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ihaveneverbeentothemoon · 19 hours ago

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here we go!!! found a kinda old warrior cats fic im actually pretty proud of. i had a whole plot planned for this fic, but i never really made it happen. idk if ill ever share the few other parts i did write, but here's the prologue!! (quick note, i haven't proof read this, so if theres any mistakes, im sorry </3)

synopsis: Leafpaw and his mentor, Echospots, enjoy a meal together as he reflects on the past and what could be in stock for the future.

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“I don’t think I’ve ever had a shrew that big before,” Leafpaw exclaimed, releasing a contented grunt as he sunk his claws into the thick aged tree trunk to stretch.

“Mmm,” Echospots hummed into her paw in response, occupied with vigorously polishing her paw. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate half a shrew and yet was left with such a warm, full belly. She wasn’t complaining, though; Leafbare had been harsh on BurrowClan–harsher than usual. Maybe she just missed the satisfaction of being full. Either way, she wasn’t complaining.

After spending a considerable amount of time grooming, she set her now undoubtedly clean paw down, slumping herself comfortably against the twisty bulky branch she knew all too well. Peering in through the leaves was a warm glow that engulfed Echospots’ face, the remaining light trickling against her cream-coloured pelt. She let out a pleased purr as the warmth consumed her, squinting past the beams of light to take notice of the magnificent and somewhat dramatic product the setting sun had created. The sky was left tinged with an alluring swirl of purple and pink, while the soft clouds were illuminated with a fiery amber, caused by the sun hiding behind them. Great StarClan, Echospots smiled to herself, I didn’t realise how much I missed this.

“Woah. Look at the sky, Echospots,” The apprentice was halfway up the tree before he paused to catch a glimpse of the sky, staring at it in awe.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? In a way, it feels like StarClan’s welcoming us to Newleaf. Dontcha think?” Echospots purred to the younger tom, curling her tail neatly around herself.

“Yeah,” A hopeful smile overtook Leafpaw’s muzzle as he reached his paw towards the branch and pulled himself up with a grunt, settling himself next to his mentor neatly. For a moment, a peaceful silence engulfed the BurrowClan cats as they admired the sky.

A soft, cool breeze pushed against Echospot’s pelt, and she immediately knew that Leafbare was over. Well, that much could have been guessed from the evident blooming flowers and green leafs returning to the once bare branches, but it was as if the realisation had finally settled into Echospots. After a brutal Leafbare, it felt comforting to see the life in BurrowClan territory being restored. And maybe she was crazy, but something about the gentle breeze that continued to wash over Echospots reassured her that Newleaf was here; and BurrowClan would be doing better than they were the season before.

“It…could be a sign too, y’know?” The small tom turned to Echospots, watching to see her reaction to his suggestion.

She looked at Leafpaw. “Maybe, yeah.” She nodded hesitantly with a flick of her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever forget the recent Leafbare BurrowClan had endured. Leafbare had never been so cold, and prey was much scarcer than usual, and Great StarClan, the snow–she shuddered at the memory of being trapped underground in BurrowClan camp days on end, the only exit blocked by a mass of snow.

She recalled the state Leafkit–well, Leafpaw now–had been in while they were trapped–she’d never seen a kit so thin before. The poor thing had been shivering for practically the entirety of Leafbare. After the incident with the snow blockage, almost every BurrowClan cat caught yellowcough–and Mousesting was the worst of them all. Even if she hadn’t been so sick, the remaining herbs had been frozen to the touch, or insanely dry, thus having no good use. Yet, during their time of desperation, StarClan seemed…silent.

Echospots felt a sudden pang of guilt in her gut. She hated herself for making such brash suggestions against StarClan–she didn’t mean to place any blame on anyone, but BurrowClan had struggled enough. Echospots believed that her Clan deserved only the best, and she wanted to hope for a better future, but yet she refrained from agreeing with Leafpaw and being absolutely positive of the chance of a sign from StarClan. It seemed that hoping too much sometimes came with its own…setbacks.

Echospots briskly shook her head, attempting to clear her mind and resurfacing back to the real world; back to the view of the brilliantly glowing sky.

It doesn’t matter. It’s just a pretty-looking sky; that’s all. Not everything has to mean something, She gave a flick of her tail, awkwardly shifting herself slightly.

“Maybe it’s StarClan telling us that Rabbitthunder’ll be a great leader.” Echospots cleared her throat and offered a quick smile, eager to distract herself.

“...Yeah,” Leafpaw said slowly as he shuffled his paws. Echospots was all too familiar with this nervous habit of her apprentice by now, and examined him for a moment,

“Is everything okay?”

