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Naraness
11-03-2015, 06:22 AM
November's 2nd Prompt is the phrase “Shooting Star”



If you have any questions about how to participate in this event,
please visit the rules (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=63004) thread or PM Naraness (http://role-player.net/forum/member.php?u=24919).

Happy writing!

Breggo13
11-19-2015, 12:43 AM
WIP

~N~
11-30-2015, 03:35 AM
And you thought they were a blessing.

You obviously don't know what they meant to people long before recorded history.

They were evil, you see. Nothing good is cast from the heavens to plummet to the ground in a streak of fatalistic defeat. Every single night, you can glimpse one streaking across the sky; another angel burning up in the atmosphere of reality.

Another dream dying in the still darkness that marks its blazing, cursed fall. See how brightly they shimmer; see how dynamic their trajectory! They catch your attention--all the world's attention--for just a glimpse, a single perishable moment of doomed glory and then...

... they're gone. Forever.

They will never take their place among those celestial lights in the starry sky, never count themselves among them, no. They sacrificed all, and in a flaming instant, spent and vanquished the whole of their being for one stage-stealing spectacle more captivating than all of the thousand points of light in the slow, inky river of the night.

Do not wish upon these transient things, the wise men will tell you, for that is like hanging your hopes and blessings on something more ephemeral than the moon. They are fiery affairs, full of screaming passion that fizzle with the same intensity in which they indulge.

Go with something more reliable, they'll say. Set your hopes upon the north star, the sun, even the moon, who--while she is certainly a changeable presence--at least promises a return to fullness.

Only fools wish upon shooting stars. Falling stars. Who but a fool gambles their soul on a moment? Who but a fool would put their heart on the table for a single instant?

But I am no wise man. I have wagered my soul upon these stars countless times, because they are the single most romantic thing in the sky--a doomed love; short and brief--yes!--but full of more splendor and life in that single evening than all the other stars put together in their heavenly majesty.

Show me an angel that wants to burn their wings to ashen nubs in their perilous descent, and I'll show you a creature that is willing to give you everything for a brief chance at rivaling God in greatness. A foolish, mortal thing, for who can compare with eternity, if not for but an instant?

I am not a wise man. I believe in the peaks of passion, the terminal velocity of a life lived fully, the free-falling plunge of a soul that has let go of all restraint and skydives headlong into the gaping maw of the abyss.

No, you will not survive this--that's part of the point. A shooting star doesn't come back; it indulges in the ultimate sacrifice willfully. It drives headlong where angels fear to tread, as fools are want to do. I'm not here to coax you to a comfortable, lasting existence safe within the constant boundaries of a life prolonged by caution and restraint--I am not a wise man. I'm not here to make sure that you maintain the consistency and dependability that others rely upon for their very existences.

If you want that, you know where to turn. The rulemakers are all around you; they maintain their standards, and watch their posts, and keep to their orbits. They risk nothing and keep to themselves. They stay in their place.

Like the north star. Always there, always there.

But you're mortal. Remember that. And one day, you'll blink out of existence. Would you rather not go out in a blaze of fatalistic, soul-searing exultation? Would you rather not grab the attention of the world for even a moment to say, "Here is all anyone can be, in a single moment, and I'm owning it."

No?

Well, maybe you're a little wiser than I am.

But don't turn your nose up at me. Don't you dare. It's not an easy thing to do, this blazing, memorable, self-sacrificial moment. I'd like to see you try--except, to do so will cost you everything. Not every shooting star gets noticed. Not every falling angel is the same. There are degrees of greatness, even in the blaze of a glorified instant.

And all the best ones are already gone, so good luck, finding a teacher to make sure you get it right. There is no getting it right. You spend all that you are, all that you have, on a gamble of fearless, passionate, unrestrained, soul-incinerating life. That's not easily done.

The more you bring to the table? The more you can burn. We're not about savings here, we're about getting the flames as bright and hot and full as possible.

