anotherronism

Solosater inspired me by submitting a non-conforming piece into the ThinkWrite challenge.

So this is the "Open" version of ThinkWrite. Anything goes. Just share whatever you have...

anotherronism

ON A LIMB

By Ron



In the darkest heart of the dark forest lived many creatures. There were owls and insects, spiders and snakes. There were flying things and crawling things. There were worms and there were bears.



Along a narrow tree limb crawled a tired old beetle. She seemed to sag beneath a heavy burden yet carried nothing. She had wings but never used them. Still she plodded on. Though weary she wanted nothing more than to reach her goal. Burdened, she smiled each time a firefly briefly lit this dark place.



Gaily inching the opposite direction there approached a prickly yet spirited young caterpillar. He was black with white markings. Beetles know these young creatures to be dangerous. Where there was one there were always others.



Another firefly shone the beetle’s path ahead. The beetle knew she could not now avoid the caterpillar. So she put on her best beetle smile and prepared to be polite. The firefly remained nearby. She could hear the comfortable buzz of his wings.



The caterpillar also saw the firefly light and realized he would meet up with this beetle. ‘Oh no. Not again. Why can’t I just be left alone?’ he asked himself. He was a clever caterpillar and liked to daydream away from other creatures, even his own family. He loved them dearly but sometimes got bored by their constant bickering and chatter.



But the caterpillar had good manners and was kind when he met the beetle. “Good evening Madam. Nice night for a walk.”



“Why thank you. Yes. It is. Good evening to you too.” She bowed slightly.



The caterpillar responded with a slight dipping of his antenna.



“But Madam”, spoke the caterpillar, “we seem to be at an impasse. This limb is to narrow for us to pass and while I have all these legs and am a great walker I do not know how to do it backwards.”



“I see,” said the beetle, “then I shall turn around.”



“Oh! No. I wouldn’t allow it. You might fall. Let me think for a moment.”



A moment passed and still the caterpillar offered no solution.



Just then there was a bright light and the firefly said in his strange firefly voice; “Caterpillar, you are clever but have no common sense at all. Have you forgotten your feet?”



“No, I haven’t silly firefly. They are all right here.” He lifted his front feet and wiggled them.



“Then use them. You can walk on the bottom of the limb can you not?”



There is no word for “duh” in the creature kingdom but if there were it is what the caterpillar would have said.



“Very well then,” said the caterpillar as he inched his way to the bottom of the limb, “it was very nice to have met you both. Have a wonderful evening.”



As the beetle and caterpillar passed, the caterpillar looked up at the beetle then to the firefly. “Take care of her firefly. She’s a nice lady.”



In his strange, wispy voice the firefly replied. “I will. I always do. And I always have.”



So the small group parted. But for many nights they met at the same spot. Eventually their pleasantries became passing conversation and finally friendship.



On one of these meetings the caterpillar suddenly asked the beetle, “Excuse me miss but would I be intruding to ask where you go each night?”



“No! Of course not! Sir, I go to see my family. They are the true loves of my life. I have no children of my own and dote completely on theirs.”



“Why not live with them all the time then?



“Oh! They are far too busy to have an old bat like me hanging around. Plus I have my own home and firefly here to keep me company.”



The caterpillar thought this odd but who was he to question anyone. Wasn’t he doing the very opposite each night; fleeing from his family to be alone?



The following night it was the beetle’s turn. “Sir”, she asked the caterpillar as they passed. “Might I ask where you go each evening?”



“Of course madam”, he replied, “I go off to be alone. You may think it odd but I like to get away from my family at times and this is their bedtime and affords me the chance to take my walks in solace.”



“I see”, said the beetle thinking it odd but asking herself, ‘who am I to question anyone.’



Then one night, as the firefly graciously lit their passing a thought occurred to the beetle. She thought it a bit forward but blurted it straight out, “Sir, firefly and I simply love to play a friendly game of pebbles at my home once a week. Perhaps you would join us sometime?”



“Oh yes.” replied caterpillar at once. “Yes indeed.”



So it was arranged.



They met two nights hence and the beetle led caterpillar some distance away to the base of a tree. She indicated a muddy hole and invited caterpillar to enter.



Caterpillars don’t like dirt and especially don’t like mud. They certainly do not like water and beetle’s “home” was a veritable swamp. But courtesy is courtesy so he entered without hesitation.



How pleasant his surprise when past the entrance he found a warm, inviting and cozy home. He was at once at ease and within minutes firefly, beetle and caterpillar were engaged in a ruthless but fun game of pebbles.



