, bright against the dark night and the shadows of people.  She takes the hand of a little shadow girl who stands next to her and then whispers something to her.  The little girl nods and then the white clothed girl lets go of the little girls shadowy, smokey hand.  The little girl then walks through the harp’s frame and the strings seem to slice her as she enters the next life and her soul, which is like a shadow, leaves earth.  The rest of the shadowy souls seem to understand that they too must enter the next world through the harp.  Slowly, one by one, each of them walk through the harp into the next world.

     When all the souls are gone, the girl picks her cloak off of the ground and drops it onto her shoulders, closes the clasps, and lifts the hood.  She, Death, seems to glide away, her beautiful figure covered by the cloak and her head held high.  Death then slips into the woods, out of the clearing, and into pure, unmarred darkness.  Her work is done for the time being.