Angel Story

It was a beautiful day for a stroll, she decided, not on the high peaks and clouds above the ground that she watched over, but instead on the ground that she guarded. She walked to the trees, passing their tips as she lowered herself to the roots that emerged from the trunk and sunk down deep into the brown earth, the grass beneath her feet becoming greener with each step.
The animals around the woods did not fret over her presence, instead of fleeing into the thistle bushes and deeper into the trees, the deer remained eating their plants and the birds continued to peck the ground for sustenance in the form of worms and mites. She walked by the animals with her hands reaching out, gently petting the fawn, and briefly providing a perch for a young bird.
Her white robes blew in the gentle wind, as the young deer raised its head to her, chewing contently as she passed, the bird took to the trees as her chicks began to peep, and she smiled knowing they would soon be full on the bounty their mother gathered.
Tree branches gently swayed in the breeze when she neared them, the winds sending them back slightly to allow her safe passage without so much trouble as to lift a finger.
Their leaves were a deep and dark green, thick on the branches they blocked most of the light from above, however it still found a way to illuminate the woods as she walked deeper into them, the beams growing stronger through the small breaks in the foliage, providing her with the light she needed to see all the animals and plants that her gods had to offer her.
She felt inclined to go west, so she did, moving with a sluggish pace, the pace of a watcher of nature, she travelled until she stepped over a small brook, its water bumbling along over rocks and sticks. It was only an inch or so deep by a foot wide, but the water was flowing quite well, she was tempted to take a drink from it but decided against it, instead she pressed forward, for through the trees there was a majestic mountain, one she reigned over, standing firm and proud in the distance.
The pitter patter of her feet over the gruod became rushed as her pace nearly doubled, although it was still very slow, she was moving somewhat faster in hopes of seeing the full bounty that the break in the woods had to offer.
When she reached the clearing, she paused and stared at the rock formation, built up by her gods to form the most perfect of all mountains, from the lush green surrounding its base to the white tip at the top, it was a perfect triangle, aside from some jagged edges, and she smiled at the view, pleased with it.
A voice in the distance was a buzzing in her ear, one of the creations of this world simply off in the woods being loud and obnoxious. She took a deep breath and looked at the mountain, her smile still strong and her awe continuing.
However, the buzzing became persistant, causing her to take her eyes off the mountain briefly to study the area that surrounded her. There was trees behind her, and in front of her was a fall of several hundred feet into the valley below. Her eyes sought the soul that was calling, but could not see it in the woods behind her, so she turned forward and looked along the cliffs edge.
In the distance, although not very far, was a man hanging onto the edge. She could not see his face very well but felt as though he was in a great amount of pain. How could he be in pain when he was surrounded by this beauty?
She decided to continue viewing the mountain, albeit while moving towards the man on the edge. She barely took her eyes off of the rock, its beautiful white hat to its darling green shoes, her pace was slow and steady, as it had been earlier, and she finally heard the man’s voice over the distant buzzing.
“HELP!” he was no doubt crying, but to her it was a gentle word, gentle but filled with some anxiety.
Help. Perhaps she could find it in her heart to help him, it would be another soul to share this bounty with, she decided as she walked on. When she came closer, she waved, her hand open and her arm forming a L, her hand waved from side to side like the branches that she walked by, moving slowly but carefully.
Dirt covered his hands, his fingers red under the strain of his weight, his arms sweating, a deep shade of red with a dusting of soil, no doubt falling on him as his finger’s grip slowly slipped more and more.
She crouched down and smiled at him, her angelic face no doubt making his day better simply with her grin.
“You need help?”
“YES!” he cried out.
Her head tilted slightly, and her smile slowly faded.
“What?”
“HELP! PLEASE!” he replied.
“Be nice about it, you disturbed my serine moment with your cries.”
His look of bewilderment turned into one of confusion and fear.