Now it is well known that caterpillars do not eat meat. But beetle was a meat eater and had nothing else to serve. Firefly wasn’t much of a pebbles player and had lost early. He tended the kitchen and soon there was plate after plate of snacks. Caterpillar was disgusted at the thought of the origins of this meal but nonetheless sampled the various dishes. He was shocked. He loved them all.



Oftentimes pebbles would end early. Beetles have much work to do during the day and firefly and caterpillar would stay up late into the night talking about anything and everything. Firefly’s greatest dream was to learn to shine his light indefinitely. He was getting good at it but had a lot of work to do. Their conversations were fun for them both and they both looked forward to them each night.



During one of their conversations it became apparent that caterpillar had a family but that it was not his own. He was a very clever caterpillar but had little sense of how, or even why, to start his own family. He was very much like beetle in that he led his family life through his brother’s and sister’s lives. He truly loved beetle at this point and thought to ask her hand in marriage. Then his thoughts always turned to firefly and he knew it could not be and would ruin these fun times. He put the thought out of his mind.



Over time the pebbles game became a regular occurrence. Caterpillar even began to find discarded meats on the forest floor to bring as offerings as any good guest should do.



But beetle was becoming worried. She knew that no caterpillar should eat so much meat and she could see he was neglecting his regular diet of leaves. But she loved him too much to say anything. She could see he had grown a true fondness for meat and enjoyed seeing him so happy.



One night a week of pebbles turned into two and then three and it suddenly seemed as if the pebbles night were becoming a permanent thing with caterpillar practically living in the swampy home of the beetle. But beetle and firefly didn’t mind. They loved their extended family. Word spread and other fireflies began to show up occasionally. There were even two gnats that blithely did their own thing. They hardly ever even spoke to beetle, firefly or caterpillar but they always seemed underfoot.



Caterpillar was getting sick. Beetle and firefly didn’t know what to do. Caterpillar didn’t look any different but he never wanted to play pebbles any longer. He just wanted to talk and talk and talk and be clever and funny. Then that too suddenly stopped and caterpillar became sullen and withdrawn.



Beetle was alarmed. She sent word throughout the forest to get advice but no creature could help her.



Then one night, while caterpillar slept, she watched him to make certain he was breathing. She was looking at him when his eyes quickly opened.



He whispered to her. “I have to change. I have to find myself.”



She didn’t know what he meant but was determined to find out. She left firefly to look over caterpillar and make her old journey across the limb alone. But instead of her own family she bravely searched for and found caterpillar’s home.



A caterpillar’s nest is a dangerous place for a beetle. They don’t eat them but will defend their home viciously. When she was stopped she quickly explained everything to the guard and he told her to wait. After a minute another caterpillar emerged.



“I am his sister.” She said. “We miss him dearly but we know he is happy and has found his own family which he so desperately needed. Tell me again exactly what he said.”



They talked through the night and beetle barely made it home she was so exhausted. But she didn’t sleep. She went to the back of the swampy abode and with all her strength gathered up the sleeping caterpillar. Firefly tried to help but was too weak to fly and carry at the same time.



With this heavy load beetle slowly returned to the limb where they had met. It was dangerous for her to be out during the day but she wasn’t afraid. She had a job to do.



She laid caterpillar out on the limb and, as carefully as she could, secured his tail to the limb. The she awakened him one last time and whispered to him. “I cannot help you find yourself. You must do it alone.”



Caterpillar looked at her through weak eyes and barely nodded. Beetle pushed him off the limb.



For weeks and weeks beetle and firefly came each night to the same spot. Caterpillar had held on but only barely. None of them knew caterpillar customs and they assumed he had died. His body no longer resembled a caterpillar. It grew and grew and dried and changed color each night. Firefly tried in vain to keep caterpillar warm but he just couldn’t keep his light lit long enough.



When they finally decided caterpillar had died they agreed to go one last time to honor his memory. They each carried one small gift to give to caterpillar. Beetle carried a small piece of caterpillar’s favorite meat though she was convinced this is what had killed him. Firefly held the smallest pebble from the game he could carry and had composed a buzzing song as well. The other friendly fireflies came though they had no gifts. But they had learned the song too and would accompany the dirge. Even the gnats tagged along but with no idea why.



They arrived at the place and still, there hung caterpillar. He was bloated beyond recognition but still hanging on.



They assembled themselves on the limb and firefly flew before them to light the ceremony.



But as he turned his tail to their dead friend he was startled and with his little voice yelped out “His shell is open. He’s gone.”



All heads bowed that their good friend had fallen from his own coffin. Beetle asked the fireflies if they could find his body below before some forest creature stole him away.



