Friday, September 26, 2008

A game I can not win

Poetry, who doesn't love poetry.

If I died, would you even remember me?
And what would you remember?
The bad stuffs that were not meant to be?
Or the dance we did in December
What kind of dress would you bury me in?
Would it be white and hiding all the darkness?
Or black as the color of sin?
Whatever you do, please do it in happiness
My last words would be painful
Probably something that would hurt everyone
Never, can I remember anything joyful
With your arms around me all alone
I remember your trembling whisper
and Will remember it before I die
You told me that I'm not a looser
I do not believe what you had to say
Do you even care if I die?
Or do you just bury me in that white dress?
Do i get the chance to say goodbye?
to I get the chance to give you that last kiss?
Angel of darkness come to pinch at me
Lift me up with your big, black wings
Tell me that I was actually meant to be
That I was the one of whom they sing
Please little angel hold me close
Before you tell me that I am the one to loose....
This Is a game I can not win,
So I might as well not try
The angels have taken me for a spin
And I'm beginning to cry
I do not wish to leave you all like this
Yet, I can not decide
So goodbye I whisper in that last kiss
Before I disappear from your sight
Darkness pulls me with
Please remember me as I was
No fantasies or stories
I hope for you to leave me at least
Before these immaculate horrid
When death do Us part
You said one time
But yet, you left me without
Your passion that meant all to me
I am writing this as a goodbye
But please do not be angered
Promise me you will not cry
Or chose to kill in hatred
This Is a game I can not win. . .

Monday, September 22, 2008

The death of a Kindred

This is my first story on this blog, and therefore it is important to me that it is one of my favorite ones. I've worked hard on this story, just to get the right feel into it, the right.. mood so to speak. It might not be my best work, seen from the eyes of an outsider, but to me, it is at least very important, I ein't sure if it is my best story ever (I sure hope not since if it is, I might as well stop writing eh? ^^;) but it is surely a very personal, close story to me. The main character, and only character in this very short story, is a character I can really relate to, and you will probably notice later on, how Gabby here returns as a side character in my other artwork. Anyways. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


The death of a Kindred.
The story of Gabriel, Part 6

As my eyes stare around my holy sanctuary, this fallen church, I decide to leave my immortal life this morning. They named me a kindred, named me as one of their own, but I am not, call me a lunatic, laugh at me if you like, does not matter, assume that you are so much smarter than this broken lunatic, does not matter. I will rather die standing, than live on my knees, kissing their feet, they can not break me. I have decided to stay here, in this church and die before alter by the break of dawn; I have decided to bow down before the picture of Christ and burn by the break of dawn. What makes me and them different? Simple, they are dead, as me, but unlike them, I remember what happened, I remember my own death, yes, I felt the pain when death took my soul and left my body to rot, I remember how it felt when human blood ran trough my veins the first time, trust me, you would be mad too.
It is getting cold inside the church, so very cold; it seems as if I can not bear it. My pale arms move their way about my skinny body until they entwine at the base of my pelvic bone. I gasp, holding my stomach, as if I am pregnant. I am pregnant, carrying some alien virus inside my body. In a way, that is what they have created: a monster. A monster out of me no less, inside of myself; to devour my tiny, little self; and manifest inside my body. It is the evil my whole race has created, so cruelly, this will surely swallow me whole, I feel it, I know it is there, breathing.
I sink to the floor, the thin limbs locked together, I winch once more. The pain is overshadowing the cold that has taken me to an even overwhelming state. This beast of their making will be born if I do not die this night, conceived of my own loving heart, something they all seem to forget to give me, emotions that was pushed away from me, allowed me to be this abandoned child, forced to turn into a monster. But I am nothing more than a puzzle waiting to be put together.
I cry in the mists of a full moon, I pray and hunt alone, outside their reach, without their hate nor their help.
My body fold down before the alter, folding my hands, my fingers holding each other, as a statue of the virgin mother praying towards the father of her son Jesus.
”I am Gabriel”
I can hear my own voice whisper as a greeting towards the alter
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned, I have not prayed for two hundred and fifty six years now, I have murdered and sinned, drunk the blood of the mortal ones, created in your image. I have cast away my family, killed my own mother from whose body which I was born. And I have murdered you father, I hold now the monster that they all wish to unleash, but also here, I must defile my brethrens and kill this being within my own torso.”
I watch the priest hang on the cross, I killed him and placed him upon this symbol of god, gave him the death of Jesus, gave him the death that he must have wished for. Hanging like Christ, I hope for him that his afterlife will be better than mine, for I will burn inside the Eternal Fire.
I get up standing once more, walk towards the window and place my pale finger down the glass, blood still run from my black jacket, and I run my finger down into it. Watch a finger, sliding down the window, writing in blood, against the dusty, old windows, this abandoned church seems so cold, yet it has become my sanctuary.