“Yes, please. I fear for my life, I have been here some time and am sure that I will fall!” his voice was strained, as if it was restraining from yelling at her.
Her hand hovered over his and her eyes locked his, he reached for her hand, his savior, when it pulled up, causing his hand to fall, nearly making him lose his grip, but he found it, and his eyes grew wider, his face beet red with rage.
“You are not a good man,” she began, “you seem like a bad man. Why are you here in this mess?”
“I’m here because I slipped, I was looking over the edge and I fell, but I caught myself with my hands, please help me up.” He said eagerly. “Please?”
Her hand was suspended in air, the tips of her feet touching the same ground that his finger tips dug through.
“Why should I save you?”
“I am a good man! I just slipped!”
She closed her eyes, her hand tantalizingly close to his grasp, or even her ankle, perhaps she would be forced to help if he grabbed her.
“Touch me and you will fall to your death,” she said, her eyes staring straight ahead, unwilling to even acknowledge the hanging man.
“What?”
“You were thinking of grabbing me, which would kill not only you, but me as well. You are willing to give my life in a meager attempt to save your own. Now, I think I should be going,” she said as she stood up and looked as though she was ready to walk away.
“Please, I have a child and a wife, they need me.”
She paused, then turned back to him.
“Does having a child that you sired by accident and a woman you claim is yoru wife, but it not being in the eyes of the church or the gods, mean you deserve saving? You wish to kill me to try to save you, then feign caring for the wife and child you have left behind,” she walked back to the ledge and looked at him, frowning, “drinking your nights away and being with other women, then you claim that you have your wife and child at home needing you.”
He looked lost for words, as well as a sturdy grip.
“Save me, I will change my ways, I swear it, please!” he cried, spit flying from his mouth, his urgency was becoming greater, the strain of his body no doubt pulling more and more on his weakening hands.
She knelt down, which he took as a good sign, it would provide her with more stability to pull him up, but after looking at her face he lost some of the hope. She was lost in thought, not in thought of how to save his life.
Moments stretched to what seemed like hours, his fingers felt weary and the release would be relief, until the fear of his demise would set in, causing him to panic. He clutched the edge even harder, more determined to not fall.
“If I help you and you change your ways, I will do a great thing, I will have saved the life of a man who became better in his life and bettered those around him. However, if you merely put on a farce and revert to your old ways after only a few days of being good, I will be helping you hurt the people who need you, such as the child and wife you claim.”
“But…”
“I am not done. But if you are good for years, then turn bad, are you breaking your promise to me? And what is done to punish you? As I will have saved your life, would it be fair for me to have the right at any time to take your life away?”
He stared at her over the edge, he wanted to say no but he could not speak, since she began to question him again.
“Will you truly be good, or merely better than you are?”
“Truly good!”
“Of course you would say that, you are dangling from a cliff, you will pick the thing you believe I want to hear. But I want the truth, sir, not a fabrication for my affections. I know, here is part of the deal, I save your life and you are good, I will bless you for what remains of your life, however if you become evil again, I will be able to sent you to the netherworld, does that sound fair?”
“YES!” he cried, his small finger felt as though it were ready to fall off.
“What can you promise me, under the understanding that if you revert to your old ways you are to come back here and hang from this cliff until your grip leaves you?
“That I will be good, I swear on my life that I will be a better man!”
“In whose eyes?”
“Your eyes!”
She smiled and reached down for him, their agreement in place, and he grabbed her hand, and he looked up at her with a hope for a new life, a new chance.
But his grip failed him at this moment, and the dirt on his fingers could not let her hold him tightly, and his body fell to its demise as his spirit fell with him, going down into the earth and into the netherworld.
She shook her head, saddened that he had died because of his weak and dirty hand, and she set off back to the heavens where he descended, intent on keeping the memories of the mountains and trees the foremost thoughts in her mind. She could mourn him, but why mourn what he could have been, when what he was was not something to mourn?

