?Stories by the Fire?-- a short story mega-thread

[seeking_brilliance]

On 18/01/2021 at 4:04 PM, Myioko said:

I wrote a story that is just under 1,000 words, I'm more used to drawing than using words so I'm guessing my writing is clumsy/unrefined and flowery. 

 

I love it!! So mysterious and good. The childhood cave, the tunnel, the city. It was very interesting. Would you be interested in another writing prompt? We could wait a week if you wish. 

You are a writer!! 

[Hulia]

On 18.1.2021 at 11:36 PM, seeking_brilliance said:

   Devil's den

Sorry, my thoughts are made of concrete today. Was it a happy end? ... or not?

[seeking_brilliance]

2 minutes ago, Hulia said:

Sorry, my thoughts are made of concrete today. Was it a happy end? ... or not?

Open ended ? it's up to you to finish the story. 

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko awesome do you want to pick the picture? 

Thank you, I'm glad you liked the story. I've been told I have good dialogue, I always work hard to make it sound natural. . 

Yeah I noticed we had the similar voices... Very cool ?

 

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko OK cool let's set a deadline of one week from today (Thursday) and word limit of 1500 words 

[seeking_brilliance]

oops I'm done.  
@Myioko thanks so much for inspiring this story, I ended up loving it.  Can't wait to read yours. 
 

This is meant to be read with the reading music when you get to that spot. Just click play and continue reading. ALSO-- see pic before reading. 


     The Golden Prayer

     When I first got to Heaven, they stuck me on the first floor mailroom filing prayer requests. These requests piled in through countless channels in the form of hand written notes, and I never questioned what the point in all this was when the big man upstairs--the head hancho CEO himself-- could hear prayers telepathically. You learn not to ask a lot of questions in Heaven. (After some time, I came to suspect it was because no one really knows.)

     And trust me, I had questions. Like why was Heaven some corporate skyrise with glass panels stretching up to the clouds? I thought we were supposed  to be in the clouds, dancing around some pearly gates or something. No one told me I'd be put to work. And what the heck was up with the angels? I couldn't tell if they were supposed to be our supervisors or us theirs; because they were very shy and would teleport away the very second I made eye contact.

     I would have had like zero training if it weren't for the kind souls who were put there with me in the mailroom. A nice man named Jerry (who was homeless most of his adult living life) showed me the ropes of filing the prayer requests. He said he was teaching me exactly how he was taught when he arrived. 'The good ol' way.'

     "Now, its very important to get everything in perfect alphabetical order," he'd say often, "God is real particular about order, let me tell you. Trust me, they notice. Do good and you may move on up someday, kid."

     Jerry had been trying to get into accounting for two human decades. Honestly, I think at this point he'd settle for custodian, just to get off the first floor.

     One morning, after pulling an all-nighter during covid season, I stumbled upon an odd colored envelope which appeared from an unknown channel. It was on the floor in a pile of white envelopes, but this one was golden with a red wax seal. When I picked it up the mailroom echoed with gasps; and Jerry emerged, approaching with hesitation.

    "It's you," he said, eyes widening. "Of course its you. I knew it from the very beginning."

    "What?" I asked, stunned. "What is it?"

     "You got a golden prayer," he answered. Was he crying? "Those are hand delivered, by whoever finds it. Cannot be touched by two souls. It's yours kid. You're the one. Straight to the top."

     The crowd parted while he and two more elders led me down to the far side of the mailroom and to an elevator.

     "Now, go," Jerry said, wiping an eye. "And remember me. I was the one who gave you an extra donut on your first day, yesir!"

     "Well I'll be back soon of course," I said.

     "No, no," he replied solemnly. "They say those who deliver the golden prayer never come back down… now go!"

     He shoved me into the elevator and with one last hopeful wave goodbye,  pressed the button to close the doors.

 

 

 

     I… I had to catch my breath for a second and process…

    Like what the actual hell? (oops, sorry God!)