This place is an immaculate Eden, for the chosen ones to keep them prison, I can’t stay here anymore, the heavens doors have closed for me and God is outraged. The church bells scream madly in the distance, as if to tell me, “Heaven is gone”. Blessed white angels come to pinch and peek at me.
Angels are nipping at me.

I write it down on the window, a message for my fellow kindred when they come to find me. I hope they will notice all of this, this fine spectacle I have made for them. I smirk by the sight, grin as I see all this mess, the dead priest handing on the cross, bloody letters on the floor, writing
G A B R I E L, to tell them that this is my fine artwork. My phone rings to tell me, one hour before dawn, one hour before the first ray of sun.
I bow down once more before the alter, silently whisper out towards the dead priest.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”
I pray in Latin now, the language of god, hope for him to hear me, whish only for him to answer and say “I forgive you”
But he does not. Dawn breaks trough the windows and I feel the horrible pain of flames licking my entire body. I hold my arms around myself; I kiss my fingers goodbye, and hope for a better life.
I feel as if God himself stare down upon me, and He wants his shadow to overwhelm me, but only has the opposite effect. I feel so; I do not even have words to express the feelings I feel at this second. I am so petrified, that I have to back away from the sun. Until the flames consume me, and I die... Alone.

Angels in flight, bring us a sanctuary, my sanctuary, where fear and lies melt away.

Exactly. Angels in flight is my blog, and it will be a place where I hide all my written work. Anyone who reads it and takes interest in my short stories, well you are allowed to enjoy my work, and you are allowed to comment it, but it is all my work, my heart and my soul, and I won't take lightly on copying of my work and calling it your own, it is my love, my children, my inner thoughts, and some of it is really personal, while some is not, but it is all my work and my babies.
If you wish to do some art for me, fanart of characters or setting, I would love that and I always accept that gladly, as well as fanstories.

If you want to post your own poetry or shortstories, please, go ahead and poke me with it, I would love to have some other art than my own here as well.
This is a little about my sanctuary.

Angels in flight... Why that name?
First of all, angels... I am extremely fond of angels and you might notice that trough my work, angels are a passion and hold a certain, important place in my heart. I am not fanatical in religion, I simply enjoy the myth of angels, may it be from any religion, because all religions have their saviors.
The line itself "Angels in flight, bring us a sanctuary, my sanctuary, where fear and lies melt away." is from Kingdoms hearts 2, deep dive. My teachers always tought me how quotes makes you seem more powerful, why use your own words when someone's said it for you, and might have more credability than you...? I don't believe those words, I am sure my own words is just as fine as someone elses... Then why use a quote for my first post? Simple... I like that line. And that is the only reason why, so it is not a question of credability, or an attempt to seem fancy, I just like to line and would like to share it with someone else.


A bit about myself.
I'm a young lass from a small european country with lots of candy and lakes. Also known as Denmark. I study at the moment, and when I am not studying, I read at home, or write. My life's been like any others, I believe nothing is strange there, loving parents and a sweet little brother. I enjoy writing, it is my greatest passion, and I hope one day to actually write a book. the whole manuscript of a book, and get it published of course.
Because I am from Denmark, some of my stories will be in Danish, most in english, and some of my poetry in German as well. I believe language has it's own meaning depending on country, and also its own emotions, and feelings. Lovestories are better in English than in German as I see it, and funny stories are sometimes better in Danish than English, where the German is perfect for something serious.
I love my dogs almost as much as I love writing. Cairn's both of them. They run around, run and run and run, and you can't stop them even if you try.
My favorite color eh?
Might be.. pink.
Ye it's very possibly pink.
I play a little World of Warcraft, but I am cutting down, I spend too much time playing and it's starting to be boring.
That's not really who I am, that is simple factors giving you an idea of my life, but who am I really? I can not tell you in simple words, You must read my art in order to fully understand the concept of who I am.
For now.