She immediately detected the uncertainty in Leafpaw’s eyes as the apprentice turned to face her. He opened his mouth for a moment, seeming to search for the right words, before shaking his head in defeat.

“Hey, you can talk to me Leafpaw. It’s just you and me here. Whatever you say can be kept between us two, if that's what you want.” She slowly pulled herself up to straighten her position.

“..Um…well, it’s really silly, but…I dunno. I guess I just think Rabbitthunder is a little…weird. I know I shouldn’t think that, a-and it’s not that I hate him, I promise, but I’m just worried he won’t be cut out to be a leader.” Leafpaw turned away from his mentor and hid behind his whiskers.

A warm smile grew on Echospot’s muzzle. She felt the heavy weight of guilt in her stomach lighten slightly. She knew Leafpaw was prone to overthinking, and sometimes wished she could take that burden of thinking too much off his shoulders, but then again, she couldn’t help being amused at the young cat’s concerns. Echospots released a soft, breathy chuckle, brushing her tail against her apprentice’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Rabbitthunder isn’t too bad. Maybe you haven’t seen some of his more leader-like qualities yet, but they’re definitely there. I have a feeling he’ll make a great leader; trust me.”

“...How can you be so sure, though? Like, how do you trust a ‘feeling’?” Leafpaw turned to face Echospots, giving her a sheepish look.

“Well, I’ll admit that Rabbitthunder can be a little strange sometimes,” She cringed internally for a moment when she recalled the time Rabbitthunder insisted on savouring the eyes of the crows they caught as they were full of apparent ‘nutrition’...

“But, Mottlestar chose him as deputy because despite his quirks, he saw something in Rabbitthunder. And if Mottlestar trusted him enough to one day take leadership of BurrowClan, then maybe we should trust him too. Mottlestar always knew the right thing to do.” She sighed gently to herself, her smile fading as she shifted her gaze down towards her paws.

Mottlestar had ceased his leadership and departed from his life as a BurrowClan cat almost a week ago. Echospots still couldn’t shake off the utter shock that tingled beneath her pelt when Mottlestar had called a Clan meeting, announcing his wish to leave the Clan. Anger and confusion had engulfed the Clan, the way a fire would engulf a forest, and it still remained. After everything–the unforgiving Leafbare, the silence of StarClan, and now the withdrawal of Mottlestar’s leadership, Echospots was unsure what to do with everything she felt. She found herself returning to the same, familiar question; where could Mottlestar be now?

She was able to reel herself back to reality once again as she felt the slight flick of Leafpaw’s ear against her pelt. The young tom was looking down at his own paws now. Clearly, he was not convinced.

“But you wanna know how I really know everything’s gonna be alright?” She flicked her tail briskly against his flank as a means to grab his attention. Succeeding in doing so, Leafpaw looked at his mentor with droopy, worrisome eyes.

“It’s that funny feeling. Right here,” She raised her paw and placed it near her belly.

With the look that Leafpaw gave her, she could’ve sworn that in that moment, he had arrived at the conclusion that she was just as strange as Rabbitthunder, causing her to release a slight mrrow of laughter.

“I’m serious! It’s something you feel inside your stomach. It’s a feeling that, in a way, kind of reminds you’ll be safe, and that there’s nothing to worry about. It’s kind of like a wave of assurance, if you get me.”

Leafpaw remained silent for a moment, as if he were thinking. He shuffled slightly, adjusting his paws, only to finally answer with,

“I…guess that makes sense. It’s like that tiny last bit of hope,” He looked up and gave his mentor a tiny smile. In that smile, she could tell he was still slightly ridden with worry, but it had lessened. She felt the weight in her stomach completely disappear.

“There’s always hope, Leafpaw.” She smiled at her apprentice earnestly in return, once again curling her tail around the young tom, as if he were her own kin.

After moons of struggle and chaos, in that moment, Echospots had discovered peace. A moment in time where hope seemed attainable, and for once, she felt that everything would work out. She relished in her peace as she watched the sun settle beneath the mighty mountains, leaving the sky ablaze.

Just over the horizon, the two cats took notice of two small figures slowly approaching BurrowClan camp. The closer they neared, the more Echospots made out the two cats to be Rabbitthunder–well, Rabbitstar now, and Mousesting. It seemed they had finally returned.

“Trust me,” Echospots' voice held a gentle assurance as they watched the new leader of BurrowClan be greeted as he entered the camp.

“Everythings going to be alright.”

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#writing #creative writing #warrior cats #warrior cats fanfic #fanfic #excerpt

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ihaveneverbeentothemoon · 19 hours ago

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little excerpt from the prologue of an oc x shane fic i'm currently working on!! might post the 2nd part later.

this is just the prologue, so the basic synopsis is frankie, my oc, arriving in Pelican Town and meeting up with her best friend, Chrissy (whose kinda like my farmer oc). the oc x shane content appears later in the story. enjoy!!