Tell me you want to scream yourself hoarse. Tell me you want to lose control of everything you are, everything you were, everything you hope to be. Tell me you want to do something you may never come back from.

"That's dying," you might say.

"That's living," I would reply.

I told you, I am not a wise man--I can't tell the difference. They appear very similar to me.

But if you want electricity to seethe and tingle beneath your trembling hands; if you want the world to spin around your shuddering flesh, burning up from the inside out with a fury you cannot begin to understand or control; if you want to fucking give up everything right now, to break the iron fetters that have shackled you into the eggshell of your cold, stale existence, day in and day out, up there in your circular orbit in the sky, then listen to me:

Go for it. Throw your arms around the sun and breathe in as much heat as you can. Go as far as you can, for as long as you can, in a place you hope to never wake up from. Become your desires, your dreams, your dangerous, risky, soul-crushing sinful fantasies. Bet your whole life, your heart, your soul, your existence on a single splendid eternal moment of self-destructive pleasure.

Go out in a blaze of shameless, passionate glory, and damn your tomorrows to the fires of eternity.

And when you lick the bloody ashes of your wings over those crimson lips with a smile, then you'll understand.

m139
11-30-2015, 04:16 AM
Shooting Star

It was getting later. The day was slowly fading, and the purple black of twilight had almost completely covered the sky. Alone, under a solitary oak, Mella sat, watching the change that had come over this small bit of earth.

She had been sitting out here since just afternoon. When she had come, a family had just finished their picnic lunch. The three children were playing, running from and chasing each other across the grass. Meanwhile, their parents sat on the abandoned picnic blanket, watching their young ones as they cleaned up the site together.

As time progressed, the parents finished cleaning and the children became more and more tired. Soon, the parents got up, and gathered their young ones and picnic stuff. The father slung the blanket over one shoulder, and held the basket in one hand. Over his other shoulder, and supported by the other arm, he held the youngest, a little girl of around five. The mother held the hands of the two other children- maybe seven and eight- as she led them up the little path to the other side of the hill. Soon, they were out of sight. And, when she heard the distant firing of the engine, she knew they were gone.

And time continued to march on. It was soon evening. The sky was just beginning to be splashed by the brilliant colors that always come when the sun is about to fall. Reds, yellows, pinks, purples- all of them a beautiful canopy under which people walked. And there were many people out this evening.

One was an elderly man, walking his dog. He was whistling slightly under his breath- the wind picked up his slightly off-key notes and carried them to Mella's ears.

There was also a young jogger. He had earbuds on, and was staring straight ahead as his feet pounded on under him. He was so concentrated on what he was doing, that he did not hear the bicycle bells...

A group of four middle aged people- it looked like two couples- were riding some bikes at a leisurely pace. The two in the back were laughing- some joke had obviously passed between them, but the ones in the front were too far ahead to hear it. The one in the front almost ran the jogger over, but managed to get by on the far left of the sidewalk, his handlebar within an inch of the jogger's arm. Only then did the jogger turn around and see the other bikers, including the second, who was almost on top of them. He moved over to the far right. The second biker yelled something at the jogger. Soon, all the bikers were past the jogger, and soon rode out of sight.

The jogger had not seemed to hear whatever negativity was yelled at him. In fact, although he had looked behind him, and then moved to the right, he had never seemed to quicken or slack his pace. He barely seemed to have reacted in any way but a mechanical one. Soon, he had jogged out of view.

Night continued to fall, and the lights along the walkway turned on, one by one. Few people were left, and most began heading up the path to the parking lot. She heard the sounds of cars starting and leaving. Soon, it was relatively quiet again. The frogs in the nearby creek croaked, and the crickets chirped, and the water lapped against the banks, but that was all.

Then, suddenly, a giggle. And then, footsteps coming closer. Soon, a young pair came up the path, unaware of the observer hidden in the shadows.

"It's a beautiful night," the young man said, looking up at the sky.

