045 red letters

[eat_me_beat_me]

[If anyone were to venture by the duck pond today they would rather see a rather unusual sight. The surface of the pond is dotted with origami cranes of all different sizes. If one tries to get a better look they may notice that the pages are all covered with drawings. It's a bit difficult to tell what they were with all the folds but there's a bookcase on one wing and a neck reveals a glass pedestal.

Nora lays on the grass nearby staring up at the clouds. There's an open sketchbook by her side, missing most of its pages. If the remnants of torn paper are any indication the torn pages are floating nearby. She sighs, watching the clouds floating overhead. The Doctor went home. Now Del. She never even got a chance to give the Doctor her planned redesign for his TARDIS. And now she never would. it's easy to be angry or depressed but what's the point? That's what it wants, right? Well she's not going to give it the satisfaction. The Doctor wouldn't have wanted her to. Slowly she starts dictating, slowly reciting lines that have been floating around her mind all day...]

Seasons pass
Days slipping away
In the revolving door masquerading as a castle
One, three, a hundred, a thousand?
No knowing how many days til you're thrown back
Like a spent star falling from the heavens
So another can take its place

Terror, confusion, pain, ennui
An all you can eat buffet of emotional turmoil
With an apathetic cherry on top
Once one dish empties
Another slides in to fill its place
A never ending cycle of gluttony and greed
Parading before our slothful eyes
But pride goes before a fall
All it needs is one last push
One breath to send the pieces toppling to the floor

I can hear it
Whispering in the dark corners of my mind
Peering into my soul
My very being
Pulling me apart bit by bit
Trying to find which string to pull
The one string to unravel everything
And leave me 'baa'ing with the rest of the sheep
A quivering mass of regret and pain
Broken like a long forgotten doll
Left in the corner since christmas

The more it tries
The louder I'll scream
Raising my voice above the whispers
Shoving back harder with each push
One cog in a meaningless system
Refusing to spin
And so I'll sit
Rusted
Trying to turn in the wrong direction
Fighting against the flow of movement...

[her voice trails off, unsure where to go from there. That's the problem with dictating poetry, you can't go back and edit or rewrite. Oh well. It can stay unfinished. Almost fitting in a way. She sits up and picks up the sketchbook, looking at the drawing on the top page - concentric spirals she'd planned for the walls of the TARDIS - she pauses for a moment before tossing the whole book into the water with a satisfying SPLOOSH. the surface ripples, making the cranes bob and bump into one another.

Time marches on.

She smiles.]

((OOC: Open for journal or in person at the duck pond.))

Comments

[theabjectauthor]

[after a few moments' silence, Lemony speaks up from where he has been sitting, a short distance away, on one of the benches. it's easy not to be noticed when no one is looking for you. maybe he was there through the whole ripping, folding, and floating process. maybe he arrived while she was engrossed. either way, he's there now, and he speaks quietly, so as not to startle her and make her follow her book into the pond]

That's certainly an interesting collection of metaphor. Rather like a box of licorice allsorts for the mind: pretty to look at, terrible to digest.

[eat_me_beat_me]

[whoa someone was there? How sad is it that she completely missed THAT? Oh well. She turns, looking for the source of the voice. When she sees him she smiles]

Thanks. One of my English teachers told me that I used too many different metaphors in my writing [she shrugs] If it gets the meaning across who cares.

[She turns in the grass to face him better, not even caring that she's getting grass stains on her skirt.] I like that. The licorice thing. [beat] You're description, not the candy. The candy tastes like shit.

[theabjectauthor]

Under any other circumstances, I have to admit, I would agree with your teacher, being a student of rhetoric myself. However, given your subject and what I've seen so far of its nature, I must reluctantly agree that form follows purpose quite nicely in this case. [he offers a thin yet genuine smile]

Though, admittedly... If you're open to constructive criticism, I could suggest a few things.

[eat_me_beat_me]

[She raises a skeptical eyebrow]

No offense but when people say that it generally ends up somewhere along the lines of "stop calling people sheep." "what the hell is your problem?" or "don't you every write anything happy?"