Update

I'm doing NaNoWriMo.
I'm up to page 70.
Fun!

Money down on this

Tomorrow I'm doing a page count, but I do not think I have nearly the amount of pages I expected to have by this junction of the calendar.
Sigh.
But, my hopes are high that I'll map out the rest of the book to the best of my ability and work from there. Its not an ideal idea, but few ideas are ideal. I will have the outline done by Tuesday, and 15 pages written by Saturday. Minimum.
To sweeten the pot I'll have the two flash fiction stories tweaked and fixed up for submission while I try to peddle 'godless' to whomever is willing to look at it.
Ah, perhaps my dreams of being 23 have yet to be reached (they will not be reached, nor will my weight goal be met) but I will indeed have at least made progress so I can spend the day of my birth in my new apartment (2 months then I move again) and rejoicing in the works I have completed.
Cough. Work, that is to say.

Ahhh Progress

I've been looking into a few other places to submit 'Fallen' which as we know is going to be completely editted and up for my final revisions by my birthday (I'm still a bit peeved that it wasnt done when I originally expected since the deadline had been my birthday to have it completely completed). Once I've given it the once over for the 3rd or 4th or 5th time, I'll be able to submit it to a few of the places.
Meanwhile I'm working hard on BOTH, trying to get into a flow so that I can have the roughest draft completed, also by my birthday.
Dream Tube and several other stories have taken to the backburner, but are far from out of my mind. I've been itching to work on 'Tube' again in the near future and polishing up some of my space stories would be very nice.
Keep in mind I'm also doing some work on flash fiction while debating setting up a website for my writing and other authors, but of course its a long way off. Give it some time, then who knows.

Sigh

The glory that is my writing has stumbled, with only about 5 pages (that's generous mind you) being written since my last post.
Life tends to get in the way of my writing, making me want to get a small studio apartment without Internet so I can sit and write in peace.
I have a vivid image of the room (I'm going to share it with you now because I've done a bit of writing tonight already). A folded down futon with a white sheet and black comforter against a white wall, a pressed wood table with debris strewed about and my TV on the TV table I bought from my brother ages ago. I'm writing like a fiend on the futon, the light from the kitchen is on revealing a few dishes in the drainer and another light coming from the door.
I want to write so much other stuff so it makes it hard to focus on Battle, but this is my choice.
I just really want to work in the conversation:
"How do you get someone to look up to you?" asked the young man.
"Knock them down," he said as he threw his cigarette butt to the ground, disappearing through the steam rising up from the sewer like a cliche from a black and white movie.
In fact I think I will write something, check my tumblr for one such story!

Ahhhh the dance of death

In an effort to feel less shitty about my existence I am pushing myself to write between 3-5 pages a day until my 23 annual celebration of the day that I came into this world.
I wrote 3 today, and if I stick with my plan, I will have well over the 97 pages I require to complete the 1st draft of "Battle of the Heavens"
If I do not stick to this, which I no doubt will falter, I will fail, once more.
It is common for writers (at least the ones I associate with, because I know them) to put off writing with menial tasks or adventures in an effort to avoid the fact they do not have the complete story done. Thats what I'm doing at least.
'Battle' is, by all means, finished. In my mind. All the crazy moments have been plotted out on scraps of paper from years ago, the tidbits of information stored away in my massive brain (mostly filled with WoW info or facts from books I read in the 7th grade) will soon be put on the page.
I'm also considering posting some flash fiction (short, nay, VERY short stories) on this blog, since my other blog is totally going off the charts with hits from me looking to see if someone looked at it.
I'm working on a few other stories as well, but the main focus this month, will be 'Battle'. 3-5 pages a day. On 'Battle'.
Any other work will be recorded as a "good work!" for me, but the focus has to be Battle.
Let see how well I do. Follow my tumblr for daily (semi) updates on progress. I have a twitter too, but I never do anything on it since I despise things until they have become completely popular then start to decline in popularity.

Destroying the world one page at a time

Can writing be destructive? Can the words and ideas of one help to ruin the world? Yes.
Writing can be vicious, even dangerous for some. Hate and words that find their way from brains to finger tips to the page can be some of the most invasive and destructive writing of the soul, which is not a good thing.
I do not write very hateful things. I write self loathing characters and the struggles they face.
I do not write about killing people for glory, unless it is the bad guy. Even then, he is human.
We are all human, but the problem is we all have a bit of hate.
Even Flanders did, remember?
I dont know why I felt compelled to write this. I think because my mind has been a negative place the last few days and I'm not writing very much, if at all. Its not healthy for me to go this long without writing, so I'm going to go do that.
But it will only be the healthy writing.
On a side note I'm trying my hand at flash fiction, see if I cant get that down to a science.