    The elevator climbed and climbed, up and up to-- well, the heavens I guess. It claimed there were 72 floors but I'll be dam--darned-- if it didn't feel like an eternal climb. On and on… long enough for it to truly  set in where I was headed, and for the mind to invent a million things of what I'd see when I would arrive. It was almost torture, had I not whole lifetimes to reflect upon to bide the time.

    Finally, with a chime like an alarm clock stealing me from a pleasant dream, the doors opened on floor 72.

    "Come, come," the angels beckoned me, lining both sides of the hall  down towards great big golden doors. They played the most beautiful music on pearly harps and golden trumpets, and it struck me that these angels were not shy at all. They looked me in the eye, flooding the very essence of my being with a type of love I could never describe. I was here. I was worthy.

   I was Home.

    Or perhaps it was the golden prayer in my hands-- but oh well, I’d take it.   
 

    I nearly floated to the great doors. I had so many things to say to the CEO, and not much time to sort them all out. But oh, was he going to get it! That was for sure. (What he would get, I hadn't exactly worked that out yet... )

     …And Jerry, I couldn't forget Jerry. He was kind to me.

     With a loud creak the doors opened wide.

      The first thing I remember seeing was quite perplexing. There was a time, I thought, when I would have called this my living room. It seemed like ages ago, but the memories were trickling in---and as they did, the scene began to build:  the old brown leather couch which had seen one too many drunken nights; the painting of a hippie Buddha I found at a thrift store down the street; my cat Binx….

      "Clear!" I heard from within the room, and suddenly the silhouettes of people formed from a dark mist. They were huddled over in front of the couch, and as their images materialized it became clear they were hovering over…

     …me.

     "I have a pulse," I heard one say. I walked closer and looked at the body. Yes, I did look like that at one time, right? Yes, that was definitely me. My name was… Sam. Sam Waters.  It was all coming back now. My heart was weak from a childhood illness. They told me from the beginning it would fail early. I just didn't think it would be this early…

    ~ Open the letter ~

     A voice beckoned to me from beyond, and I heeded. Inside the envelope was a small handwritten note saying--

    "I pray he awakens to his true nature."

    And with that, I opened my eyes for the first time since going down.

    After weeks in the hospital I was finally allowed to return home. On the way, I stopped near the city park. There was a homeless man there and I gave him my car. I could walk.

 

 

 

    

Edited January 22, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko alright sounds good. ? I'm a shameless glutton for feedback ?

Edited January 22, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko

? Hehe

 

 

I loved the story, can't believe you framed that it in an hour, mine took six hours with a break. 

It reminded me of the Dr. Who episode, but only in inspiration. It was a great idea and delivery. You are such a natural. 

On 23/01/2021 at 10:05 PM, Myioko said:

As to whether or not they made it up to the top is another story

 

 

[seeking_brilliance]

It's really hard to explain, and I can't pin it down exactly, and seems to change based on the project but here is my best attempt :

For example with the short stories... Short stories are definitely not my focus. I am working on a novel idea, and have always wanted to write a novel since fifth grade.  But last year when I discovered the picture writing prompts, something magical happened...

So I look at the picture, and either I consciously choose a story idea /concept, or immediately channel one while looking at the picture. Then I just start writing and writing, not even sure what the ending will be, but the story always ends up resolving itself. The first sentence is always channelled, as is like 75% of the story, with me only interrupting  every now and then and chiming  in with my own ideas and revelling in my own cleverness. (?) - - - - and saying all that - - there's not any point where I don't feel like I'm writing the story, but I feel channelling is the best term. 

There was an alternative ending for "devil's den".  The devil was supposed to come out from behind the fire and play for Coles life. The big brother was going to choose rock paper scissors as the game, and then when the devil kept choosing rock on the third go (just like cole would) , big brother would finally understand and pick paper and win. The devil  would then howl like a wolf -(or hellhound,?) and transform into cole and they would leave the cave, shaken and hella confused. 

This is what I originally downloaded as the ending somewhere in the middle of writing the story, but when I got to that part I suddenly felt it was not right and downloaded a new one that still completely fit with the rest of the story.  