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The old, battered car plummeted through the countryside, rattling softly as it drove over the rough and uneven road. The weary metal skin loosely hung onto the car, jittering and clanging gently as it ran over the lumpy route. Clearly, a car like this–a brand so old that by now, it was no doubt long forgotten–wasn’t exactly comfortable at the speed in which it was travelling, threatening to fall apart with a subtle creek and a klank as it dashed through the greenery. However, its threat–or perhaps desperate pleas, were left ignored, unheard. Trees hovered over the road–watching the weak little car attempt to remain put together all while being pushed to its limits, prepared to tumble apart and become nothing but a piece of scrap in a junkyard at any moment now.

The midday sunshine glared through the windshield, cruelly seeping into Frankie’s squinted eyes, though she was firm in her cause to battle the sun’s power–or, at least, ignore it. With the sun in her eyes, she stared dead-on into the road, her brows impossibly furrowed and her expression fixed into a hardened twist of–distress–resentment–fury–or maybe just pure shock?

Too many thoughts battered against her mind. On any other normal occasion, Frankie would’ve been going much slower, enjoying the change of scenery around her, admiring the view…but this time was different. Is this really happening? Did I just do that? Oh, Yoba, I just did that… She faltered in her moment of impulse, racking her brain on how–how–just how did she manage to do that? Her mind was getting too loud.

As if on cue, a sign began to rear the closer she drove that read:

'Pelican Town – 500m'

Thank Yoba.

𖦹

Frankie left her car, having parked it just outside of her destination–finally arriving over what usually felt like a longer drive–and made her way to the sought after town. It all felt like a blur–some kind of bad dream, where the moments were fleeting, flashing by like a series of photos. One moment, she was facing her mother…the next, she was right out of the door, in the car, and on the road…now, she found herself entering Pelican Town. She really hadn’t thought this through, had she?

What am I even doing here?! She scowled at herself internally, her face remaining frozen and scrunched-up.

What was I thinking?! This was a huge mistake, I shouldn’t have come here!

Running away isn’t gonna fix anything…why did I do that?

Damn it, what’s wrong with me?!

Her thoughts clawed at the inside of her scalp, almost earning a wince from her in response–but despite her jammed-up mind, congested with a noisy plethora of questions, doubts, inexplicable brash feelings, and so, so much more–she continued to move, almost involuntarily, like she was being controlled by a higher force.

Frankie wandered into the town, her slightly worn boots hitting the cobblestone grown with heavy, rushed footsteps. She briefly scanned her surroundings, silently taking note of the random things she’d remembered from her last visit…

The billboard…the doctor’s clinic…and the saloon…coupled by the faces of lively townsfolk, only some being fairly recognisable to Frankie.

But she couldn’t care less about the town centre. At that moment, she needed to find Chrissy.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, meeting with Frankie’s face again. With a huff, she shielded her eyes, before resuming the familiar path engraved in her memory to reach Chrissy’s farm. Heart pounding against her chest and in her ears–rendering her partially deaf–and her mind swirling erratically, foretelling its eventual downfall set for the near future, Frankie continued forth nonetheless.

What was I thinking?! The thought continued to reoccur in Frankie’s mind.

This was such a stupid idea. Chrissy’s gonna be pissed…she won’t want to see me... No call, no invitation, nothing…! Oh,

A high-pitched scream suddenly broke out from behind Frankie, immediately causing her to violently flinch out of her brash thoughts, releasing her for just a moment, ready to respond to whatever threat was ready to spring onto her. But instead of a threat, she was met with…

“AAAHH!!” An awfully familiar voice erupted into delightful fits of laughter through the curiously jubilant scream–and before Frankie could hardly react, or even process what was going on, rapid footsteps approached her–like a deer in headlights, Frankie remained frozen, as if waiting to be attacked–but just for a moment.

As soon as Frankie was in her arms, she felt an enormous, yet bizarre sense of relief bloom within her, amongst the rest of the chaos that was currently ensuing–finally, finally catching onto what exactly just happened, temporarily allowing herself to sink into Chrissy’s tight grasp, emitting a tiny, weak chuckle in response.

“FRANKIE, IT’S YOU!!” Chrissy cheered, once again between laughs.

𖦹

“I still can’t believe you’re here, Frankie!” Chrissy quickly made herself comfortable at the seat of the rickety old coffee table, opposite to Frankie. She wore a huge smile, with eyes just as wide and glittery–there she was, right in front of her–Frankie! No call, no message, just a random drop-in on a random Saturday afternoon…which was, albeit, a little out of the ordinary for Frankie, now that she thought about it…but Chrissy was certainly not complaining.