"It is." said the young lady, clinging to his arm and following his gaze somewhat. She then continued, "Show me the constellations again, I forgot."

"Well," he begin, "Those three stars, over there, that's Orion's belt. Those other stars, they make up the rest of the constellation- It's a little hard to see because of the light... And over there, that's the big dipper, and if you follow the line, see that star, there? That's the North Star, Polaris. It does not move, at least not in its relative position in the sky. Sailors used to use that star to guide their ships-"

She was following his finger and looked at all he pointed at. She could not follow it all, but she did try. And when he got to the North Star part, she could finally say one thing.

"Let's hope it can guide us, too."

She giggled a little, and then he smiled.

We always will need something, and our parents-"

"Shoot! Your parents!" the young man exclaimed, pulling out his phone and looking at the time displayed. "Your father is going to kill me. We better hurry back."

With that, the two of them hurried up the path. Soon, a car started and pealed off, and they were gone.

And still Mella sat under the oak. She sat there, barely moving. Soon, even the park lights turned off. And yet, she sat there still. Finally, she rose, and stretched. She gathered the bit of belongings she had brought, which included all of six or so water bottles in a drawstring bag, bug spray, and a cushion to sit on. Then, she began to walk up the path that went around the hill.

But before she was completly out of sight, she turned around. In the dim moonlight, she could see the outline of the oak she had sat under, and the outlines of the lampposts that lined the path. She then raised her eyes from the earth, and looked at the sky.

Without the competing light, the sky seemed quite illuminated. Stars, spread out like thousands of diamonds, were imbedded in every inch of black. The constellations could now be seen in all their splendor, and seemed like kings and queens ruling the sky. And then, from the scepter of Ursa Major, a light streak across its paws, as if it had been thrown.

Down it fell across the sky, down, apparently to earth. To the world of varied people, as numerous as the stars themselves, and as different as the personalities ascribed to all the constellations. A reminder that whatever world is up above is not so much different from our own.

Mella smiled, turned, and continued up the path.

As for her wish? She wished that someday, a little piece of the falling heaven would be hers.

Breggo13
12-01-2015, 04:58 AM
Shooting Stars Lie
~ Chapter Two ~

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight,” Lena leaned against the balcony railing, her enchanting brown eyes looking up at the star twinkling in the dark night sky. “I want you to show me the way, like always. But today, today I need it a lot more.”

The young woman paused as she gripped the cool stone railing, the roughness of the grey material reassuring her. Her heart raced and she felt slightly short of breath as though she was still wearing her corset, pulled as tight as possible and digging into her hips. Her birthday was just a few days away and she was anything but prepared. “I just want to live my life on my rules and be happy – is that too much to ask?”

In the sky above, a single light shot across the matte blue, traveling North. Watching it, Lena felt a bit like crying. Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I just want to hear music again.” She hoped that her whisper would be heard by the heavens even as the gust of wind whisked it away. With one last glance at the night sky, the girl pushed away, returning back into her chambers, humming softy to herself as she picked up a comb and started to brush her hair. Slowly, the tune changed to one from a year ago, a memory she cherished beyond all else.
”Your highness, we really should be heading back,” Martha panted beside her as the pair reached the wall that surrounded the city, the furthest place by Lena’s calculations from the palace. The girl shook her head.

“No, not yet.”

“But your father, the king, he will have my head for this,” Martha gasped, her reaction out of place in her rather less formal travel dress. Beside her, the princess masked into the crowd in a heavy cloak, the tiara hidden in her room.

“Oh hush, he will do no such thing,” the girl replied, “I won’t let him. Besides, the weather is so nice, can we not walk a bit more?”

“Heavens child, I am winded.” Lena’s nurse shook her head. “I will need some time to rest my bones in order to continue.”

“There’s a pub there, we can get something two drink,” Lena offered, starting that way but the older woman grabbed her arm.

“Heaven’s child, what if someone notices you?”

