I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants. Crazed and insane I begin my descent into truly the deranged maligning my own mind with millions of multitudes of reiterated regrets, the reiteration being read in this chorus of crazed chants, the chanting continues and I fall forever forward faster and faster freely flowing towards forgetting the ranting reiteration of the millions of multitudes of unforgotten regrets the rant receding back into the reiterated chorus of a thousand crazed chants. The chanting continues crashing into a crushing crescendo of a multitude of minds that hide meandering miserably inside my own mind with rending wretched remorse that returns me to the rant that awful reiteration of my own wretched nature that leads me back to reading the reiteration of my own rending in rants that simply returns to that chorus of crazed chants that marks the beginning of the cycle going from crazed to deranged the circular psychosis perfected in permanence, the rending repeating with each reiteration as the chorus of crazed chants continues to carry on, the crushing crescendo flowing forth faster and faster as I fall forever. I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants.
There is a music, a kind of symphony that plays inside the mind.
This music crescendos from time to time and the notes at this point reach a true harmony.
This moment happens but rarely, and for some never at all, but this is the soul of the world, telling you that you have found where you belong.
This is Greg, Greg is a good guy that is really tall, really strong and green. Due to his odd face and sharp teeth most don’t think Greg is a good guy. However Greg is fine man and a farmer, and likes to raise his turnips in peace. However, Heroes tend to think Greg is like the other Orcs (Greg can admit that he isn’t actually a common kind of Orc but it is annoying) and often has to defend his own farm from heroes thinking he’s a raider. However he tends to dump them on their behind, or knock them out, then they wake up to a hot meal, an explanation and they tend to go their own ways. One day however was quite different for Greg.
One day Greg, while watering his turnips (Greg does love turnips) heard a scream. Looking out past his farm he saw a young lady in rich gowns running, from a hero! Greg grumbled “Why does this happen around my farm?”
He looked up and saw the lady had tripped, and heard the hero talking of how he would save her and take her to be married! “Well, if she’s not wanting that, that just ain’t right.” Grumbling again
Greg goes back to his turnips before sighing and pick up his ax. Now, while it is a logging ax, it’s still an ax made for an orc, so Greg, for all he has a genial smile and nice demeanor suddenly looks fearsome as he walks down to the lady and the hero.
“Lad, I’ve chased you off my farm before.” The hero, being one of the delusional white knights that just have to have a villain simply attacks…and is promptly dumped on his behind by Greg “Git yerself gone lad, fore ya make me angry. Miss, there’s a house up the way there, you can rest and work out what you wants to be doing.”
Greg sighs and shakes his head “All I want is to be left alone on me own farm, is that too much to ask?” Sighing he turns to the girl, who apparently had fainted at Greg fierce appearance and sighs, hefting her over his shoulder like a sack of unwanted potatoes.
“Damn elves, oh look an orc, he must want to eat me!” He imitates a simpering tone before letting out a guffaw “Humans ain’t much better, but at least some of em are smart enough to not care.”Laughing he carries the young lady up the way safely, trying to not bump her. Sure he could have waited for her to try to save herself, but that wasn’t right, someone needs help ya help em, that’s what Greg thinks anyway.
The next day the lady, the Princess of the realm it seems, wakes up to a large breakfast, including some oversized eggs, a truly large bowl of oatmeal and some fruits. Looking around she thinks at first she is prisoner but the orc is nowhere to be seen. Then she hears a truly horrible singing coming from outside.
“Green and mean I work the land, strong and stout with ho in hand. I’m an orc but I’m ok, I’ll farm my land and say nay to the raid!”
This was a rather ridiculous song, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She looked around and noticed a pair of work pants and a wool shirt on a stool and she looked at her dress. “Well this is a sight isn’t it? Certainly can’t go around in something as nonsensical as a dress!” She thought to herself and laughed again before tying her hair back and working out how to dress herself for once. (Being a noble she tended to, as most nobles do, have complicated outfits, often requiring a rather silly amount of production to get into, or even out of, so this took a rather long time.)
Laughing she heads outside and looks at the orc, who smiles wide, which should be fearsome and would be, if not for the ridiculous straw hat and the large hoe in one hand. “Mornin’ lass! I be Greg, the owner of these ‘ear lands. Help yerself to some rest or whatever ye might be needin’ those heroing types won’t be botherin’ ya ‘ear lass. Ye just think whatever ye need to be thinkin bout through and tell ol’ Greg if ya need any help.”