Frankie, on the other hand, found herself fiddling with the soft material of her shirt, her eyes–which lacked the same sort of sparkle as Chrissy’s–flickering from her best friend, to her shirt between her fingers, to the landscape of the quaint farm life thriving in front of her. She noticed the lush crops, some merely sprouts, just freshly planted, while others were more larger and vibrant, their leaves and shrubs sprawled out for all to see, as if flaunting their beauty.

Her senses were all fired up. Like the twitch of a rabbit’s ear, Frankie swore she could hear anything and everything around here, even if it were miles away from Chrissy’s farm. As they sat on the porch of the old farm, every little thing was suddenly made strikingly apparent to her.

The subtle cluck of a hen emitting from the nearby chicken coop, the sun’s impossible glare blaring down onto the roof of the barn, the way the scarecrow’s hair bristled in a certain way through the gentle breeze–and hey, were there always that many butterflies flocking that certain tree the last time Frankie’d visited?

And, most irritatingly, the tag of her shirt rubbing ever so slightly against the back of her neck, creating the smallest hint of an itch that drove her all the more crazy. And in addition to irritating nuisances, a small pain began to prod mercilessly in Frankie’s head. Perfect. How could anyone cope with all this noise–with all these things going on?...How did she do it back on her own farm at home, for her entire life?

“Frankie? Hey, everything okay?” Chrissy’s voice entered Frankie’s incomprehensible stream of thoughts. She leaned in over the table a little, taking a closer look at Frankie–peering at her through furrowed brows with a confused, yet lighthearted smile.

“What? Oh, uh…um, yeah…yes. Y-Yes, I’m fine. I mean, everything’s fine.” Frankie gulped, meeting Chrissy’s eyes momentarily to offer a brief, false smile, before biting her lip and looking down to her feet.

Chrissy leaned back in her chair, mirroring her nod as her own more genuine smile lingered, faltering only slightly as she wondered how true her words were–altogether deciding to believe her, though.

“Well, good. I didn’t really expect you to do this kind of thing, honestly. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Frankie sneakily spectated Chrissy through a side-glance, watching her hopeful smile remain on her face as she crossed one leg over the other, then crossed her arms, leaning them against the table as she still, expectantly, seemed to wait for. If Chrissy were a dog, her tail would’ve been wagging enormously right now, Frankie could already see it.

At that moment, Frankie felt the tiniest sense of ease creep into her convoluted, overpopulated mind, that was currently running a mile a minute; working overtime. She was here now: in the comfort of Chrissy’s home–no, in the comfort of Chrissy, and her presence…her only real home. The only person she knew she could run to…the way she did so cowardly today.

After everything that had transpired from just this morning, Chrissy was the first and only person that entered Frankie’s mind when she swiped those car keys and hit the road. And now…here she was, with her best friend. Everything still scared her…what had happened, what MIGHT happen, so many possibilities, what-if’s to attend to, a future so unclear and blurry, and all while quite literally everything was occurring to her, the itch that lingered at the back of her neck continued to grow, now almost impossible to ignore. Everything seemed so unbearable…

…but at least she was with Chrissy.

“I am seriously glad to see you too, Chrissy…more than you know,” She huffed the last part quietly, sparing a more softer glance in Chrissy’s direction this time, followed by the slight twitch of a smile–a real smile–entering Frankie’s strained features.

Chrissy noticeably lightened up at her words, letting out a small, pleased hum in response, her gaze shifting to her farm as her warm smile lingered.

For a moment, a small fog of tension hung in the air–at least for Frankie. She cleared her throat subtly, shifting her fidgety fingers from the soft material of her shirt down to her thighs, sneakily making an attempt at rubbing off the sweat sticking to her palms against her pants.

The prolonged silence–which had really only lasted for about 30 seconds–truly weighed on her. She desperately scanned her options, anything at all to say that might help ease her situation, or explain herself to Chrissy in any way possible.

But her options seemed somewhat limited…scarce at best. Her mind was still whirling. Just what could she possibly say that would help her situation? That would display the tremendous amount of shame and guilt she felt gnawing deep within her for even showing up on Chrissy’s doorstep in such a cowardly moment of crisis?

But what Frankie didn’t know was that Chrissy was perfectly content with the presence of Frankie by her side, nestling in the quiet ambience of her farm, and the shared, peaceful silence between them. For a moment, she wished it could be like this more often…like how it used to be when they were kids. Spending hours by each other's side without barely having to utter a single sentence…those brief moments where silence spoke more than a thousand words.