With a buzz they all descended leaving beetle alone where she had once met her best friend and must now say her final goodbyes.



She bowed he head and said her beetle prayer. A gentle breeze cooled her tears.



When she looked up she was shocked. Quietly and without notice a magnificent black moth had alit beside her. He stood sideways displaying his enormous triangle wing.



“Please sir”, she said to him, “Do not accost me on this night for I mourn the passing of a great friend.”



“I know this madam. It too is why I have come.”



“You knew Caterpillar as well. He never mentioned you. May I ask your name sir?”



“Yes madam, of course you may. My name is Caterpillar.” And with that he turned and showed his other wing. Black as night it was but with a silver streak running right across it. “I told you I had to change.”



Her legs were too small to hug him and she wouldn’t have risked marking his wings but she ran to him and buried her head in his abdomen. “Oh caterpillar”, she cried, “I though I had lost you.”



“But alas madam, you have.” He said with tears in his eyes. “I am no longer the same creature. I must go now and make a family of my own. It is our way. But I will always remember you and your home and your hospitality. And I will always love you.”



The sun was rising. It was time to depart. Each of the fireflies came one by one and flashed their lights at the majestic new creature perched before them. The last, who had been the first he met, shone the brightest. Caterpillar bowed his antenna and said “Firefly. I have enjoyed our conversations immensely.”



Caterpillar turned to beetle and said with great sincerity; “Madam, you have taught me to fly and for that I will always be grateful.”



Beetle blushed. “But how could I teach you to fly when I don’t know how myself.”



Caterpillar spread his mighty span and lifted his head high. “But Madam, you’ve always known how.”



With a great flapping of wings the black moth lifted off and sped skywards. He called back, “We will meet again. I promise.”



As he sped away the old beetle was sad. But she knew this was the way. As she watched him dwindle into the distance she called out against the breeze. “You have no name but I will call you Silver Streak”. She laughed then.



He glanced back and saw all the shimmering fireflies. One of them glowed brightly and did not fade. ‘And I shall call you Night Angel bright one.'



And far in the air, looking back, the moth saw the old beetle spread her wings. He saw for the first time the beauty of them with their black dots and orange-red casings.



‘You too have no name but I will always remember you as Lady Bug’. He saw her leave the limb and fly. He laughed and sped away.

solosater

I like it!!!!

solosater

The new thread and your story!

anotherronism

Thanks solosater...

This is one of my greatest attempts at "art". I don't know (or care) if I failed or succeeded.

This was written as a leeter of thanks... Thanks to two friends that took me in in a time of need.

But I "know" them and any gushy or false gratitude would've been recognized at once.

So I wrote them this story. I actually did it in an hour. Editing took some time...

But my intent was to make a piece which was a direct "thank you" but was couched in the lines of a story or fable.

I wanted them to actually read it you see?

And they did...

And it was the greatest reception of anything I've ever done with actual intent. Granted - my audience was "two". But they both "got it" so, to me at least - it was "perfect".

solosater

I too find it over the top and just not enough at times to say “Thanks.”

This was a great gift and a nice way to show your true appreciation for there kindness to you.

And really, really a great story.

I find I start a lot od sentences with and; my English teachers woud be so put out.

solosater

My spell check quit; that was of not od (though it may have seemed odd).

solosater

http://www.thinkdraw.com/picture.php?pictureId=38736

Who Am I?

For ever so long I have been becoming who I am. But just who am I? I’ve asked around and no one really seems to know; they think they do, but I know better. If I don’t know who I am then how could they?

I wonder as ones who know me not at all tell me about myself, but they are the ones in control; they do not know me, not even my name!

I tell them what I know about me and they tell me I must be wrong, how can I be? I live it. They tell me they understand me and that I shouldn’t worry so. How can they understand me when we’ve never met?

I feel I’m going mad; they say I am fine. Perhaps they are mad. Perhaps they are not even real and I too am a figment of my own imagination.

Perhaps I’m a figment of yours.

No that can’t be, I remember before, if I were not real I wouldn’t remember a past.

I know what I like: colorful people, beautiful things, peace and quiet, a good book, my faithful companion.

Perhaps she knows me; she cannot say for she does not speak. She does seem to like me so perhaps I am likeable. That’s a good thing right? But is it who I am?

I can make people laugh, but do they laugh with me or at me? I do not know; how could I? I can make people cry, is it for themselves or me? I can inspire wonder in some, is it at my fascinating thoughts or my mad dreams?

When I was a young girl I was an old woman and now as a grown woman I am like a child. I do not know where to begin, am I already there or have I passed it by entirely?