This gets her to laugh, again. Old for an Orc could mean any number of things, specially if they didn’t go out on raids. Despite what people think Orcs are one of the long lived races, only living a little shorter of a life than an Elf, which is what she is. “I’m Yssa, from the neighboring forest, someone tried to say my own father sold me out as a bride price, an I don’t believe them but I couldn’t wait for help to come. Then that brute caught up to me somehow an…” She takes a breath and smiles “Would you show me around your farm? Maybe I can help you around here while I work things out.”
Greg nodded and let out a friendly guffaw “Of-course Yssa, ain’t a problem at all! Lets start with the turnips eh? I do love my turnips, best in the land if I say so meself!”
With that Yssa smiled and Greg lead her over to look at his turnip patch, which was a sight to see, as was all his farm really.
After that she learned some of farming, and he learned some of some the bordering countries. (And that his large farm was considered a country of its own according to his neighbors, something he found odd to be sure!) Then they went and had dinner, before going to their rooms for sleep.
They didn’t know it yet but tomorrow would be a busy day. That is however, as they say, another story entirely.
It’s the middle of the night, you’re out, walking. Trying to clear your head after a rather heated argument when you hear a woman cry for help. You look and you can see it’s coming from a little grove of trees, just off the path. The path you’re on isn’t the most well lit path in the first place, but that?
That’s far from any beaten path and pitch dark, as it is you can only see it due to the shadows cast from lights on the other side, which doesn’t help you much. Looking at your phone you see that you’re out of minutes and the battery is about dead, but the woman is screaming for help, loudly.So you rush off, towards that darkened path, shivering a bit in the chill of winter, you should have wore a heavier coat really.
Heading closer you start to notice something, after about three cries of “Help! Someone! Please Help!” there is a pause before it starts again, exactly the same, the tone, the volume, all of it the exact same. You slow your pace but it’s too late, you see them too late as they come of the little wooded area, one of them actually having a net and tossing it over you as you feel a small prick, a little pinch in your arm. Looking down you see what looks like a dart sticking from you before you suddenly become exhausted.
Looking up you see the silhouette of three men standing over you, with just enough light to make out a smile. “We got one boys, this one should sell for a pretty penny. Told you it’d work.”
Leaning down he grabs your hair to pull you up “They never can resist the chance to be a hero.”
I need the voices to leave me alone.
I’m sick of all the screaming, I’m sick of the clawing cloying creatures clamoring for clarity.
I’m tired of trodding through trenches that tremble and shake such screaming sirens to saunter through a sick and soiled psyche.
I’m sick of all the screaming, the creatures crying and clamoring, the screaming and the smoke and all the pain between, I’m tired of a scratchy skull and smoldering soul. I’m just so, so tired…please, please let the voices for once leave me alone…let me be so so for once silence might be known.
I would sleep if not for fear of dreaming.
It is not terrors that I avoid by leaving open my eyes. No, it is smiles and light and that feeling that avoids me in waking lands.
That warmth I’ve never known, that care for me that has never been shown. I fear the good seemings, those wonderful dreamings.
That is what leaves me awake and with a fear of sleep.
The idea of knowing a lover that was and might never be, a ghost that I’ll never again see.
That is why I won’t rest my eyes for even a short while, as to know that warmth and smile and lose it so fast.
It fills me mind, body, and soul, with not but rot and bile.
I see upon a tree leaf green, a speck of a stranger hue, a stranger color, something truly new.
That stranger speck that strange new hue, brighter than Autumn’s red, bolder than Autumn gold, it glittered in that strange Fall dawn and was something few would be brave enough to know.
I did dare to see, I did dare to find that color so new and so strange, and it filled my sight and filled my eyes and wet my weary and parched soul.
Now if only I could, if I only I will find that stranger hue, that stranger color, bolder than an Autumn gold and brighter than I brightest crimson. If only I could find that stranger hue, that stranger color I never could say I knew.
Oh to show the world what that green leaf did share that day, something so bold and bright and new. Wouldn’t that be something bold to do?
Truly something to brave, the task to share something so strange and so new on that Autumn dawning, that fall day, oh to be so bold, it indeed would be something new.