Where else would you find such a rare and special friendship–where no words could go exchanged, and yet their presence alone could leave you quite literally glowing? Chrissy could feel some inspiration bubbling within her.

Before she could retrieve her notebook from the front pocket of her overalls, Frankie’s voice gently entered their stream of silence.

“Um, I know me being here was super random…I'm really sorry.” Ultimately deciding that any words were better than none–even if she couldn’t really articulate them that well, she helplessly let the words quietly tumble out of her mouth, drooping like a flower as she spoke. What a coward she was. “Really, Chrissy…I-I’m sorry,” She sighed.

Chrissy furrowed her brows once again. But despite her confusion, a comforting smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Hey, come on, Frankie. Do you hear yourself? There's nothing to apologise for.” She reasoned, her voice coated with reassurance. But really, what was there to apologise for? Was she missing something?

The simple sound of Chrissy’s honeyed voice, dripping with its consolation, made Frankie want to cry. Just the thought alone–or the sound, perhaps–of Chrissy having to comfort her so gently, so soothingly, created a wild and incomprehensible storm of feelings that jabbed at her chest.

An enormous lump of–what even was it anymore, guilt? Fear? Anger? She could barely tell–caught up in her throat. She forcefully bit back at the tears, or the slightest hint of a frown or a sniff that could give away how she felt.

“...you're not…I don't know, mad, or anything?--” She managed to breathe out, pausing in the middle of her words to clear her throat again.

“What?!” Chrissy’s shriek earned a flinch from Frankie at her suddenly heightened tone.

“Mad?! Why would I be mad?!” She withheld a totally bewildered look, displayed on her face through wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Frankie, even if you murdered someone, I still wouldn't be mad at you. You do know that, don't you?” Her face morphed into a softer expression, compressed together with a sort of urging hope that Frankie knew her words were true.

An amused scoff escaped Frankie’s lips involuntarily, followed by the traces of what seemed to be a wonky smile.

“That’s a bit, um…much, but…good to know,” Frankie chuckled weakly, pulling a stray strand of hair behind her ear the moment it left her neat heap of hair that she was so adamant on keeping behind her shoulders.

This time it was Chrissy’s turn to scoff in delight as she noticed that she seemed to be able to pull Frankie out of her funk a little. A win was a win. But she continued her case.

“Really, though! You could show up unannounced at the crack of dawn with a parade in my farm and a mariachi band in my room to wake me up, and I'd still just be happy that you're here–that we’re together. I promise you.” She reached over the tiny white table, placing her hand on Frankie’s arm to give it a subtle squeeze.

Frankie finally looked up from her lap, gradually, and cautiously meeting Chrissy’s firm and steady gaze. Her words, they were so strong and unyielding, to the point where Frankie found herself fearful of ever doubting them. She wanted to believe her so badly. She almost did. With Chrissy’s truth staring at her dead in the face; both physically and metaphorically, Frankie could hardly turn a blind eye. There she was, so determined, so certain as always–a complete contrast of what Frankie wasn’t: of what she lacked, but so dearly admired in her only friend.

But still, she found herself faltering to her own hesitancy; to the whirlpool that swirled inside her so furiously, clawing against her mind and stomach with all her doubts and worst fears. Her inner turmoil resisted within her, threatening to remain unending for the rest of time. She felt it slowly begin to consume her…to spread all over, like a disgusting disease, contaminating each part of her mercilessly.

Still, through her pain, she tried to put together a smile to present to Chrissy, which came out irrevocably muddled and lopsided; somewhat unreadable, but a soft smile altogether that didn’t quite meet her eyes, despite how hard she tried.

Chrissy caught her gaze, and peered into Frankie’s eyes–as if trying to catch a glance through the windows of her mind to uncover whatever mysteries might lay within, that could only faintly be given away through the sad look in her eyes. In the end, she came out disappointed and empty-handed: but only for a moment.

“Hey. How about we head inside? I’ve added five new chapters to my story since you last read it, and I just know you’re gonna love what I came up with.” Chrissy voiced indefinitely, a newfound sense of hope refuelled within her as she gave Frankie an enthusiastic shake of her shoulder.

At this rate, Frankie was desperate for any sort of distraction from…well, everything. And what better way than to indulge in Chrissy’s long awaited story? So, with a nod and a small ‘yeah’, the pair rose from their seats on the front porch, and disappeared into Chrissy’s home, allowing the outside farm life to resume in a now more quiet setting.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

#writing #creative writing #excerpt #fanfic #oc x canon #oc x shane #sdv

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ihaveneverbeentothemoon · 22 hours ago

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posting random pieces of writing i find laying around in my google docs!! idk if im proud of this one or if i think its too pretentious, but either way, here it is! :3

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

A weave of colours spin through my mind. Orange, blue, purple, green. Bright, dull, vibrant, neon–different variants of each shade, some colours I don’t even know the name of.

