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Post by Monday

Writing Part 19 of Black Walker as we speak.

Post by oneforthemoney

Heh, the first three parts of flight from fate each have 38 views.

Post by Mojoworkn

Heh, the first three parts of flight from fate each have 38 views.
Soon to be 39. :)

Post by oneforthemoney

Yay.

Post by 355559

This post was from a user who has deleted their account.

Post by Mojoworkn

So here's the bad news. I have to necro this.

Here's the good news. I've got something brewing.
Screw the bad news, awesome!

I really should finish Broken Dream. >.>

Post by Morec0

I should get to work on everything I have yet to finish. But I promise I will finish it before I die.

Post by Atik

I should get to work on everything I have yet to finish. But I promise I will finish it before I die.

LIAR!

Post by Morec0

Post by oneforthemoney

I should get to work on everything I have yet to finish. But I promise I will finish it before I die.

LIAR!

Well if I don't you can trust me to reveal the endings before I die in a post titled "I told you I'd reveal the endings before I died".

Your eulogy will read 'Morec, he ended it as it ended him.'

Post by Morec0

Post by oneforthemoney

Steeling himself Kristoff stepped forward, coming to stand within the very doorway of the damned. He was glad that he would not have to step much further inside, yet at the same time saddened, though his face betrayed nothing. All that he had come to see was before him, presented in all its sepulchral glory.

His eyes slid over the corpse of what was once a young woman, her hair thin and clumped with filth where it may have once held the sheen and luster of gold. She lay face down upon the floor, purple veins bulging up grotesquely wherever skin was visible beneath her home spun woolen dress, each dark line a road map to her pain and suffering beneath the grim hand of the plague. A sole arm was held out before her to lie lifelessly upon the floor, fingers curled slightly as if what hope she had held had fled her grasp in those final moments. Perhaps she had attempted to crawl to the door in search of aid? It had mattered little in the end, for she had failed to reach it and even if she had, Kristoff sincerely doubted that in her state she could have worked the latch open. For the best, perhaps.

Silently, Kristoff turned about on his heel and walked out of the home. The cold of nature was far preferable to the warm, fetid air of lingering death within the building. He breathed heavily, the icy air cutting into his lungs as he removed the sleeve from his face. Once his breath was regained, Kristoff’s gaze reluctantly fell to a tall thin man standing nearby, his face pale and shallow, showing off the bones beneath the skin easily as if they were trying to escape their mortal shell. The undertaker looked more a corpse than the woman whom he had come to collect. Dressed in black robes and a broad brimmed hat tied down with a pair of strings, he held himself with that certain resigned and placid way that all those who work in the service of the dead do. A mask shaped like a large reversed V hung loosely from his neck, the sickly-sweet scent of potpourri drifting from the ends, wafting around the undertaker like a miasma. At his side he held a bucket filled with scarlet paint, the handle of a paintbrush protruding like a bared flagpole.

“Board it up and give it the red when you are finished with her. As always, inform us of how many there were. We’ll bury them in the communal plot,” Kristoff instructed.

Post by oneforthemoney

You know what I'm finding? Writing the beginning of a story and/or chapter is really what has begun to force me into the literary equivalent of a ship trying to 'round Cape Horn. There are all manner of ways to do it, but only one way that will actually work well. Curse you Victor Hugo for setting the bar higher! Curse you!