GREAT APRIL FOOLS JOKE #15
- BREAK INTO A STRANGER’S APARTMENT
- REARRANGE THEIR FURNITURE
- WHEN THEY COME HOME, SHOOT THEM IN THE FACE
(via thendless)
Today
Today, I saw the stones that break my bones and the words that wouldn’t hurt me,
I saw the rocks rising in and out of the sea with the waves and wondered wounded,
Oh, how I would look and stare upon those rocks, those stones that never hurt me,
And I went to a forest, and saw the sticks, that break my bones,
All the jeering creatures jibing me as they swung from base to branch,
But all the while I heard the echoes, of the names that never hurt me?
The Battle of Moulkin, Part Two
The sun rose over the ashes of Moulkin; the oranges and reds pouring over the rubble seeming to ignite them once again. A thousand bodies lay on the stained red fields just a mile off, cold and dead.
That same sun rose over the Castle of Rollow, and danced through the windows of Prince Madoc, waking him out of a drunken sleep. Proof of the celebration the night before covered every inch of the room. Wine spilled on the quilts, bottles strewn about the floor, and two naked servant girls laying on either side of the hazy prince were all reminders of exactly what he was trying to forget. Madoc shook the two young ladies awake and searched the floor for a bottle that was not completely empty. His head throbbed, seeming to have a pulse of its own, and Madoc sank back into his bed after the girls found the last of their clothes. He pulled the blankets over his head and closed his eyes. Sinking into sleep, the prince began to dream.
He was strolling through a field of wheat towards a figure in the distance. She was slender, lanky, firey red tindrels for hair, and glassy green emeralds for eyes. She was full of innocence, yet daring and wild. Her lips were full, almost pouty, and he longed for them. He slowly remembered what his father advised him to do, and the orders he had given to high command. The betrayl in her lovely eyes were proof that she knew what he had done. Madoc fell to his knees, and begged this maiden for her forgiveness. He assured her that this was what he had to do. He repeated his pleas and held her hands, only to be answered by silence. She pulled him up to meet her eyes, and the prince’s fingertips caressed her cheek. She pushed his hand away, and spoke.
“You’re a coward.”
Lovestruck;
you taunt me.
tease me.
terrify me.
thrill me.
every sound your lips dare to pass.
every smile you fake in my memory lasts.
i am overcome.
overwhelmed.
out of luck.
who could tell?
that every time i see you walk along,
my mind races with thoughts full of wrong.
the slightest caress of your fingertips.
the longing wish to feel your warm lips.
i am positively lovestruck.
dear bless, i need a hobby.
The Battle of Moulkin, Part One
This could be fun.
I’ve been reading all too many of Grimm’s fairy tales tonight, so I think I’ll just weave a little tale of my own. I might make this a series.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was nothing. It felt like nothing at least. Smoke filled the air and the sweet smell of sulfur filled the nostrils of each warrior that still lived. The sky was no longer the bright, promising blue of that morning; it was the dull gray that wreaked of hopelessness and loss. There were cries of pain, agony even, supressed by sheer exhaustion. They were the moans of those few refusing to die.
Blood heated up Murron’s throat and sputtered out onto her quivering lips. She cluthed the handle of her sword, feeling the smooth metal. It was cold, she thought. This sword has served her well, and she wanted it to be the last thing she felt. It was a nice dying thought, the loyalty of this sword. Murron wouldn’t spend her last few moments engulfed in her own wretched momories of betrayl or lies, or watching the lights of the eyes of her courageous men fade all around her. She would remember loyalty. And that this was right. This was for freedom.
At this very moment, King Balthazar was having all his best servants pour wine and celebrate the defeat of the Moulkin Resistance. He smiled down the table to his youngest son, his pride and joy in fact, and told him that those bastards got what they deserved. No man should ever doubt the King’s orders. And when Balthazar chuckled and joked of the peasant girl leading them all to their deaths, Prince Madoc was forced to swallow the terror welling up inside of him, begging to pour out and erupt the regret consuming his very soul.
He laughed, playing along like this was what he wanted. He sat and pretended not to have a care in the world concerning that peasant girl. He greedily gulped his wine so that the momories of her kind, green eyes would fade fast. Madoc prayed those emerald jewels would no longer stalk him into the depths of his mind and memory, but his prayers failed.
The next few hours for Madoc was a blur. He put away an entire bottle of wine oon his own, and was now hiccuping and laughing with the rest of the nobles, ignoring the red-haired peasant girl smiling at him from the opposite side of the table. Every glimpse of her was another glass to be filled.
Murron lay there, watching the sky grow dark. The moans of pain had faded away. Her men were right, she had outlasted them all. What a grave prediction, and so sad to hold true. The baby had stopped kicking now, and she knew the end was here. Murron was not frightened. A certain serenity finds one just before death. It was as if the Mighty Reaper had some sort of mercy untold of by those still living. She could not blame them for not understanding. She hadn’t been this peaceful in her entire life. Even as a child, there wasn’t clarity like this. She wept. Murron wept tears for reason she could not comprehend. There was no sadness, but no happiness either. She felt no loss in the final defeat, and there certainly was no victory to be celebrated. The tears streamed down her pale cheeks into the red curls of her hair. There was a dark cloaked figure in the distance. Death had come.
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