The colours that shine bright, they render me blind, blazing through my squinted eyes which beg for mercy. They flash and dance about, prancing to-and-fro as they sparkle profusely, refusing to ever cease their sparkling. Each colour has its own distinct noise. One colour clatters loudly, like a church bell, or a wooden spoon hitting a metal pot. Amidst the vigorous clangs are curiously delightful noises emitted by the colours that tickle my ears, sounds akin to a crunchy loaf of bread being sliced, or the laughter of a fox. Tears well up in my eyes while an awaiting laugh prickles in my throat; I’m not sure which one to release.

The vivid colours–pink, red, yellow, orange–they hug my heart as tight as possible, wrapping their glowing arms around my beating heart and squeezing until my scalp is ready to fly off like a bottle cap. I hear them speak to me as I struggle to keep my scalp tight. The pink and the yellow, they give faint whispers, barely audible in the distance, while the purple and orange shout, urging me to dance the way they do, so effortlessly, so marvelously. A smile flickers across my face–I want to respond, but they cling on so tightly to my heart, like newborn kittens attached to their mother. The force they have on my heart causes my throat to tighten and close up, too, pushing away the faint presence of the lingering laugh. But it’s no matter. The air is polluted with how brightly they shine, and I begin to cough and splutter as the thick, contaminated air settles in my lungs.

I heave and I heave. My lungs now weigh me down. I clutch onto my aching heart and feel the thin fabric of my shirt between my fingers. Despite its supposed fineness, the weaves of the fabric slowly begin to feel bulky and dense, and my shirt weighs down even heavier on my shoulders. I begin to involuntarily cave in, like a hedgehog seeking safety. Indigo, blue, green; they flutter gently against my shoulders, urging me to grow my wings, their abundant and assorted voices tickling my ears once again. The colours, so intense and unyielding, mold into my shoulders. They tell me if I can’t grow wings, they’ll be my wings.

Feathers explode out of my shoulder blades, one by one, like weeds being ripped from the soil, like water bursting out of a whale’s blowhole, and my skin is left torn and ruptured in expense. The feathers shake and shimmer in celebration of their existence, each feather taking on a unique variant of each colour. There was the pink, and the blue, the yellow and the orange, the purple and the red, too. Chartreuse, magenta, teal, amber, cerulean, sage; a rainbow of colours I once couldn’t define have now emerged from my shoulders, with the weight of my shirt now barely a thought in my mind.

An agony erupts from my shoulders and extends across my back and my ears begin to ring. I pant profusely, wincing at the sensation of each feather tip piercing into my shoulders. In the back of my mind, the colours cheer for me, clamouring amongst one another as they all voice their encouragement, urging me to take flight–but I can hardly hear them. My ears ring louder and my head begins to pound. Even with wings, I’m stuck. There’s nowhere to fly. But the colours refuse to take no for an answer.

A group of colours begin to tug at my shoulders–more firmly this time–pulling me upwards. I can barely recall what their names are anymore. Nonetheless, I plant my feet into the ground and refuse to move, instead trying to avert what energy I have left into focussing on my breathing. Almost in an instant, the colours begin to whirl around me energetically in retaliation, their minds set on getting me to fly.

Unidentifiable hues circle around my body rapidly, like a swirl of autumn leaves dancing in the wind, leaving me dizzy and dazed–faltering as I make an attempt to flee by taking a step forward, before tumbling over my own feet and meeting with the floor.

With the cold floor now against my cheek, I slowly heave my hand with all my might to the space beside my face. Tiny specks of dust drained of colour cling onto the equally dull floorboards, and now the tip of my nose, too. I flatten my hand against the floor and allow the dust to call my palm their new home. The dust is soft but grubby, and leaves a dirty stain on my fingers. But I embrace it, anyway. I take the dust’s gentleness for granted, and wallow in what comfort it offers me. I silently hope that the dust will take the form of a cloud, then ever so softly carry me into the sky, and let me rest there for a moment. But the dust remains as dust, and I remain on my bedroom floor.

I lay on the floor with a silent, cold heart. My scalp is loosely sitting on the top of my head, and my lungs are worn and overstretched. Grey feathers begin to wistfully fall from my wings, like a wilting flower, wailing as they meet with the floor. The colours seemed to have wilted away, too. But I don’t mind so much, and take the brief silence for granted while it lasts.

