07-10-2016, 03:11 PM
Writing is a hobby of mine. I've written songs, poems, and of course stories. Most of them will never be posted here because they aren't waifu-related, but they can inspire other things that are. Like this one. With any luck, I should finish my new project soonish and be able to go in to more detail. For now, this will have to do.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Heat Lightning
Somewhere, far, far away, there is a river. It would be unpleasant to stand on its broad, rocky banks tonight; the air is cloying, and uncomfortably warm, made worse by the bodies of those come to see the show pressing in from all sides. Instead, we leave the sultry mass of humanity with its sweat-soaked yukatas, and exhalations heavy with the odors of unnamed celebratory foods for a nearby building.
It stands beyond a copse of trees-mostly camphor and pine by their perfumes-and at 4 stories tall, stretches above their canopies. The grounds are spacious, and with the gates barred, are as deserted as the darkened halls within the building proper. It's a plain, boxy design, and its broad white walls and numerous windows glow spectrally in the moonlight.
Approaching the doors, we find them locked, but that doesn't matter. We enter the school, for that's what it is, and make our way along its corridors. Here, at least, their plan is simple, and we know them intimately besides; we know exactly where to go. Just as importantly, we know where not to go, for while this is a school, it is also more than a school, and we would do well to remember, and respect that fact.
We come to some stairs. The way down, to the basement, beckons, but we remember, and respect, and go up, instead. Through unseen wards, and hidden runes we climb, until at last, we reach another door. This one is locked too, but is no more hindrance than the other. We step over it's threshold, and emerge on the roof.
A flat expanse of gravel extends before us, broken by the shadowy forms of pipes, ducts, and silent air conditioners. We could be forgiven for believing we're alone, but, listening carefully, happy whispers, and the muffled crunching of stones drifts on the air.
Silently, we move toward those sounds, and find an area claimed by bags, and carefully laid out beach towels. Except for a line of distant clouds, the night is clear, if oppressively humid. Silhouetted against it, a pair of figures can be seen, leaning on the edge of the building, taking in the view. A warm breeze brings in the faint sounds, and smells of the festival below. They stand closely together; so much so their bodies touch. Heat lightning flashes soundlessly in the distance.
They talk, and laugh together; animatedly, but careful not to allow their voices to rise, and carry. Their enjoyment of each other's company is obvious: the enthusiasm in their conversation; their smiles, barely visible in the light from moon above, and stalls and stands below; the way they lean together, and the way one drapes a wing around the other's waist. There is attraction here, but not anxiety, or furtiveness. Simply relaxed confidence; secure in the mutual positions they hold in one another's hearts.
They fall silent at the tinny, amplified voice of an announcement from below. An expectant hush falls over the throngs as hundreds of pairs of eyes turn skyward.
Suddenly, the darkness is gone.
With a hissing roar, jets of glittering flame erupt from the river. Great flares and rockets streak through the sky, throwing their colors across the night's canvas in booms felt more than heard. And there, below the blooming starbursts, the figures embrace. Their shadows dance across the roof in the flitting colors, even as their bodies remain locked in place by their kiss.
Slowly, one pulls back, gently taking the other's lip in her mouth as she goes. Her eyes open, and shine with intense, almost painful passion.
“I love you so much,” she whispers. Her voice is somber, but edged with potent, deep-seated emotion. “so, so much.” Her partner kisses her again, and, with forehead pressing to hers, smiles.
“I love you too, Twilight.”
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Heat Lightning
Somewhere, far, far away, there is a river. It would be unpleasant to stand on its broad, rocky banks tonight; the air is cloying, and uncomfortably warm, made worse by the bodies of those come to see the show pressing in from all sides. Instead, we leave the sultry mass of humanity with its sweat-soaked yukatas, and exhalations heavy with the odors of unnamed celebratory foods for a nearby building.
It stands beyond a copse of trees-mostly camphor and pine by their perfumes-and at 4 stories tall, stretches above their canopies. The grounds are spacious, and with the gates barred, are as deserted as the darkened halls within the building proper. It's a plain, boxy design, and its broad white walls and numerous windows glow spectrally in the moonlight.
Approaching the doors, we find them locked, but that doesn't matter. We enter the school, for that's what it is, and make our way along its corridors. Here, at least, their plan is simple, and we know them intimately besides; we know exactly where to go. Just as importantly, we know where not to go, for while this is a school, it is also more than a school, and we would do well to remember, and respect that fact.
We come to some stairs. The way down, to the basement, beckons, but we remember, and respect, and go up, instead. Through unseen wards, and hidden runes we climb, until at last, we reach another door. This one is locked too, but is no more hindrance than the other. We step over it's threshold, and emerge on the roof.
A flat expanse of gravel extends before us, broken by the shadowy forms of pipes, ducts, and silent air conditioners. We could be forgiven for believing we're alone, but, listening carefully, happy whispers, and the muffled crunching of stones drifts on the air.
Silently, we move toward those sounds, and find an area claimed by bags, and carefully laid out beach towels. Except for a line of distant clouds, the night is clear, if oppressively humid. Silhouetted against it, a pair of figures can be seen, leaning on the edge of the building, taking in the view. A warm breeze brings in the faint sounds, and smells of the festival below. They stand closely together; so much so their bodies touch. Heat lightning flashes soundlessly in the distance.
They talk, and laugh together; animatedly, but careful not to allow their voices to rise, and carry. Their enjoyment of each other's company is obvious: the enthusiasm in their conversation; their smiles, barely visible in the light from moon above, and stalls and stands below; the way they lean together, and the way one drapes a wing around the other's waist. There is attraction here, but not anxiety, or furtiveness. Simply relaxed confidence; secure in the mutual positions they hold in one another's hearts.
They fall silent at the tinny, amplified voice of an announcement from below. An expectant hush falls over the throngs as hundreds of pairs of eyes turn skyward.
Suddenly, the darkness is gone.
With a hissing roar, jets of glittering flame erupt from the river. Great flares and rockets streak through the sky, throwing their colors across the night's canvas in booms felt more than heard. And there, below the blooming starbursts, the figures embrace. Their shadows dance across the roof in the flitting colors, even as their bodies remain locked in place by their kiss.
Slowly, one pulls back, gently taking the other's lip in her mouth as she goes. Her eyes open, and shine with intense, almost painful passion.
“I love you so much,” she whispers. Her voice is somber, but edged with potent, deep-seated emotion. “so, so much.” Her partner kisses her again, and, with forehead pressing to hers, smiles.
“I love you too, Twilight.”
Don't hesitate to AM(A)A
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore be demanded back the next hour.