When will I know? When will I be done?

I’m so tired of this struggle to know myself I think, perhaps, I will be done now.

At least for right now.

mostblessedone

Ron, I love your story and the story about the story. I am sure that those for whom it was written would be immensely touched.

Solosater, I followed your pic here to read her story. But I still don't know who she is....

Miss_Dagny

For those who don't know, I'm gamer geek. This is one of the journal entries of a character I made for a roleplay game.

----------------------

"I watched the fireworks last night, bathing in the glow of the crushed glass sparkles falling from the sky as sparks...the black clouds and still stars were dipped in purple and gold and green mosaics of light and illumination, casting a glow on the earth as an eye looking through a prism.

The couples on either side of me held hands and hearts and whispered to one another. I touched my hips with my own hands through the thin fabric of my sweater and realized how, under this myriad of scattered crystal, I was alone. A faint breeze blew from the river and chilled my skin like champagne...and no one was there to warm me. As the sky burst into a crescendo of fire pink and orange, I closed my eyes against the light and sighed deeply.

In a world the size of infinity, under a sky as big as breath, surrounded by tides spanned with forever, I was one. One hand holding one hand, one finger brushing a single tear, and one heart in danger of stopping with the sadness that gripped it. "

solosater

There is some uncertainty...

Maybe one day she'll know.

solosater

WOW, Miss Dagny, I’m totally impressed!

That’s quite a sad tale, all alone in a crowd.

Alone in a crowd of couples no less.

I’ve been there. I mostly am fine with it but there are days…

Dragon

Ron I loved your story. I think it would make a great kids book, the type parents don't mind reading again and again because it's such a nice story of family but it's not all gushy and saccharine. Could be illustrated from TD.

solosater, wonderful story of trying to find oneself. We're kind of all on this journey aren't we? I think anyone who thinks they truely know exactly who they are (or who someone else is) is deluding themselves, since we're always changing.

Miss Dagny, yours was so lovely and yet so poignant. It hit me deeply as I too have been there. I'm fortunate enough to have someone wonderful in my life now, but for most of my adult life it seemed like I was always the single in a group of couples. I was always welcomed by everyone but never quite the same. I hope your roleplay character can find herself a counterpart.

Dragon

Wrote this one in high school like a million years ago.

The Concrete Dream

She stalks the night with catlike grace,
Through the steel and glass jungle she creeps.
Her senses are alert,
She searches for prey.
And she will follow the paths of stone,
And she will follow the rivers of light,
And she will live her life and die her death,
In this,
The concrete dream.

Soda

I'll join in...

I close my eyes and remember, it was a night when I was coming home but one I would not reach it. My grandparents were driving their RV to my house, when we took a side road. I remember that road it was rickety and old. We stayed there that night but before going to bed we went out side to explore, Grandpa, Grandma and I.

We walked across the island to a beach. The moon that shone, if my memory recalls it rightly was full that night or close to it. A few sand dollars now long gone were given to me to hold, each only the size of my finger back then. After gaining the last of the beach we turned and headed back. It was then that I truly was surprised.

It was then that I saw my first wild horse, we had walked just past the tree line, to take a short cut. Standing there I saw a herd fly past. I can barely remember them now. All I remember is the magic of the night and what I believe made me fall in love with the darkness.

Miss_Dagny

Dragon & Solo: Thank you for your comments. She unfortunately never did find her counterpart. She was driven insane by her self-imposed isolation. Such is the world of Vampire: The Masquerade.

I loved The Concrete Dream. It makes me want to go outside and revel in the rain, not living by default but truly living, unlike your girl in the concrete jungle.

It reminds me of another piece I wrote for the same character. She also lived in the city. I have written happier things, but this isn't one of them.

-------------------------

"The sky is haunted, I say. Haunted with clouds and vapors and silver mist...haunted with puckering lavender clouds that hang with the tears of October, haunted with glittering blue asphalt and rain-streaked windows, chilled winds and cool blankets. With window panes that shake with the fury and finesse of shivering velvet to put me to sleep. I dream of heaven dripping from the moon and of angel’s wings, gilded with midnight, holding me without a smile.

My legs, long and sleek against city shadows, carry me from room to room, sidewalk to sidewalk, alley to alley until my discontent settles me here. In my coat, my smooth black whisper, I sit and wait for something to capture me.

