I thought we could share a space for creative writing, any essays, prose, poems, anything, we'd like to share among the coven. It could even be a companion to this thread: http://tinyurl.com/jfssgyz
Maybe a few of us could even get together and create one work.
(I have not finished typing the story [I'm lazy] but it is done)
Black Promises
Somewhere south, in the swampy, unclaimed parts of Louisiana, rested a cottage. Surrounded by looming gray Cyprus trees, riddled with dark green moss, the small home seemed to melt almost into the naturally muddied landscape. Inside, slept a blond teenager in a roughly made wooden bed. Suddenly, a startling shout awoke Ezreal from his sleep. Ez, followed by a fit of coughing, come! He quickly threw aside the grey woolen blanket he was under and ran down the creaky hallway to his mother's room. A pale, brown-haired woman, a bit aged, lay on her side roughly coughing. Ezreal walked over to his mother and asked, Are you alright? Is there blood again? His question was answered by the crimson-stained handkerchief held slightly underneath her chin. Its fine, Ez. Just fetch me some water, sweety, and head back to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Frogs and cicadas rung aloud a symphony as Ezreal rowed his small, log boat through the humid and sunlight swamp. His paddle splashes in the water, nicely contributing to the natural music of the bayou. Allowing the craft to slow to a steady drift, Ezreal throws a rock with rope into the water (a makeshift anchor of sorts). Reaching down, he grabs his homemade fishing pole, matted blonde hair falling in his face. He casts the line out in the water and closes his eyes. The warm sun bounces smoothly off his skin. The calm wind gently rocks the boat. This type of peace is hard to find anywhere else and is almost enough to cause anyone to doze into a slumber. But then as if by queue, a sharp jolt pulls on the fishing pole. Ezreal began reeling in the line quickly, yet he found no sentient resistance, as a fish would have. But, he did feel the weight. The object began to peak from the water and revealed itself at long last. It was a simple, rotting wooden crate. Ez pulled it up out of the water. He set the crate down with a thud, followed by several thuds coming from inside the box. Did a fish get caught in there somehow , thought Ezreal. He pulled a large knife from his belt and pried a few boards off the crate. What was inside made his heart sink with irrational fear. He reaches in and pulls out a large, crystalline flask. It is filled with a liquid blacker than any imaginable night and felt just as evil. Ezreal could sense the malevolence seeping from the flask. But even so, he dared touch the thing. As he was lost in thought, the cork flew from the flask and fell onto the floor of the boat with a soft clunk. Ez felt a cold wind pass by. The sky slowly darkened, the water started to freeze over, and the music of nature ceased. The black liquid snaked its way out of the flask and manifested in a perfect cobalt sphere. Ezreal is shocked into what feels like another realm. As if by automatic response, Ezreal speaks to the orb, What are you?
The black sphere responds with a violent shudder of ripples and a dark, raspy voice, I am the Gift Giver! The Black Dealer who brings to life any desire. All for a price of course. I require nothing of you, let alone your presence, asserts Ezreal. If the orb could grin meticulously at him, it would at this remark. Oh my, Ezreal-boy, you've a lot to learn about how you greet strangers. Especially those who can save your mother. Ezreal is frozen in place, much like the water and air around him. How could it know...How , he thought. How can you know that? The second you touched my flask