I only edited it once it was done, and that was only to smooth the flow of reading. That's just a skill you learn by practice and critiques. (critiques from a writers forum, not from friends like me unless you ask for flow tips) 

Now, the awful thing is - - this does not apply so much to my novel writing. I still download story but also get too much in my head and edit as I go (which is a big no no). And then I never get anywhere.  This is complicated though, and not entirely true. Back during shut down I furiously channelled the first six chapters of this novel im working on, over the course of two months. I edited it like crazy and am totally in love with what was produced. Then I realised I didn't have a ending I was really working toward, and a good one didn't seem to be coming. So discouraged, I stopped and focused on work and dreaming.  Is was in befriending @SirVladimirthat the spark returned and with swapping stories with you and on the bilocation thread. 

I have restarted the novel, scrapping everything that came in those six chapters, EXCEPT the world building, and even that is getting evolved to match our new direction. The core story idea is still in tact, but in changing the main character it completely realigned with his energy. If that makes any sense. It's like I'm writing a story in an alternate dimension. 

When I wrote those six chapters, the first draft was not in literary narrative form. It was like telling myself what will happen in the story, often times in present tense like writing a dream report, and then the second draft was translating that into litery novel narrative style. 

Edited January 25, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

Here are two books that will tell you all about the kind of channeling I do. The first is what I read over thanksgiving break a few years ago during what I consider a major awakening time.   

The first book is the lite version, written by someone who read the second book and wrote her own. Itll be easier reading but teach you everything you'll need to know. 

Meet Your Soul, Elisa Romeo.

https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=pjBNCgAAQBAJ

 

Then this second book is the original and much more in depth.  Definitely worth a read as well

Writing Down Your Soul, Janet Conner.

https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=FMYC2yk1AlkC

 

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko however , I think you already have what it takes to do this. Remember in your daydream adventure when you talked to the fox statue? This is the same principle except you are making the intent to talk to your soul (higher self, inner guru, source, etc). 

 

But it's an active writing process and you have to write nontsop--whatever comes to mind - - just let it pour out. Gets you in flow state. Let it out and out and then when you feel like you have made connection, you can start asking questions (by writing them down) and receive answers from the soul.

Or you can begin the session with a particular question in mind and then just write, write, write, DO NOT EDIT YOURSELF just write and write and write and don't butt in with your questions. Then when you are done, reread it and see if you got your guidance. 

The hardest part when you first are starting, you will have to force yourself to keep writing and just make up stuff to keep it going, but at some point imagination will take over and your hand will just spill out words. In this regard it's different than what I was proposing with actively writing out a daydream. The goal here is not to go on an astral adventure or anything, just putting your heart out, literally. 

 

Can also do this by typing of course. 

Edited January 26, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

I'm gonna try it again, haven't done it in a long time. It's really like surrendering control. @SirVladimirhad a similar thread, about automatic writing.

The automatic writing I've been doing is an adaptation of it, because with some practice you learn to listen for the words. This is how I Channel and write fiction. I am able to write consciously and then suddenly switch to receptive. It's alot of fun. 

(I just got an insight you can probably direct the conversation telepathically... For example your hand has been taken over and instead of breaking the trance by asking questions you use mental pictures (and as few words as possible) to direct the flow.  ((Sorry, that probably sounds weird but I needed to write it down and it came up while I was editing this..)) .) 

I'm going to pick a story prompt this weekend.  It's not expected for you to participate but I do enjoy your stories if you have the time and muse. 

 

 

Edited January 26, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko

A recent flash fiction from the group:

(please see picture first)

     The kid knew he was destined for greater things. For example, this painting depicts his first trip to the market alone when mother had finally trusted him with a small amount of money. Of course he would need a sword and sheild to protect what precious little he was given. 

     He was one of those kids who really didn't know how happy he was, until much later when everything falls to pieces.

     At some point the older self would curse the kid- unaware this is coming from jealousy, not spite. To him, nothing is worse than remembering what was lost. The child is put behind him and forgotten. 