“I’ll be careful,” Lena promised. “Besides, I never get to see what is outside the castle walls. How will I become a good queen when I don’t even know how my subjects survive? Please Lady Martha!”

“Oh alright, but if anything, we are going straight home,” the woman sighed, letting herself be led into the tavern named, from what it seemed to be, ‘The Dancing Bear’. Lena nearly skipped to the door, remembering to slip her hood on only as she almost pushed the heavy wooden door open. Inside, the cool air seemed to beacon, laughter and conversations filling the air as well as…….music? Lena nearly gasped as her companion led her to the far corner of the tavern past a young man who was plucking strings of some instrument, singing in a slightly husky voice.

“Don’t stare, young ladies don’t stare,” Martha sighed, snapping before Lena’s eyes just as a servant girl came over, tossing her thick red hair over her shoulder. “Two glasses of cider.”

“That’d be all ma’am?” the woman asked with a raised eyebrow. “Nothin’ else?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Martha shook her head in dismissal. The maid shrugged and walked off, shaking her hips in a way that caught many an eye. Lena looked envious, knowing all too well that she would never be allowed to move in that way. Instead, everyone would expect poise and precision. “Straighten your back Lena.”

“What is that?” Lena whispered, watching the young man with her eyes sparkling in wonder.

“Trouble, that’s what it is,” lady Martha pursed her lips. “If your father finds out, there will be hell to pay. But to answer your question darling, it is a mandalin. Once, when I was younger than you are now, the kingdom had many talented men and women who used to know how to play this instrument. Even I knew the basis. We’d gather together with my friends and brothers and sing. But then, we no longer could – music was outlawed and so I lost my mandalin. I never knew what happened to it.”

“He’s beautiful,” Lena whispered.

“He?”

“I meant it,” Lena blushed, turning too quickly to look at the table and her hood falling down. “I never seen anything like it. Why does father hate it so?”

Lena woke up with a rather mischievous mood, her mind going back to the throne and the small nook she found in the front right peg leg. Slipping a small file into her belt, the princess finished getting ready before slipping to the throne room, still dark and empty as the majority of the castle slept. Quickly, she got to work, filing until the leg barely held before hiding behind the thick curtain near the throne as she heard steps in the hallway. A servant walked in, lighting all the torched before brushing the red carpet in the middle and heading out, yawning as he went.

Instantly, Lena covered her own yawn, cursing silently at the human effect. Again, footsteps sounded and through a small crack, she saw her father make his way to sit on the wooden chair, a thick scroll in hand. Moving to be more comfortably, the king began reading, jumping a few times when he got to one part or another. With the last jump, the wood couldn’t hold it anymore and a loud crack filled the hall.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” came the scream as the king found himself sitting in a pile of wood. “GUARD!!! GUARRRRRDDDD!!!!”

“I’m here your majesty!” the head of the guard appeared in the doorway.

“Call the queen, you idiot!”

“Right away,” came the barking reply and the man headed out in his military walk. There was some cursing and Lena tried her hardest not to start laughing. The trick had been worth her broken nail.

“You called, your majesty?” her mother appeared, her father’s cursing stopping.

“She did it again,” the king complained. “She filed the throne leg.”

“Who?”

“The Princess.”

“The princess?”

“Yes, your daughter,” the king finally stood up, brushing off his clothes. The queen pursed her lips.

“And yours,” she replied, coldly.

“And ours,” the king agreed, coming closer. “I have decided, she is marrying in two days. That is final.” Lena’s eyes grew large. Apparently, her life once again was being decided for her. Shooting stars lie indeed.

Kicks
12-01-2015, 05:18 AM
There used to be a time when a small girl would run to the window at night. Her older sister would look down on her with these dark eyes full of longing and a darkness she had not yet known. Her older sister would take her under her arm, wrapping a too tight possessive grip around her shoulders. She would pull her close and with the other arm point out towards the top story window.