Hands, loosely jointed to my wrists, intertwine as bat wings. I sit, conversations cotton candy around me, and watch the jagged rain drops splash winter in puddles. Moonlit and cold, wishing in the last falling star for the ache to leave my bones, I join the children - the pale, harmless, scarred children of the urban family - in their dancing and blasphemies until my soul is ready to travel on the wet asphalt again. The violet pools of discarded rain reflect my lips as red slashes, my eyes as luminous black depths and my hair as mystical feathers looping around snow-sparkling skin.

Through the city, a passenger to the swish of car tires and wet misgivings, I walk. Balconies coil as iron dragons beside me and the street lamps glow like Persian gold. Drinking, walking, smoking and living….each night, unfolding as pierced petals, expelling dark industrial rhythms, sloppy rushed hallway kisses, fumbling sweat-stained hands, Egypt black eyeliner and a tainted infected stir of dissatisfaction drowned by gin therapy and tucked into folds of my soul with borrowed apathy."

anotherronism

Folks...

On a friend's computer here so this is hort.

Wow! You guys rock!

midnightpoet

I am in absolute awe of all the stories and poems here. I don't even know what to say...

midnightpoet

Like Miss_Dagny, I too am a gamer geek. This is the introduction to a story I'm writing about one of my World of Warcraft toons. I wrote this ages ago, and still haven't been able to move beyond it...

"I am Warrior"

I awoke that night in the cold dark, my head throbbing. My mouth felt like it had recently had a close encounter with sand and gravel. I raised one hand to my beaten face, and came away with sticky, half-dried blood. Something was very wrong, that was certain, but what that "something" was, I had no idea.

I started to push myself up off the ground, crying out in pain as I realized just how ill-treated I had been. Carefully, now, slowly, agonizingly, I got myself into a sitting position.

My vision was blurred. My head rang, but I knew I couldn’t just stay here like this. There were some very important questions that needed answering. Where am I? How did I get here? Just what in Azeroth had happened to me?

The clouds in my vision carried over to my mind, and I found that not only did I not know the answers to these questions; I didn’t even know who I was. I searched my mind for some hint of memory, but all I knew was the chill, and the vague darkness.

I don’t know how long I sat there, shocked and frightened, shaking with panic and effort as I tried in vain to find one scrap of memory. At some point I realized that my eyes were beginning to adjust to my surroundings…or maybe my surroundings were growing lighter. I wasn’t sure. I knew I needed to move, to look around to figure things out; but, oh, how it hurt to move. Every inch of motion was agony, but I fought through it, and brought myself to my feet, using a large rock to steady myself before I fell over.

The air around me felt like it was warming, slowly, and I looked up to see the sun just beginning its daily ascent, brightening the bare, red landscape. Leaning against the rock, I surveyed the unfamiliar area. I saw, several feet away, the remains of what appeared to be a campsite. A scorched area on the ground indicated where a fire had been. Torn cloth and broken sticks littered the site, as though a tent had been torn down, torn apart. I searched the area, looking for signs of what had happened, of who I was. I found nothing.

Frustrated, discouraged, and still blank-minded, I leaned against the rock again to catch my breath. I saw something, a faint glimmer of sun reflecting off metal on the ground to my left. Moving to examine it more closely, I found it was, in fact, a small piece of metal, dusty with the sand from the ground. As I rubbed it with my fingers to clean it, I discovered there were letters on it. E-R-I-B-U-S. Who or what “Eribus” was, I of course had no idea, but I clung to it, the last scrap of the life that had been stolen from me.

It was then that I started to cry, tears leaking out over my blood and dirt stained face. I wept for myself, my injuries, and the pain. I wept for all those I had known, for the loss of any friends and family I might have had. I wept for the complete and total loss of any semblance of memory I once possessed. I wept until I was exhausted and my throat burned, and finally, I ran out of tears.

I stood up, dusted myself off, and began to make my way across the red-sanded desert to who knows where.

I have no one, I have nothing except a name: Eribus. I must make my future without a past. I am warrior.

anotherronism

midnight... No humor here. Just me... I promise...

This is great. I HATE fantasy. But I recognize "good" when I see it...

I'mm gonna go all Simon Cowell on your butt though...

There is one thing. One little thing.

Never patronize your audience.

They either "know" or they don't.

Never help them.

It's insulting in the extreme.

I LOVE your piece.

But this: "A scorched area on the ground indicated where a fire had been. Torn cloth and broken sticks littered the site, as though a tent had been torn down, torn apart."

I did NOT need to be informed there. I know the word but it's escaping me. Something about extemporising...

Never, evr belittle your audience by giving them more than "you" see. They ARE intelligent enough to "take" it and un with it.

Sometimes - more so than even you...

This is 'nothin but luv! Seriously!

Everything else was superb!