Dialogue Snippets from Age Old Stories I shall Never Finish

“I did not fall in love. That makes it sound like a sort of accident. No, I did not fall. I descended a spiraling staircase, following it downwards, deeper and deeper. Sure, it was slower, but I was aware of every single step. 

And the walk back up was so very, very slow.”

~ Excerpt from “Velvet Heart”, A story a began a year ago but never finished.

~*~

“I once met a fox who said, “lying is just another form of Story telling.” 

“Yes,” I said. “That is true. But the intentions are never the same. A story is not built to manipulate.” 

“Oh, but they are! Emotions and thoughts are twisted around the writer’s pen.” 

“That is true. But the intention is to find beauty in manipulation. A means to an end. It is not a story woven to conceal and shadow. Fiction is called just that. ” 

“Not all. Some are mislabeled and presented truthfully. Some are called history.” 

“History is a story?” 

“Indeed. Only ever told by the victors.” “

~Excerpt from “The Tales of Mr. Fox”, a short novel I started a year and a half ago. I hope to finish it eventually.

~*~

“Good can praise the Good, Evil can praise the Evil, but when Evil praises the good and Good understands the Evil is when it’s truly special.”

~Excerpt from a short story titled “Paper Girl”. Wrote it four years ago and never Finished it.

~*~

“I’ll tell you a secret: 

You spot a romantic simply whether or not and how long they look at the sky.”

~Another Excerpt from “Paper Girl”

~*~

“I think I’d rather be an optimist than a pessimist- I don’t think I could take being wrong that often.”

~Excerpt from an unnamed short story.

“Take it from me, darling. I’d rather be single and happy then committed to the wrong person and miserable. “

~Another “Paper Girl” Excerpt

~*~

“Do you know what all stories have in common? They end.  

Such is the human life.  

Since the beginning of time, no one has escaped the sad truth that our human lives will meet a conclusion someday. Many have tried to escape this, but none succeed. Nothing is new under the sun. We live and die-that is life.  

But how do we as humans cope with this unrelenting cold truth? That all we know will pass in the blink of an eye? The same way we deal with all hardships:  

Art.  

We tell stories. We sing songs. And create.  

Through art we find beauty and solace in the saddest of truths. Because sometimes the loveliest things in life are tragic, and there is beauty in caring- therefore there is beauty in hurt. This is why we can smile a little as we realize the bittersweet truth- we cannot take anything with us, but we always leave something behind.  

I am choosing to leave this behind. “

~Excerpt from “Space, Soul, & Death” which was intended to be a short story collection. I started it three years ago. Perhaps I’ll write enough pieces to finish it someday.

~*~

Thanks for sticking around to read this hodge podge of a post. Perhaps you might draw some inspiration from these dusty words and snippets of dialogue!

Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write: Obliviated

Obliviated

I wake on a hill, the sun’s rays piercing the black. The grass is soft on my bare arms as I turn my head slightly to observe my surroundings. It seems I’m in a meadow of sorts, with little yellow flowers dotting the landscape. The golden light of the dawn falls upon the serene grassland.
I swivel my head to my left and find another face of a young man, sleeping as I was. I then came to the realization that I was clutching something.
I sit up quickly and find I am gripping this strange boy’s hand. He is about as old as I was though I am not exactly sure what age that is. In fact, I have no memory of how I got here.
I let go of the boy’s hand and pull my knees to my chest and press my face against them, a sad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.
It had happened again.
I throw my head back and groan, complaining to the heavens, though I doubt they hear as they’ve never listened before.
“Why?” I utter.
I would tell you my name but I don’t know that either. But whoever I am, I live in the world of Anamnesis, that much I know. In this land, we are under a cruel curse. Every year, on the last day of Summer, we forget everything.
Every person we knew, every experience we had, and every moment worth remembering. However, knowledge of this curse plagues us no matter how many times we forget.
We try to make the best of things, however, as much as one can. We meet people that we have probably met before and explored the landscape and the kingdoms around us once again.
I don’t know how long this world has operated this way. I don’t know how old I am or how many times I’ve forgotten but somehow, myself and others alike since its been this way for a long time, further frustrating us.
Long ago we would hunt and search this planet for answers. We dreamt of a day when we could remember. But when we turned up empty-handed and the sunset on the last day of summer once more, we grew tired and gave up on our questions being answered.
Now we rise on the first winter morning and try and seize as much as we can with the time we have. My people build one year long kingdoms and empires but they all eventually fall away. So the kingdoms Anamnesis fight wars and siege each others castle for what else can they do? Can we not enjoy the next year since it is all of no worth since we are incapable of remembering? What other purpose is there?
I smooth the edges of my sundress and look a the position of the sun as it rises higher into the sky. I glance down once more at the figure beside me before moving to stand. I probably knew him at one point. In fact, if I spent the last day of summer with him, he must have been special to me. Too bad I didn’t remember.
I quietly began moving away from him. It was easier this way. Now to find a town or a kingdom to-
“So you’re just going to abandon me?”
A whirl around as I’m greeted by the sight of the boy sitting up and smiling at me.
“Why not?” I say, shrugging dismissively. “I don’t know you.”
“Not anymore I guess,” he said turning his face towards the sun and holding a hand to shield his eyes. “Such a shame.”
“A shame indeed though it hardly matters, does it?” I say as I begin to fiddle with my loose, amber hair.
A breeze lilted through the meadow, rustling the boy’s hair.
“It can matter if we want it to,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’d introduce myself but-”
“I know, you don’t have to bother explaining,” I turn my head and search the horizon for a sign of a building or a person. I didn’t usually find myself this secluded. I was pretty certain that the other times I’ve woken there was a town or kingdom nearby.
“Well, there’s no use in us not being able to address each other,” The boy was still talking.
“I guess not,” I say, staring at him blankly. Why was he still here? Just leave, it doesn’t matter!
“Good! Glad you agree! I guess it’s up to me then!” he says, his smile growing wider.
“What’s up to you?” I query.
“To give you a name!”
“What?!” I exclaim. “I didn’t give you permission to-”
“How about Rebekah?” He offers.
“What? No-”
“You’re right, to outdated,” he puts a hand to his chin and squints at me. “Hmmm… you don’t look like a Natalie,” he speculates.
I cross my arms, giving him a skeptical look, but remain silent for the moment. I’m actually curious as to what he’ll come up with.
“Ah! I’ve got it!” He announces. He then bends down and plucks a small yellow flower from the earth. “Chrysanthemum!”
I consider it.
“I don’t haaate it,” I tilt my head slightly in thought. “Though it is a mouth-full.”
“Fine, then we’ll just call you Chrys for short!” He says, placing his hands on his hips proudly. “Now your turn!”
“My turn?”
“Yeah! Give me a name!” he beams.
“Do I have to?”
“Pretty Please?” He begs.
“Fine,” I concede. Then I look him up and down thoughtfully. The gears in my head begin to turn, thinking of the possibilities.
He is rather tall, with slightly curly and unkempt brown hair. He is pale and his skin is speckled with light freckles. His eyes, as far as I can tell, are a greenish hazel color. He is in simple commoner clothes with a white tunic and brown breeches. As my gaze reaches his feet, I realize, to some surprise, he’s barefoot.
“Judging by your attire, you weren’t anyone of great importance,” I think aloud.
“Oh, that hurts me,” he says in mocking offense. “It really does.”
“I’m just saying to don’t exactly look like a King Rupert,” I explain.
“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” he says as he begins to tap his bare feet against the earth. “At this rate by the time you decide, we’ll forget again.”
“Haha,” I say in a monotone voice. “Now hush so I can think.”
I pause a moment more before saying, “Emeric.”
He mulls the name over for a second longer before saying, “Could be worse.”
“Okay, now that you’re satisfied, can I go?” I don’t even wait for an answer as I turn and start off to… wherever I’m going.
“But where are you going?”
The voice comes directly from behind me and I turn to see Emeric right behind me.
“Why do you insist on continuing to bother me?”
“I just wanna tag along,” he says, feigning innocence. “Besides, you don’t know where you’re going and neither do I. Why not walk together?”
“Want me to provide you a list?”
“Must be short considering you don’t know me,” he mumbles.
“That’s at the top,” I tell him.
“Yeah, yeah, your loss,” he continues to trot behind me, seemingly unaffected by my protests. “You must have been a whole lot nicer when you knew me.”
“And you must have been a lot less insufferable,” I retort.
“Being insufferable is part of my natural charm,” He informs me with a sniff. “You should consider your past self lucky!”
“You know, we could have been just good friends,” I suggest, avoiding eye contact.
“Somehow I doubt it,” he huffs. “But, as you said, it hardly matters.”
We continued walking and came to the edge of the meadow. Here it met the treeline of a thick forest with tall clustered trees.
We halt for a moment, eyeing the thick foliage.
“Onward I suppose,” Emeric says.
I glance down at his bare feet.
“You sure?” I ask.
“It’s sweet and all that you’re concerned for me but I’ll be okay,” Emeric remarks snarkily before striding into the forest.
“Idiot,” I murmur before beginning to trek behind him.
“You know,” He says, pushing a branch from out of his face. “You don’t have to walk behind me.”
“I prefer to so you can knock down all the spider webs,” I say with a grin.
“Hey-ack! Phbbbtt,” He begins to spit and gag and a let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing throughout the once silent wood.
“So what do you think you’ll be this time around?” I call up to Emeric, trying to strike up a conversation.
“Who knows,” I can see him shrug with a quick movement of his shoulders. “Pastry chef, stable boy, fisherman,” then he looks back at me grinning. “Maybe even a king.”
“Good luck with that,” I smile.
“How about you?”
I think for a moment, the only sound to be heard is the crunching of leaves and branches beneath our feet as we continue walking.
Then I speak, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I haven’t the foggiest notion of what I was so I’m pretty much am working with a blank slate.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Emeric points out. “Just be thankful you didn’t wake up in a jail cell or something like that.”
“I jail cell might be preferable compared to waking alongside you,” I tease.
“Harsh words, little girl,” He laughs. “Better be nice to me, or I won’t give you a job in my bakery or my castle?”
“So you’ve narrowed it down? King or pastry chef? Choose wisely.”
“Oh, I will,” Emeric gives a low chuckle. Then he suddenly stops in his tracks, causing me nearly to collide into his back.
“It seems we’ve reached the edge of the wood,” Emeric says to me. “And our destination is just in sight.”
I walk over to his side and look. Before us lies a valley, green a lush filled with a kind of purple wildflower. I can hear bees buzzing as they go from flower to flower. A stream runs no more than a few yards away, trickling deeper into the valley. And, just barely visible against the blue horizon, houses.
“A village,” I say. “At long last.”
“It’s not too far off,” Emeric says. “And its all downhill from here.”
“Praise the Gods,” I huff.
“But, looks like we’re going to have to get a bit wet,” Emeric eyes the stream. “But nothing we can’t handle.”
“Well, come on then,” I say, striding forward. “Our future awaits!”