     The wise adult looks back and blesses the child - for the days he spent frolicking through seedy alleys and bustling streets were not a foolish waste after all. Fun and games can also be practice. But not only that... he was sending forth as a beacon of youth... or a calling to remember. 

     Remembering the kid, the wise adult passes away for the resurrection of the child; but this does not mean mortal death. You see, it's realized that there never was a wise adult--there has only ever been the Kid. One who merely pretends to grow up.

 

ARTIST'S PAGE :

https://www.artstation.com/pav327

Edited April 5, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

@Myioko that's so amazing..

 

@abrakamowse you see this? Hey I'd like you to make a comic for my Facebook group if you feel inspired 

[seeking_brilliance]

(From MindVenture club) 

Listening music:

 

 

Painting and Story title :

The Forgotten City 

It's been so long since I've seen the City, I had almost forgotten the fragrance of lilles and roses wafting out from the palace gardens deep within. It was the first thing you'd notice, when riding a carriage up the winding bridge to the great arched doors. Then came the heavenly sound of music- choirs and symphonies reverberating through the stone walled city; funnelling out toward the lifeless sea in perfect blended harmony.

They say the sea grew jealous of the exuberant life spewing from the city like iridescent smoke-- and that one night it swallowed it up whole under a bright full moon.

Centuries passed, then millennia. I watched as the ocean swelled and found a life of its own. Then wanting a city, it retreated just enough to have room to walk and build. It sent life forth and the cities created were marvellous achievements of water. They did not, however, come close to the beauty of My City. 

The sea has become a beautiful creature, but it forgets way too easily: there is no need to build. My City has been in there the whole time, don't you remember? You swallowed it.

It has always been there, singing. Pushing you, guiding you. Calling you back. Retreat now, under the full moon. Retreat and remember the city which sparked 'your' life. For you are not the sea as you've always thought. 

You are the City.

Edited April 9, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[seeking_brilliance]

There once stood a mountain, hiding amongst all the rest, in a place of existence far beyond worldly measure. The mountain was of heavenly form both within and without, and deep inside its echoing depths was built a kingdom--a vast network of earthly chambers all connecting in interlocking cylindrical patterns.

Here Terrance the fourth, king under the mountain, ruled for countless ages. His daughter Sophia knew the kingdom like the back of her hand... better, even. She had spent many a youths wandering it's mysterious halls, godly palaces and candlelit courtyards, quiet as stone.

Soon she would be mature enough to venture to the surface. Mother and father had been preparing her for this longer than she could ever know, despite all of the accumulated wisdom. There was just one final test... One last chance to prove she was ready.

It's common for a mountain dweller to forget everything when rising to the surface (really, it's a welcome part of the journey). Sophia was tasked with remembering herself, with no help from outside forces.

Queen Clara blinded her daughter's mind for just a moment - - then asked: "Do you know who you are?"

Sophia looked around her bedroom with bright eyes, seeing it again for the first time.

The Queen repeated - - "Do you know yourself?"

Sophia now locked eyes with the questioner, as if finally recognising their presence and inquiry. Her eyes closed gently and she just laughed, whole-heartedly.

Pleased, the Queen restored her daughter and wrapped around her in a loving embrace.

"Go now, my child. Explore! I'll be seeing you around..."

 

(art by Patrick McCollum) 

Edited April 11, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[abrakamowse]

On 4/8/2021 at 0:50 PM, seeking_brilliance said:

@Myioko that's so amazing..

 

@abrakamowse you see this? Hey I'd like you to make a comic for my Facebook group if you feel inspired 

Yes, looks great... I didn't know you have a Facebook group. I see it is in your signature... Ok... I'll be there!

:-)

Edited April 28, 2021 by abrakamowse

[seeking_brilliance]

Song of the Siren

(art by Patrick Jeremy McCollum)

             *******************
Captain's log - May 22nd, 1783

     We spotted land today, and are sure to arrive by tomorrow's morn. The search has been long and wearisome, but the crew has found a new vigor in hope of sand beneath their feet once more. Or perhaps it’s the song we've been hearing, rising up from the crashing waves in sweet intoxication. A maiden's voice I believe, I can hear it even now.  Jensen, a close friend and counsellor, assures us that it is naught but an effect of cabin fever-- simply a wistful mirage in the last stretch of our journey. 

