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These are a few short stories/poems I've written for fun in my free time. Enjoy.


Saving Serenity

The struggle began, all were to cluster. Preserve the old state and for go thy self. A love in peril leads legs to fluster, Escape the heard to protect thy souls pelf. Ignore metal chorus and crimson earth. She is in thy grasp. Make rivals atone Focus on sight, falter not to any mirth. The wolf is artful but exposed alone. Desire can ignore a swift corner gleam. Timeless seconds reveal a lucid spark. A clouded truth shatters thy crystal dream. Failure is certain, as light fades to dark. Attempt to secure her instant assist, And this tranquil life will cease to persist.


A work in progress.

Skye Years Earlier It was nearing midnight and the celebration was just now getting underway. Strands of white lights swung back and forth from the movement of the dance floor. Fires roared in the hearths, the spirits flowed and nobody concerned themselves with the grey clouds approaching from the mountains. A heavy snow would soon be there, but everyone's focus was on something more important, one another. In the corner of the swirling room a young man sat at an old table, alone. Sipping his bourbon he starred out through the mixture of friends, enemies and strangers. On the other side of the party a girl gazed back. There was no smiling, no waving and no invitations between them. Only cold eyes. As the music started to crescendo the girl began walking. With every thump of the bass she glided toward him. With the second chorus she was there. "When were you planning on saying hello to me?" she said. "One moment" the man replied, signaling for a waiter. "If we're going to start this conversation I'm going to need another drink"


Solstice Ball

Adorned with boxwood wreaths, the gates of Ghent stood tall and welcoming in the winter sky as Bran and Wick passed beneath. “There has to be a cafe somewhere around here.” Bran said. He scanned his surroundings looking for anything that resembled a restaurant. The six mile excursion Wick lead him on had left him hungry and in desperate need of a drink. “There’s one there, across the square,” Wick replied. Shoving past his friend with unnecessary enthusiasm, he tugged his red hat over his ears and made his way towards the restaurant. Bran began to follow, but a sharp pain in his foot stopped him. Earlier that morning, Wick had, in a frantic hurry to leave the house, insisted Bran wear a pair of old oversized shoes rather than look for his own. Open blisters now covered each of his heels. Throughout the day, salt, scattered on the roads to melt ice, would find its way inside his shoes and rub deep into the sores. Although the wounds were painful, Bran found the shoes’ bright blue and red color even more unbearable. The frigid cold had not hindered the actives of the rural town. People moved throughout the cobblestone streets going from shop to shop in preparation for the coming holiday. The center of town boasted a massive fir tree, dressed in a gown of white lights, fresh snow and holly bows. Along its base a crowd already gathered, beginning the Christmas Eve celebration. Of the hundreds of towns Bran and Wick had traveled in the last ten years, this was the most festive. The two men entered the café, took off their coats, and seated themselves near the window. Without glancing at a menu, each ordered a full English breakfast and a white russian. Peering around the restaurant, Bran noticed a lot of other customers looking at him. Was it because of they were drinking? All of a sudden it dawned on him. He was still in his tuxedo from the night before. “Jesus,” he said. “I look like a fool.” “You are a little overdressed for breakfast,” Wick laughed. He reached across the table and straightened his friend’s vest. “Stop it,” Bran said. He swatted away his hand. Bran noticed Wick’s salmon Brooks Brothers shirt remained unwrinkled. Despite his small case of hat hair, Wick appeared bathed and freshly dressed. “Funny how our departure was too urgent for me to change, but you managed to shower and grab fresh clothes,” Bran said. “Look Bran, I know you’re mad about having to leave our family the one week we were home, but Claire really scared me.” “Sure. Your girlfriend wanting to marry you defiantly warrants fleeing the house at 3 a.m. and a six mile hike to the train station,” Bran remarked sarcastically. “Alright alright, forget it. In a few hours we’ll be on the train to Avila. Did you at least have a good time at the party?” Wick asked. “Yeah, dancing was enjoyable” “Dance, since when do you dance?” Wick gave his friend a suspicious look. “I had a very persuasive instructor last night,” Bran said smirking. “Who? The brown haired girl?” Wick asked. “No. An old friend of ours, Jim Beam” Wick chuckled, “The live funk music definatly helped. It brings a drunk crowd to the dance floor like a dog whistle. So what’s up with that brown haired girl you were snuggled up with this morning?” “Nothing now,” Bran answered. “She’ll probably associate me with you, the terrible boyfriend.” Ignoring him, Wick glanced at the check. “Can you pick this up,” he asked, “I’m pretty strapped for cash