Excerpt from A Book I’ll Never Write: Dragonfly

My mechanical joints began to lock up and tenebrosity tinted the edge of my vision. My circuits were shutting down and a haze began to creep over my conscience. My artificial heart that rested in and warmed my core began to grow cold. The chilly sensation crept from my stomach to my chest and was starting to spread to my metal appendages. I could barely feel anything.

But throughout the mental fog, a voice broke through and a wave of fondness rushed over me as I listened to the gentle voice.

“Don’t worry,” It said soothingly. “You’re just going to sleep. You’ve got a long journey ahead. Now rest, and I promise I will wake you up when the time comes.”

Here, I could have sworn I heard a tinge of sadness in the voice, but I didn’t have long to consider it because in the next moment, my heart stopped completely and the world went dark entirely.

Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write: Submerged

The water lapped lazily at the sides of my small, sleek, wooden boat as it drifted through the clear blue water. The water departed before the hull, creating silky smooth waves on either side of the ship. The water glinted and sparkled in the midday sun, making easy to see into the depths below.

The New York City Skyline completely submerged loomed beneath the surface of the crystal water, its dark shapes giving it a ghostly and haunting look. Gazing down, it seemed so close I could touch it and feel the metal of the spires that jutted up from the one towering skyscrapers.

I gently allowed my hand to drag in the water, creating ripples as I did so. The water was cool and refreshing against my tanned hands. I withdrew my hand, knowing full well that the watery city lay hundreds of feet under. It would take an impressive scuba expedition to even touch the highest peaks of the tallest buildings, and even then, one never knew of the creates that lurked in the eerie hallways of old office buildings.
The bell hanging from my ship’s mast interrupted my thoughts with a clear and resounding clang! I jerked my head up momentarily startled. A gull sat upon the metal bell, tilting its head, giving me an almost questioning look.

“Hey, there,” I said to the feathered creature. “Looking for a handout?”
It let out a caw. Gulls were ALWAYS looking for handouts. But I knew better. Gulls were as bold as they were hungry and once one finds you have anything remotely edible in your grasp, they would not hesitate to throw themselves at you, nibbling at you with their curved beaks.