At that moment, I catch the whiff of pancakes sneaking into my room through the gaps of my door. I can’t wait to leave my room.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

#writing #creative writing #short story #writer

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ihaveneverbeentothemoon · 2 days ago

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heya!! here's a little excerpt from a short story/scenario thingy i'm currently working on. this is kinda the first part, ill write (and possibly share) the rest once i get a chance.

the basic synopsis is that Brooke, (my oc), is given tickets to one of those drive-in movies, and convinces a close friend of hers to tag along with her. basically a drive-in movie date!! this part is just the buildup to the actual date, though. just setting the background.

anyway, i was pretty proud of this, so i'm willing to share it!! enjoy!

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

For the past few weeks, Isabella had really been going through it.

High school had once again proven itself worthy of simultaneously draining Isabella’s will to live whilst chipping away at her soul day by day; an everlasting effect high school managed to effortlessly achieve on all of its captives.

While egregious amounts of homework and upcoming tests in the shape of iron handcuffs weighed her down mercilessly, there had been only one thing that had managed to keep her going as she hopelessly trudged through the depths of hell that were her school halls–and that was two small movie admission tickets, resting in the security of her zipped-up skirt pocket–her last hope at feeling joy again.

Over the weekend, Isabella had miraculously scraped together just enough pocket money (plus a few coins she managed to scavenge from underneath couches and various other nooks and crannies) to purchase two tickets for a drive-in movie with her best friend. The movie itself had been claimed to be a masterful work of art over the 70 years it had run for–written and directed by a magnificent film director, prominent in the industry for his thoroughly complex story-lines that were perceived as ‘meta’, ‘streets ahead’, and ‘timeless’, all while the director himself was nothing short of pretentious…unbeknownst to Isabella, however, who saw him as a visionary artist and an expert in storytelling.

Day by day, school only became increasingly unbearable–but the promise of viewing a masterpiece of a love story–’Bread and Butterflies’–kept Isabella motivated. Even if it took crawling on all fours, she would get to that movie. She’d become certain that any suffering was worth enduring if it meant she could get to the drive-in with her friend, and watch the movie.

It turned out, however, that she’d underestimated herself a little.

It started with just one little cough. One tiny little cough from her younger cousin Curtis…then, a few sneezes from little Charlie…which only escalated into Uncle Frank suffering from a lung-shattering cough, which lead to Auntie Dee dealing with a watery nose, and before you knew it, the entire household had been infected with a nasty cold–one that had stubbornly latched onto each of Isabella’s family members–except for her great grandmother, Brooke, and herself.

All it took was one slightly sore throat, and before she knew it, Isabella had become bedridden with the same cold her family had attained…but worse, somehow. And as if her untimely predicament wasn’t bad enough, she’d coincidentally fallen terribly ill the moment her family began to come out of their colds.

The movie tickets that had once evoked such hope within Isabella now rested miserably on her bedside table, only serving as a tragic reminder of what she’d be missing out on. It took one singular cold to crush her hopes and dreams. Boy, did she feel pathetic. But after all the money she’d spent (exactly $12.52), plus all the extra time she’d spent daydreaming about and anticipating the upcoming movie, it occurred to her that simply abandoning the tickets wouldn’t do her any justice. Buying tickets to one of the most anticipated and amazing movies she would’ve ever had the privilege of seeing, only to not even go to the drive-in herself was the biggest waste, and not to mention disappointment, she’d ever experienced in her life…unless she put the tickets to use somehow?

“Ooh, boy, do you look rough…” Brooke winced at the sight of her bedridden sister–messy hair, a pile of used tissues beside her, and a green face–for a moment she wondered if something had possessed her rather than infected her, but approached her bed nonetheless.

“Don’t rub it in. I feel like crap…” Isabella’s nasally voice croaked, using what energy she had left to muster up a competent response.

“Sorry…you definitely look it. I mean, I knew you were bad, but this is on another level!” Brooke breathed out a chuckle, completely disregarding Isabella’s previous request.

“What did I just say?” Isabella raised her hands in protest which fell back down in her lap defeatedly. Realising what she’d done, Brooke pressed her lips into a thin line, looking down as she muttered the words ‘sorry…’ once more.

“So, what d’you need? Your big sister’s at your full disposal!” She pointed at Isabella with a prideful smile stretched across her face.

“Wow, lucky me.” Isa retorted flatly before reaching over to her bedside table, retrieving her tickets with a strained grunt, before returning to her bed comfortably.

“Ooh! Hey, whatcha got there?” Brooke’s eyes lit up at the brightly-coloured tiny bits of paper, now held between Isa’s fingers.

“These,” Isa sighed dejectedly, longingly looking over the precious tickets in her hand. “are movie tickets. Margot and I were planning to see this amazing film over the weekend, but…”

“...buuut you’ve caught literal death,” Brooke cheekily gestured to Isabella’s appearance with one hand, the other placed on her hip while a playful smirk grew on her features.