                   **********

     Coming back now, I wast drawn away for a moment. While I wrote, the singing appeared to grow louder- as if coming from directly under the windows across the back of my cabin. It grew fainter as I approached; yet by the hair on my chin I surely saw a fine lass  bobbing up and down amongst the waves. She was gone in a flash, but even now the song penetrates the cabin-- calling me. Her voice is as an angel, but what she sings is not of any tongue I've ever heard. However, my mind swims with something I wish to put into words:

     Come now, down to the sea
     Down you plunge, down to me.
     Bring no possessions- nothing you'll need
     Give up the air, the grass and tree,
     down to the sea- down, down to me.

     Perhaps I need to get off this damn ship. Yes, tomorrow's light will be good for us all.

Captain's log - May 24th, 1783

Oh great and merciful God, save us all!  Deliver us from this wretched place and have pity on all poor souls who needlessly stumble upon these accursed shores! Never again shall I strike your name if you save what remains of my crew from the sea hag's grasp. How thou could create such a foul creature of evil is far beyond this mere mortal to understand. I only pray that you have planned a dark fate for this grotesque lady of the water. Her song still echoes in the corners of my mind. Her face haunts me in the darkness, even when I close my eyes. I shall be mad by the ring of dinner's bell.

  To recount: we lost five good, strong men yesterday. Upon reaching the shores of a strange land not drawn on any of our maps, the seductive song stole our legs as well as our minds- and one by one my crew marched for a nearby cave.  Even I felt the ghastly pull, though something held me back, along with some men who are perhaps of stronger will. Still, we could only stand immobile on deck, eyes transfixed upon the mysterious cave by the shore. Never has such a spell wrapped around my heart, an icy grasp in an angel's glove.

   Suddenly the song was accompanied by a multitude of echoing screams, and for one stupored moment they seemed to harmonise in some etherial chorus. Such was the spell of the siren of the sea: our souls entranced as she feasted on the bones of my crew. How the spell was broken, no one rightly knows. Perhaps she had her fill. Perhaps the devil himself stepped in to drag his wicked daughter back to her watery grave. No matter. What remained of my crew scurried back to the ship and we fled as quickly as possible.

For all who sail these seas, beware the siren's song. If you hear it, turn around immediately and retreat. I pray your soul be spared....

 

@abrakamowse @Myioko

 

Edited May 17, 2021 by seeking_brilliance

[Eternal Unity]

The Day of the Dragon by Greg Margolis

Part I

If The Initiate had to classify a moment as the most challenging he ever experienced, it would be the morning The Dragon appeared in The Forbidden City. The evening before, the initiate completed the last in a series of three initiations that were conducted by his master. The initiate practiced meditation throughout the night. By the time the first rays of sunshine crept up the eastern horizon, his master came to the main training field.

Master: How are you feeling?

Initiate: I’m scared, master.

Master: I’d consider you a fool if you weren’t. If you had answered any differently I would have kicked you out of the initiation and had you deported from China.

Initiate: Will he come?

The master pondered this. Meanwhile, The initiate felt his heartbeat stabilizing and his breathing regulated.

Master: One never knows.

Stillness.

Initiate: Today?

Master: Yes.

Initiate: 10 O’clock?

Master: Yes.

Initiate: AM?

Master: 10:03.

Initiate: Thank you, master.

Master: How good is your Kung Fu?

The Initiate remains silent.

Master: Ah! He who speaks, does not know. He who knows, does not speak. I’m sure you’re masterful. The Dragon won’t manifest himself unless one is ready for him.

Initiate: Am I ready?

Master: Not yet. If you were, he’d be here with us right now.

Initiate: It’s the fourth initiation, isn’t it?

The master smiled.

Master: Yes.

Initiate: You never told me there were more than three.

Master: True.

Initiate: Why not?

Master: I didn’t know there were more.

