╰☆ L.C.P ☆╮

^.^ Bun venit! ^.^
Dacă iți place forumul nostru si vrei să ni te alături, înregistrează-te și fă parte din "Familia de Nebuni"! Aici te poți distra și iți poți face mulți prieteni! Intră și Have Fun Love

Vă mulțumim de vizită! Și vă urăm o zi bună în continuare! Smile

Felicitări, bunnylovers! Lucrarea o puteți citi aici: Lucrări Concurs Proză - Septembrie 2016

    Plan B

    Distribuiti

    Ciocolată
    Inactiv
    Inactiv

    Mesaje : 15

    Data de înscriere : 18/07/2016

    Plan B

    Mesaj Scris de Ciocolată la data de Joi 21 Iul 2016 - 0:31

    A/N: Err, yeah. Dacă e o problemă că scriu în engleză, lemme know și traduc. Doar că n-am mai scris nimic decent în română în ultimii doi ani >,> Also, îmi cer scuze în avans pentru eventualele greșeli de tastare/gramatică; most of them are honest mistakes, I swear by it.
    În altă ordine de idei, enjoy!








    The Slain

    The corpse was decomposing to her left, and the crows were pecking at its eyes. The smell of decay, rotten food and death had overtaken the room long ago, but she had gotten used to it. The chamber was draped in black cloth, so old and dusty that the sun had bleached it.


    She had never seen sun.



    The only thing she ever saw was her small chamber, with the wrought iron bars on the windows, black curtains and torn wallpaper to keep her company. And the body, ever present in her small world, the only one she had ever known or she ever will. From time to time, crows and even rats came in her small corner of solitude. She longed for those days; if she was lucky, she could even catch a rat and eat it. The meat was stringy, but nothing could compare to the smell and taste of fresh blood, running down her fingers as she dug her teeth deep into the animal's belly.

    Once, she had lived another life.

    No, no, you must not remember that, you are no-one.

    But that life had died when she entered the small asylum, and her body was rotting in the room, alongside so many other skeletons. Some were partially transformed into dust; others still had meat left on them. Rats came to eat that, too, and those were the best moments to catch them, when they were unaware.

    She loved her small solitude in a way nobody could ever understand.

    She loved the smell of the rotten corpse, that filled the air and swirled and twisted inside her head. She loved the old, wrought iron bars that were firmly propped against her window. She even loved her raggedy, once white lab coat, that hid the wounds she had inflicted upon herself. The wounds sometimes stung, but at those moments, she would nibble at them, and the feeling of blood under her nails and the worms swarming just under her bare skin would make her laugh so loudly, that even the ghosts echoed.

    Once, she had lived.

    But she had known too much, she had loved too deeply, she had fought too fierce. So in a day of seven, in a month of seven, in a year of seven she had found her solace in the lonely sanatorium, the seventh one on the seventh street, and people had left it to decay and she had decayed with it. She had shrieked and begged and cried, but her voice fell on deaf ears, until she stopped crying, and she saw the body.

    Oh, how she laughed.

    He started appearing every other midnight afterwards, and he would sing her lullabies. She had learned from him that they were in a black pitch, in the filthiest city on earth, and that the people were nothing but shit. He had taught her how to catch the rats and talk to the crows, he had filled her veins with poison and he had ripped the hole in the centre of her chest. And then he died, and his body was left there, a feast for crows and rats and fat, white worms; sweet, fresh, warm blood still present in his veins. She had drunk all of it, hoping to find her missing heartand it was there, hidden safely inside his ribcage, but no matter how much she dug and ate and drank and pecked at his bones, she couldn't reach it.

    And the years had gone by, and she knew not how the world had changed. She remained in her solace, in her sanatorium, with her rotting body to keep her company and the fresh blood of the rats to run down her fingers.

    'You were him,' the crow called. 'You were us.'

    She hugged the ribcage tightly to her chest.

    'YOU WERE US,' the rotten body echoed.

    'You were us! You were us! You were us!' Bones and rats and crows and worms, they all echoed those very words, and she felt the ribs shattering just under her arms, leaving her heart pumping warm blood in the entire chamber, and she drank it all, laughing and coughing and dying and rotting, yet she could not stop drinking her own sweet, warm blood.


