Post by Runenmeisterin on Apr 26, 2006 17:40:39 GMT 2
So, as the idea popped up in the fan art thread, I thought it's worth trying. I already read that there are some writers among us. How about writing a story together? I will give you a rather general beginning, which is inspired by Korpiklaani but not really relating to anything yet. Just keep on writing, and let's see how the story evolves. There should be more about the band, or Finland, or forests or even the forum members. Be creative and bring the story to live. I'll post the actual story in another color so it can be separated from my comments. So, I'll be gone for a week and wanna see results when I come back. Have fun!
The cold earth slept below and the chilly sky shone above him as he walked through the forest at night. Snow had fallen all day long and now it was freezing leaving the entire world wrapped up in a white blanket. He went along the same small, narrow path and looked up to the winter sky. In winter, the stars were brighter than in any other time of the year and the air was clearer and fresher. He took a deep breath and felt the chilly air spreading inside his whole body. His thoughts were more focused in the forest at night. The high trees were covered with pillows of snow that reflected the silver moonlight. Silence surrounded him; a silence daylight could never offer. He smelled the winter, the snow, the trees. He was so close to the world he had lost and would never be able to enter again. His last days at home came in little, aching memories when he failed to control his feelings.
The only sounds were his heavy steps through the deep, half-frozen snow and the murmuring of a little spring. He squatted down by the spring and drank the icy water. His hands got numb and he rubbed them. Home. There was no use. The first weeks had been torture. Then, his heart turned to stone; only softening for a short time when nightmares about secret touches haunted him in the darkness of this emotional dessert. There was no hope. The path winded several times and finally brought him to the glade. The moonlight cascaded to the snowy ground and everything was bathed in the cold, silver light. He shuddered, he had not been here for a long, long time but not much had changed. Pictures of suppressed memories popped up in his head: him waking up in the snow, alone, far away from home, looking for something but finding nothing. Nothing. He went to the wall of rock on the far side of the glade and touched the rock. Cold, icy, smooth, alien. Nothing happened. He begged, he screamed but still nothing happened. The rocks were laughing at him in high-pitched voices: "You fool, do you think they will let you back in?" He sank down in deep sobs. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He dug his face into the snow and sobbed and sobbed. No one would hear him, no one would save him, and no one would take him away from this place. No one was here in this vast emptiness. His entire body was numb. If he was not allowed to return to home, this glade would be his grave. He longed for death. Rather dead than one more day in this agony.
The cold earth slept below and the chilly sky shone above him as he walked through the forest at night. Snow had fallen all day long and now it was freezing leaving the entire world wrapped up in a white blanket. He went along the same small, narrow path and looked up to the winter sky. In winter, the stars were brighter than in any other time of the year and the air was clearer and fresher. He took a deep breath and felt the chilly air spreading inside his whole body. His thoughts were more focused in the forest at night. The high trees were covered with pillows of snow that reflected the silver moonlight. Silence surrounded him; a silence daylight could never offer. He smelled the winter, the snow, the trees. He was so close to the world he had lost and would never be able to enter again. His last days at home came in little, aching memories when he failed to control his feelings.
The only sounds were his heavy steps through the deep, half-frozen snow and the murmuring of a little spring. He squatted down by the spring and drank the icy water. His hands got numb and he rubbed them. Home. There was no use. The first weeks had been torture. Then, his heart turned to stone; only softening for a short time when nightmares about secret touches haunted him in the darkness of this emotional dessert. There was no hope. The path winded several times and finally brought him to the glade. The moonlight cascaded to the snowy ground and everything was bathed in the cold, silver light. He shuddered, he had not been here for a long, long time but not much had changed. Pictures of suppressed memories popped up in his head: him waking up in the snow, alone, far away from home, looking for something but finding nothing. Nothing. He went to the wall of rock on the far side of the glade and touched the rock. Cold, icy, smooth, alien. Nothing happened. He begged, he screamed but still nothing happened. The rocks were laughing at him in high-pitched voices: "You fool, do you think they will let you back in?" He sank down in deep sobs. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He dug his face into the snow and sobbed and sobbed. No one would hear him, no one would save him, and no one would take him away from this place. No one was here in this vast emptiness. His entire body was numb. If he was not allowed to return to home, this glade would be his grave. He longed for death. Rather dead than one more day in this agony.