[theabjectauthor]

[he blinks at her, placidly, a phrase which here means "implying that he had no intent to do anything of the sort"]

I had no intent to do anything of the sort. I would merely suggest a bit of semantic adjustment: the use of "bleating" in place of "baa-ing", for example. Not only is "bleating" a more plaintive word, in keeping with your tone, it has the added benefit of being an actual recognized word, rather than a piece of onomatopoeia.

[eat_me_beat_me]

[She blinks at him, surprised (a a phrase which here means "She hadn't expected him to actually make a good suggestion"). Relaxing visibly she smiles]

I like that, yeah. Thanks. Sorry but around here criticism is usually more like bad critique than anything actually helpful. I'm Nora, by the way. Nora Diniro.

[theabjectauthor]

Well, then, Miss Diniro, I shall endeavor to be as proper a poetry critic as I can, even though theatre was my medium of choice when I worked professionally. [he nods, politely] ... My name is Lemony Snicket.

[both_neither]

[After a little while this song starts to play as if in answer]

[eat_me_beat_me]

[She laughs, flopping back down in the grass]

Oh man I love that one! Who is this? [she thinks] Gren? It has to be you. You're the only one I know other than Mark who always picks just the right music.

[both_neither]

Guilty as charged.

[eat_me_beat_me]

How've you been?

[both_neither]

Hmmm. Working things out.

[eat_me_beat_me]

Things? What kinda things?

[silentrunning]

[For once Chell's journal is closed, so she doesn't catch the dictation. She wanders outside, not exactly paying attention just yet. She'd intended on feeding the ducks as usual. But when she looks down at the duck pond and notices the cranes, she walks over. She's never seen an origami crane in her life, and thinks they're beautiful. Leaning down, she picks one up, and looks at it. This isn't blank paper.... It's a drawing of some sort... She squints, trying to make it out.

And then she notices the artist lying on the grass. She blinks for a second, looking over at Nora before actually speaking.]

Nora?

[eat_me_beat_me]

[She looks up at the unfamiliar voice. When she realizes who it is her face breaks out in a HUGE grin.]

Chell! Hi!

<i> [Chell grins back widely. Oh oh one of her most favorite people in the world! Not in doll form!

[silentrunning]

[Chell grins back widely. Oh oh one of her most favorite people in the world! Not in doll form!

But Nora seemed a little bit sad. And Chell wasn't sure why. But she'd try to help.

She glances down at the crne in her hand, fascinated by the intricacy for a long moment.]

What is this? It's pretty.

[She's not used to speaking this much. But she feels that Nora deserves her spoken words.

She flops down on the grass, lays back and stares up at the clouds too. There's one shaped like an elephant!]

[eat_me_beat_me]

[Hearing Chell speak is a pleasant surprise. It's reassuring in a lot of ways. Seeing her relaxed and smiling like that reminds her that she still has good friends here at the castle - that she's most definitely not alone. She lounges next to her friend, eyes roving over the clouds]

They're cranes. I folded them out of paper. If you'd like I can show you how to do it.

I totally do want to learn to make paper cranes IRL

[silentrunning]

[Chell regards the crane now perched on her chest.]

I would like that...

[She gestures with one hand at the ones still floating.]

They will get wet. Wet paper is ruined. They're so beautiful. I'll keep this one. If it's okay. But why? Why did you destroy your book?

[Forming more than simple sentences is still a little hard for her. But she doesn't feel self-conscious around Nora. Furthermore, she gets the sneaking suspicion that if anyone ever laughed at her, Nora might get furious at them.]

Awww they're awesome :D

[eat_me_beat_me]

[Nora's eyes never leave the clouds. She sighs softly]

because the person I drew them for went home. Even if he comes back he won't remember me or that he asked me to do that so why should I keep them?

[you bet your ass she'd get furious. She'd kick their fucking asses.]

[onlyanapple]

Impressive.

[eat_me_beat_me]

Should I thank you or are you being a sarcastic ass as usual?

[onlyanapple]

Guess, dear Nora.

Where'v you you been? You've been quiet.

[eat_me_beat_me]

mmm I'm thinking some combination of the two. [she chuckles]

Where? Weeeeeeell Mark and I have had the dubious pleasure of being stuck as fucking plastic dolls for the past month.

[onlyanapple]

There you go.

[Pause] Well, that's creepy as fuck.

[eat_me_beat_me]

Tell me about it [she laughs] One of our friends carried us around for a day or some shit.