    *




    She did not remember eating the heart.

    When she woke up, a crow was nibbling at her right eye, and another had already taken her left one. The room looked the same, yet somehow different. As the worms devoured her insides, she realised what was wrong: the figure in the corner.

    Dressed in a raggedy black dress, the woman watched her in terror, and she laughed.

    For she was her.









    A/N: De obicei scriu chestii mai vesele, dar pur și simplu sunt foarte mândră de cum a ieșit asta, so there you have it. Reviews, maybe? :o3


    Irene.
    Moderator
    Moderator

    Sex : feminin

    Mesaje : 4995

    Data de înscriere : 15/07/2011

    Re: Plan B

    Mesaj Scris de Irene. la data de Joi 21 Iul 2016 - 11:16

    Bună! ^^
    Cărțile, creațiile în engleză sunt preferatele mele. Mă bucur că te-ai decis să postezi acest one shot iar faptul că este scris în engleză m-a determinat să-l citesc. Nu știu ce aș putea spune/scrie. Mi-a plăcut? Da. Chiar foarte mult. A fost ceva nou pentru mine, nu am citit niciodată un one shot ca al tău.
    Aștept următorul one shot. Don't make me wait too long! ^^

    Andi
    Critic
    Critic

    Sex : feminin

    Mesaje : 1691

    Data de înscriere : 27/04/2012

    Re: Plan B

    Mesaj Scris de Andi la data de Joi 21 Iul 2016 - 17:39

    Bună! Mă bucur să văd posturi de la noii memebri, deci să începem!
    În primul rând, chiar mă bucur să văd ceva scris în engleză. E cât de cât fresh, ca să zic aşa. Aduci o pată de culoare pe forum.
    În al doilea rând, îmi place foarte mult cum ai început. Deşi primul cadru al one shot-ului surprinde o acţiune în desfăşurare, ca să zic aşa, pot să pune că nu ştiu cum ai fi putut începe mai bine. A ieşit în aşa fel în cât dă bine din orice unghi, oricât ai încerca să găseşti vreun defect.
    Acum, nu ştiu cum sunt alţii, dar mie îmi plac poveştile macabre. În general, e destul de scârbos să citeşti despre o persoană care mănâncă un şobolan, dar din nou, povesteşti într-o manieră foarte frumoasă şi plăcută. Jur că-mi vine să caut un şobolan şi să-l mănânc. Laugh
    Îmi place foarte mult cum personajul este şi victimă, dar şi prădător. Adică, deşi este prinsă în acel azil, unde nu are nicio putere, şoarecii îi ajută latura de prădător şi în aşa fel, persoana care a fost ea odată mai are şanse să existe înăuntrul ei pe undeva.
    Apoi urmează un plot twist, fiindcă eu până acum trăim cu senzaţia că ăla nu e chiar locul ei preferat. Şi Dumenzeule mare, dacă nu e asta cea mai genială propoziţie pe care am citit-o "and the feeling of blood under her nails and the worms swarming just under her bare skin would make her laugh so loudly, that even the ghosts echoed". I mean, I'm in love with your story.
    Totuşi, abordarea cu cifra magică şapte nu mi s-a părut foarte inspirată. E şi un film, "The Seventh Son" or something, unde, la fel, este vorba şi despre cifra şapte. Mi-ar fi plăcut să găseşti altceva. Adică, de ce nu poate fi şi opt o cifră magică până la urmă? Laugh
    Îmi place cum lumea personajului tău se măreşte treptat, cum ai plecat de la camera din azil şi abia apoi te-ai raportat şi la restul lumii.
    Plot twist de la sfârşit nu a fost chiar de efect, deoare ai lăsat suficiente indicii pe parcus care să ne conducă la concluzia asta. Nu ştiu ce să mai zic. Îmi place la nebunia one shot-ul ăsta, mi se pare foarte rafinat şi frumos gândit. Sper din tot sufletul să mai postezi lucruri asemănătaore. M-ai surprins foarte plăcut şi sper că şi comentariul meu este pe placul tău. Aş mai putea adăuga faptul că aşezarea în pagină ar fi putut fi mai bună, dar e un aspect prea mărunt pentru a fi luat în seamă.
    Nu o lua ca pe o critică, este pur şi simplu părerea mea despre fic. Spor la scris în continuare şi sper să mai citesc lucrări de genul acesta cât mai curând!