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right now “What how?” Bran asked, “You had 3000 on you two days ago.” “Well don’t get angry,” Wick began, “But I may have mislead you a little. See when we got here I bought a ring, planning to propose. Then I got second thoughts, but Claire found the ring sitting on my dresser and so I proposed anyway. That’s actually why we’re running. No big deal. I left her a note saying we were going to Avila to collect one of your bastards for the holidays. So that will buy me a little time. Now about that brown haired girl…” “”No more talking,” Bran interrupted angerly. “Seriously, what’s up with you two?” “Nothing” “It didn’t look like nothing this morning.” “Wick, let it drop. Enough.” Bran raised his voice. “What?” “Well Wick, I don’t think you’re in the position to offer relationship advice when you have me freezing to death in these goddamn clown shoes, wearing my tuxedo, because you’re running away from your girlfriend whom you accidently proposed to even though you were going to propose to her anyway. Fuck!.” “I’m just saying you should call her,” Wick continued. “Really you’re still talking?” Bran stood up, stormed through the bar and walked into the restroom. Splashing water on his red face, he breathed in and out trying to calm himself. This is ridiculous. The stupidity of leaving a 3,000 dollar ring out in the open boggles my mind alone. God, he’s an idiot. Even worse, he used me as a fall guy. That lie alone could be detrimental to my reputation. That’s what Wick does though. He unintentionally makes good situations bad and bad situations worse. With each new country I deal with more of his inordinate amount of problems. I’d have abandoned him long ago if it wasn’t for his father. Wick’s father had adopted Bran at age ten. His concern for Wick’s foolishness had caused him to make a last request that Bran look out for his son. Bran had kept this promise for almost a decade, playing the role of travel companion. Since his father’s death, Wick’s incessant need for movement had dictated his life, and Bran’s, for the last ten years. Besides Claire’s obvious devastation, Wick will have to deal with his family. They’ll be furious. I can’t subject him to that. There is no going back; we’ll have to keep moving. Bran passed their train tickets from hand to hand as he paced about the room. His unconditional loyalty battled his personal desires and ethics. The years of traveling had taken there tole and he was ready to stop, but his promise held him in place. And his place was to keep going. Wick loves Claire. He’s just afraid to settle down. Until he does, I’ll have to put up with his foolishness. She’s waited for him for seven years, but not after this. Wick will never find anyone else to marry him. He’s a fool and now I’ll be stuck with him. Bran leaned in close to the mirror and tried to clean himself up. He knew what he had to do. Exiting the men’s room he made his way back to the dining area. He searched for his friend, but all he found were the scowls of other guest, disturbed by his earlier outburst. The cashier signaled him over. He spoke with her and left. Walking down the street, Bran searched for his friend amongst the growing crowd. Wick’s green coat caught his eye. He leaned against a large light up candy cane as Bran approached. “Bran! Thank god. We really have to hurry now,” Wick said. “What? Why?” Bran asked agitated. “Why you were having your emotional episode or whatever I went outback the cafe to burn one. Afterward two police questioned me about the odor and I told them it wasn’t me but some chap in a tuxedo.” Wick said. He took Bran’s arm and hustled him through the mass of people. “Why was that even necessary?” Bran asked. “I’m sorry, it was all I could think of.” Wick continued to maneuver them through the crowd. “You


better button that jacket though.” “Wonderful,” Bran said as he tried to conceal his tux with his pea coat. “The station’s this way, let’s go.” Taking a right into a nearby alley, the two men walked toward the outskirts of town. Wisp of grey clouds blocked out the sun causing the temperature to drop lower than it had been that morning. Wick charged ahead of Bran trying to beat the impending snow. “So was it hard wrapping that broken heart you got Claire for Christmas?” Bran called ahead to his friend. “Come off it Bran, you’re making me feel bad.” Wick slowed his pace, but did not turn around. “You should feel bad, she’s your best friend,” Bran yelled. “You’re my best friend Bran” “No I’m not.” Bran replied. Wick failed to grasp the seriousness of the words as he continued towards the station. Bran had always considered their union as more of an assignment than friendship. Quickening his pace, he was on Wick’s heals. “I know you know this is wrong .” Bran said. “Oh really what else do you know?” Wick said. His voice resonated with a smug arrogance, complementing his pompous walk. Leading Bran into the station, he stopped and stood on the platform. “I know I’m not getting on that train,” Bran said. “We’re slaves to the groove,” Wick said. “This new found negativity can’t quell your need for adventure.” “The adventures are over; your lack of sense killed them.” Bran caught Wick’s eyes and held them. “You know she’s practically perfect right. Way to good for you, especially since you’ve grown rather fat.” “I’m really not even into her anymore. It was just a security thing that culminated with an insincere proposal.” Wick headed for a bench near the ticket office. “And if you’re so in love with her, you marry her.” “Maybe I’ll go back and take a stab at her. She’ll probably be drunk and on the rebound after all.” Bran yelled. Wick wheeled around and grabbed him by the throat. Before he closed his mouth, Bran found himself pinned against the icy surface of the stone platform. “So much for not caring,” Bran squeaked. “Now stop this failed attempt at a heart to heart. For Christ sake this whole convesation sounds like a Death Cab song. The train’s here. Come on.” Wick released his friend and stood up. The train roared into the station spewing steam everywhere. Wick prepared himself to board. Still on the ground, Bran made his last stand. A remark he’d been holding in for a decade. “Your father would be ashamed of you.” “What?” Glaring down at Bran, he wiped a mixture of rain and snow from his face. The turmoil raging inside him left a vacant expression on his face. He starred off for a several moments before speaking. “If I go back to that I have no hope. Plus we have the tickets. We can’t waste them. There’s no other option ,get on the train.” “We don’t have tickets,” Bran said. “I traded them to the cashier of the cafe in exchange for her sending their driver back to the farm to deliver a note saying we’d gone Christmas shopping and would be back by dinner,” Bran told him. Snowflakes glided gently through the air, providing Bran with an instant calm. He peered into Wicks face, trying to assess his thoughts. The weather was worsening and darkness now encompassed the station. The train whistled for departure. Alone on the platform, the two men stood without speaking. A smirk crept over Wicks face as he starred back at Bran “Let’s go, we’re leaving”


writings  

various stuff I've written for fun

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