Initiate: How can you not know? You’re the master.

Master: Right, I’m a master. Not a prophet.

Initiate: Are there prophets?

Master: Oh, but of course!

The initiate's Chi flows through his meridians.

Initiate: Where are they?

Master: They’re amongst us. Undercover.

Initiate: Why undercover?

Master: The spiritual level of most humans on earth is not sufficient for them to understand the truth. Not yet, anyway.

Initiate: The Dragon… is he one of them?

Master: No. He is something else.

Initiate: What is he, master?

Master: He’s not a WHAT, Chang. He’s a WHO.

Initiate: Who is he, then?

Master: An Over Soul.

Initiate: What is that mean?

Master: He is one of 72 Over Souls. A divine spirit that enters the universe and envelops all human souls.

Initiate: Enters from WHERE?

Master: The Realm of the Absolute.

Initiate: He’s immortal, isn’t he?

Master: He’ll live as long as he desires.

Initiate: Have YOU ever met him, master?

Master: Yes. A long time ago.

I wonder.

Initiate: You told me there IS no time.

Master: I did.

Initiate: And now you say “Long time AGO”. Since there is no PAST, you just contradicted yourself.

Master: Contradiction is impossible.

Initiate: Explain.

Master:  Let's leave the specifics of your doubts aside for a moment and look rather at what is going on behind the scenes. Do you know the future?

Initiate: No.

Master: Do you have any idea at ALL about what will happen in the future?

nitiate: No idea at all.

Master: Do you feel like you have any CONTROL over the future?

Initiate: No control whatsoever.

Master: Uncertainty is bliss. It stimulates The Chi. You just felt it, didn’t you?

Their eyes met. The Initiate smiled.

Initiate: Yes!

Master: You just completed the fourth Initiation.

Initiate: So what do we do now?

Master: We don’t DO anything. We BE.

Initiate: Right.

Stillness.

Initiate: How many initiations are there?

Master: An infinite number.

Chi.

Initiate: It’s never ENDS?

Master: Never.

Initiate: So does this mean then that you are, still, an initiate yourself?

Master: Correct.

Shi Zen.

Initiate: How many initiations have YOU completed?

Master: Sixteen.

Initiate: After which one you were ordained with the title “Master”?

Master: After my eighth.

Initiate: So I have four more to go.

Master: That is a fair observation.

Initiate: But not perfect?

Master: Every master who ever lived became a master at different stages in their training. Let’s revisit. Come with me.

The initiate exited his mediation and followed his master.

***

Master:

Kung Fu Initiation One: Basic Movements and Body Alignments

Beginning students study until they are competent in the basic movements and body alignments. The overwhelming majority of China’s active Kung Fu instructors belong in this category.

Kung Fu Initiation Two: Intensive Study

Junior students study regularly for at least five years with a master and actively practice for at least ten years. Their advancement to the next initiation depends on natural talent, hard work and other factors.

Kung Fu Initiation Three: Study Directly with a Master

Senior students take classes with a master several days a week—if not daily—for at least a decade. You, my friend, completed that one yesterday.

Kung Fu Initiation Four: Disciples of the Sacred Oath

Masters are the formal disciples of The Lineage Holders. They receive the deepest and most secretive levels of specialized knowledge available in Kung Fu. Masters can be truly exceptional at some but not necessarily at all aspects of Kung Fu.

Kung Fu Initiation Five: Lineage Holder

Lineage Holders are Masters who over time are chosen and profoundly trained in the entire tradition by the previous Lineage Holder. To hold ALL - not only selected parts - of the tradition.

Although some masters are issuing teaching credentials to students who passed instructor trainings, the vast majority of Kung Fu teachers lack such credentials, much less the authority to contrive them.

Initiate: Are you a lineage holder?

Master: Yes. I have been a lineage holder for 25 years.

Initiate: How old are you, master?

Master: Ninety-three.

End of Part I

 

[seeking_brilliance]

@Eternal Unity @Eternal Unity

What is this from? Is this your writing? Google was no help on the title.. ?