“...right.” A cold stare had sunken into Isa’s features as she glared at her older sister; she might’ve caught death, but her sharp attitude had not gone anywhere. For a moment, she reconsidered her decision that she was about to make; but who else would she give the tickets to?

Isabella let out a long, deep sigh.

“Here. I want you to have them…” She held out the two small tickets in offering to Brooke.

“Wait, really?! But…this movie’s all you’ve been hammering on about for like…forever!” Brooke stated, hesitantly reaching out to receive Isabella’s movie tickets.

Isa briefly scoffed at Brooke’s choice of words, defining her excitement as ‘hammering on’, but decided to brush past it.

“Brooke, look at me…you basically said it yourself. I’m a total mess. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it,” Right as she completed her sentence, Isabella turned to let out a heaving cough into the corner of her bent arm–at the sight, Brooke rushed in closer to offer a hand–litereally, slamming her palm against Isa’s back.

Through coughs, splutters, and desperate flailing hand gestures to try ward the worried Brooke off, Isa managed to choke out a couple of words: “I’m fine, I’m fine!”

“Oh, okay, okay, my bad,” Brooke murmured in an apologetic tone, finally backing off after hearing her words, and earning yet another hard stare from her sickly sister.

“But damn, you’re really not doing too good, are you?” She took a few steps forward, her eyes softening as she focussed on Isa.

“No duh,” Isa responded softly, though secretly appreciated her small rise of concern.

Isa cleared her throat before speaking, straightening herself out a little.

“The movie’s tomorrow night,” She declared. “It states the time and all of the other info you need to know on the ticket,” She nodded wearily to the tickets, now in Brooke’s hand.

“Oh, sweet! This is a drive-in too, isn’t it?! Hella yes, that’s sick! I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” She noted cheerfully to herself, the previous concern seeming to wash away as it was quickly replaced with a newfound excitement.

Isa quietly grumbled to herself, watching Brooke share what was once her own excitement for the movie she was supposed to see…but oh well. Nothing could be easy in her life, right?

“...so you’ll do it then? You’re not busy or anything?”

“Nope, you caught me at a good time, sis. I’d be happy to go for ya.” Brooke flashed a well-meaning smile at her sister, glancing down once again at the tickets–this time getting a better read of them. After glossing over the brief details, she caught a glimpse of the genre, and pulled a face; unconsciously releasing a noise of discontent.

Isa furrowed her brows as she heard the sound emit from her older sister, wondering what the fuss could be now.

“Oh…it’s a romance?..” Brooke said faintly, her sudden disinterest captured on her face through squinted eyes and her scrunched-up nose.

“Yes, it’s a romance.” Isabella firmly repeated, frowning at Brooke’s change of heart.

“Uh huh…but romance??” Brooke pressed. “I’ll be honest with you, Isa, I didn’t really take you to be a huge romance fan…” She trailed off slightly.

“Ugh. Brooke, you just don’t get it. You probably don’t even know who the director is, do you?” Isa narrowed her eyes towards Brooke, then rolled them. Before Brooke could get a word in, Isabella had instead beat her to the punch.

“It’s not just ‘romance’, Brooke. The movie expresses a story about heartbreak, the complexities of love, and growing up, all while battling themes such as life and death in the most beautiful way…it even dabbles in time travel, but in a way that’s not obnoxious, or on the nose. It’s a story that’s never been done before. It’s more than a story, it’s an experience, and a total work of art. Y’know, I’ve heard that if you see the movie backwards, it’s the same thing? Where will you ever find another movie as amazing as that?” Isa held her heart in her hand as she passionately delved into what to expect of the movie, in which case, sounded like a nonsensical, tortuous enigma that needed to be dissected by philosophers for it to make any sort of sense.

“Ohhh, alright, so it’s one of those films you movie buffs get so crazy over. I get it, I get it! I’m totally down!” Brooke nodded with a wide smile, crossing her arms.

Isa just sighed.

“Okay, but Brooke–please, please, please really listen to the movie. Everything in this film means something–this director always makes his decisions for specific reasons. I really want you to appreciate it for what it is–a masterpiece…and for my sake, too…please.”

“Say no more, say no more! Isa, you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m gonna enjoy this movie so hard, it won't even know what hit it. Anddd, I think I know just who to take with me!” Brooke announced, smiling down at the second ticket between her fingers.

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(thank u if u made it this far <3 if anyone got the few brief community & iasip references i sprinkled in, ily)

#ocs #original characters #writing #short story #kind of #streets ahead #excerpt

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