I shooed the creature away and it reluctantly flew off into the strikingly blue sky. I stared after, watching its white body disappear into the blinding light of the sun.
It’s been approximately one hundred and twenty years since the sea claimed the majority of the North American content, banishing most of its major city to the deep blue. I, of course, don’t remember this monumental event, being only 16, but my grandmother did.

“It was disastrous!” My Grandmother would tell me when I began questioning her about the event. “Or so the politicians wanted us to believe. Truth was, this flood saved us from an even greater disaster; greed.”

She then would go on and talk of the white house plunging beneath the ocean’s all too welcoming waves and how many people died and how that was but a great tragedy. But people rose from the waves, rebuilding their lives and cities above the water, creating “floating villages” and even cities that bobbed on the surface of the water. Our once organized government was in shambles as were many other countries. Old Japan was now nothing more than a memory. But New Japan was a sight to behold, at least according to the rumors. Humanity is remarkably resilient, and the Japanese people were no different. Truth being, they had more time to prepare, expecting the flood a little more early on than any of the other nations.

Some were not so lucky. Great Britain got the worst of it. Big Ben was now nothing more than an ornate home of fish and sea life.
But one thing remained without question; Many suffered at the hand of unforgiving the tide.

Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write: The Sanction City Saga

No one remembers how this city came to be. No one remembers if it was once part of the real world, or if it was, where exactly in the world it was. People would tell you different stories, many completely different from one another. There have been reports of the city being sighted on maps in the United States, in various locations in Europe, or even as far as Australia. There are many conflicting reports of where people found the city, but one thing is for certain.

No one can leave.

Many strange phenomenons happened within the city on a regular basis. Some things felt out of place. Every day, people would wake up to find new buildings, seemingly out of a different era or different time, a different place entirely. Buildings that looked out of place or relics from a past long forgotten would show up, some items that didn’t even exist yet just suddenly did. It was as if the city was pulling time itself into its limits, devouring it and making it its own. Medieval castles and knights appeared out of the blue. People from thousands of years in the future arrived. People from empires long forgotten or lands thought only to be legend were seen in the flesh. Creatures thought extinct, and artifacts thought lost all appeared within the city.

People found their way to this city somehow, whether they felt a strange calling, or happened to survive what they thought was a near death experience. Others just woke up here one day. The population of the city grew, and despite their desire to go home, people soon had to accept that there was nowhere else for them to go. No matter how far they went, the city seemed to expand and mold itself to keep people within. To this day, no one has been able to escape.

The city was dubbed Sanction City seemingly hundreds of years ago, as people soon began to accept that this must have been some kind of divine punishment to trap them all here. The city felt like purgatory, and this trap was their penalty.

The general populace of Sanction City’s native-born seem to accept all of the irregularities as normal occurrences and don’t know any better. They’ve grown complacent in their way of life, and make the most of their situation and stopped trying to fight the city. Business and life began to thrive within the city like any other, but one couldn’t help but feel sorry for the unfortunate souls who happened upon Sanction City, being forced to live in a city that eats time.

Whether you’re new to the city, native-born, fighting for supremacy amongst the gangs, a student trying to get by, a squire from the medieval ages far removed from their time, or a futuristic time traveler has gone awry, there is a purpose for you in Sanction City. It’s up to you whether you want to go with the flow, or if you want to fight against time and fate itself.

Your story begins now.

Excerpt From A Book I’ll Never Write: Death to Life

The Grim Reaper’s job is not a pleasant one. But is nonetheless necessary. Death people from all walks of life. The Rich, The Poor, The young, and the old. No one is immune. All lives must come to an end. And despite having such a grim occupation, the Reaper tries to make the best of it, asking if there are any last words and whatnot. But he can’t help but feel numb and mirthless about it all. It is a very draining job. But, as he would say, duty calls and SOMEBODY has to do the dirty work.
And so, one day, he was on a job in the slums. As he roamed the trashed cobblestone street, he saw the faint aura of death emitting from a small hovel. He sighed inwardly. Another soul to reap. The reaper adjusted his grip on his scythe and pulled his cloak closer around him and headed towards the hovel. Once inside, he found a woman buckled over on the ground.
“Sorry, lass,” he said emotionlessly. “Times up.”
She looked up at the sound of his voice and he noticed her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then she gasped.
“The baby’s coming.”
The reaper stood, mouth agape.
“What?”
“You must be a doctor!” she exclaimed. “How else would you know?”