The sky outside could be filled with clouds and she would still insist to wish upon a star. When the sky was clear the little girl could see the magic behind the stars and what sort of power they possessed. And so she would listen to her sister, always listening to her sister. And she would close her eyes and wish upon a star.

During the day time her sister was horrible. Too possessive. Too gripping, hands like claws. And a voice with the power of only the older sister could hold. She was evil in the most secretive of ways. But a five year old did not know the difference between what was right or what was wrong. So she would play with her sister. There was a part of her that was hesitant for these games, but she would play because it was her older sister and she only wanted to have her sister like her.

Other little girls talked about their older sisters as if they were goddesses. Such beautiful older sisters! So talented! So nice and sweet! Always playing with them and sneaking them treats!

But her older sister was not like that. At night was the only time she was nice. That was the only time she would sneak in a cup of ramen, a bowl of pretzels. And even then she was still manipulative, still so evil.

During the day she would be taken by the arm and put into a closet. Her sister would leave her in the closet, in the dark for a few minutes. She would pretend to be a sneaky woman, a sneaky older woman with a boyfriend hidden in the closet she was coming to meet. There was a whole story behind it. She was a sneaky older woman, hiding from the scrutiny of her husband's eyes or she would play the roll of another teenager, sneaking from the radar of her father.

And after the game, the little girl would shuffle up the stairs with the warning in her head not to tell anyone. It was just a game! Do not tell anyone! She was only being taught what it was like to be in a relationship. She was only being taught experience so she could be a perfect wife, a perfect girlfriend later in life. Her older sister only wanted her to be perfect.

And at night, she was taught how to give the perfect massage. To remember that giving massages was an important part of any marriage or any relationship. And she was only being taught how to be perfect.

It was only later in life during counseling that she realized all the horrible truth behind her sister. But just because she had the revelation during counseling did not mean she actually spoke up about it. She told no one. It was only a secret meant to be kept by her. Time changed. Wounds healed.

And shooting stars were true.

She saw one in the backyard later in life. She looked up when night had donned on her. It came flying across the sky like a car hurtling towards a snow bank. She closed her eyes, she made a wish. She stood in her backyard, wishing for something bigger than money, bigger than cars, bigger than glitz and glam. She wished for healing.

And though her wish was granted, it was not complete. She was healed in some aspects, but in others she still remained cursed. Except, that night she could not focus on anything other than what came after she made her wish of healing. She heard a scream from a small child, then a giggle and shoes scraping across the cement.

"Shooting stars!" The child screamed happily, "Shooting stars! Make a wish! Did you make a wish!"

She looked down at her younger sister, so eager to make wishes on the shooting stars. She was so eager to have all her dreams come true.

"I did!" She cheered back. Typically she was not a loud person. She preferred thought. She preferred her space, her privacy. But she could always put on an act, always try to be the best and perfect sister. She could always try.

"Good!"

Perfect. So perfect. She had to be perfect in every way. She had to try to be perfect. She was taught to be perfect. This was one wound never to be healed, just scarred over to leave a constant reminder of a lesson harshly taught. Perfection.

It was everywhere. And if it were everywhere, then it had to be true. She had to be the perfect woman. She had to have a tiny waist, luscious hips. She had to have dazzling eyes. She had to have thin arms, thin legs. She had to have a thigh gap. She had to have long, perfect hair. She had to have makeup to make her pretty. She had to have the newest clothes to make her gorgeous.

It was hard. It was so hard but it was all she knew. And those voices, those supporters, insisted that she did not need it. That she was already perfect. That it was boring trying to be like anyone else.

But she knew the truth. She was taught it throughout her life, from a very small age til now. She had to be perfect so that her little sister did not ever have to know this pain. All she wanted to be was perfect so that her little sister didn't have to be, so that she didn't have to know this pain. So that she didn't have to be...

so that she didn't have to know this pain...

so that she didn't..

know.

this.

pain.