    ♥ Nekko ♥
    Critic
    Critic

    Sex : feminin

    Mesaje : 730

    Data de înscriere : 06/09/2011

    Re: Plan B

    Mesaj Scris de ♥ Nekko ♥ la data de Joi 28 Iul 2016 - 18:18

    Hello there! Smile
    I bet you didn't see that, huh? I came to play! Tongue
    Just kidding. So I was reading your one-shot and I am truly pleased with what I saw. Big smile
    I like the way you portrayed the character, the way you described the space she was in. Agrement 
    It is really mesmerising I could add. I wasn't sure what to expect, but in the end, it really made me say `wow` and it's a good thing, you know? Wink
    I like the theme you aproached. I like reading about solitude and your point of view is absolutely fascinating.  Blush
    You may continue write similar one-shots if you want to. Be sure that I will read them.  Whistling

    Untill then, good luck!  Hi!

    Ciocolată
    Inactiv
    Inactiv

    Mesaje : 15

    Data de înscriere : 18/07/2016

    Re: Plan B

    Mesaj Scris de Ciocolată la data de Vin 29 Iul 2016 - 23:00

    A/N: Danke~~
    Am zis, de obicei scriu chestii ceva mai vesele, și poate nu chiar atât de simbolice and sh*t.
    Actual proof: here's something that doesn't have a title, and it's basically a lot of fluff
    Kudos for who gets the (maybe not so) obscure references

    ***


    Red had always been a prominent colour in his life.

    His mother's hair was a beautiful auburn, albeit flecked with grey, and his childhood home was full of the poppies that grew in the garden. The banners with the golden lion emblazoned on scarlet draped his bedroom. His favourite book, the one his father read him from, was red. The buses and the phone boxes he had seen in London were a vibrant red. And so was the train engine.

    Naturally, the girl he fell in love with was a ginger.

    And it fit her; it was the colour of love and passion and anger and fire; everything she was.

    The day his son was born, he was wearing the red jumper his mother had knitted for him.

    Red was home.

    ***


    Her favourite colour was yellow.

    Yellow was everything she loved; yellow was summer and sun and sunflowers. On the windowsill, the one next to her favourite yellow chair by the fireplace, there was a jar of daffodils. The curtains back home were yellow, and her favourite blanket was a patchwork of different shades of yellow, and the watch she received for her seventeenth birthday was golden. Her hair had an amber shade to it.

    One day, she wore a yellow dress to her best friend's wedding.

    And somebody told her she looked like a sunflower; that made her feel warm and fuzzy and yellow.

    Sometime later, she married him, a bouquet of sunflowers gripped tightly in her hand.

    Yellow was love.

    ***


    Whenever he felt blue, he would remind himself that blue was good.

    His own hair was a beautiful turquoise almost all the time, and his favourite room in his godfather's house was blue. The sky was blue and so was the sea. His favourite teddy bear was baby blue and his grandmother grew hydrangea in her backyard, and his acoustic guitar was navy blue. For his eleventh birthday, he received a bluebird that he kept in a cage in his bedroom.

    The moment he saw her blue eyes, he fell in love with her.

    For their first date, he brought her blue roses, which were her favourites.

    He was the one to give her the something blue she would later wear.

    Blue was childhood.

    ***

    Green had been present in her life since her birth.

    The tapestry in the mansion was green. Her eyes were olive, and she once dyed her hair green. The backyard she played in was always green, and so was the holly tree that grew there. Spring was green, and so were her favourite apples, and the shutters at the windows in her room were also green. She liked to wear her green and silver necktie, and she often bought hellebores for her mother.

    She fell in love in spring.

    And everything about the boy was green; he was kind and sensitive and naturally, he had green eyes.

    The first time she held her son, he was wrapped in her own old green blanket.

    Green was life.

    A/N: Aaaaaand we're out.

      Acum este: Joi 8 Dec 2016 - 7:59