This is the literature section of my site. The only one really worth reading is "The Flamer," and Lady in the Mirror, which my grandma wrote.
1.The Flamer (A short story.)
2.Name Poem (A poem about my name and I.)
3.Dream Poem (A poem about dreams and such things.)
4.Lady in the Mirror (This one was actually written by my grandmother. I love her very much and this is an excellent poem if you ask me.)"The Flamer"
by G3MacMan
The warriors of Leinach laid siege to the stronghold of Thaed Castle,
owned by those known only as the People That Be. The spark that started
the fire was not an age old family war or clashes in culture or religion
as we know most wars to be, this was a war of greed and greed only. Long
before this battle, several groups fought for the rightful position on
the throne and the conquest of the southern territories must be secured
for any group to assure their claim as the commanding group, or the
“upper class” as we might know it today. (Only if we don't respect the
upper class of our society nothing happens to us, while in these times
those not respective were killed or tortured and the families of the
killed and tortured would accept this because it was a daily way of
life.) These southern territories were filled with grassy plains ideal
for cattle, wooded area full of towering lumber, and mountain streams
pure enough to be consumed straight from its shore. This was the land
to have if there was any, and Leinach's brave warriors were not the first
to seek to conquer these People, and might have joined all the rest...in
hell, but you will soon see. After suffering great losses, it was of no
use now to storm the castle for they did not have enough men left to
fully take over. The drawbridge had already been taken out by the
ramming of the recently deceased squad 14. If they were to just take
out the archers, they could easily take out the People's warriors as they
were looked down upon in their culture so what warriors they had were
ignorant and untrained. The only barrier that now stood was the numerous
archers behind the jagged edges of the main round pillar the extruded
from the top of the castle. From this position they could easily pick
off the army and what few made it into the castle would be outnumbered by
the People's warriors, which were poorly trained, but could at least
swing a sword. When it seemed they were defeated, the leader of the
first squad volunteered to go on a solo (suicide) mission to enter
through a crack in the brick, make his way through the castle's winding,
pitch black hallways to the archer's stand. There they will be extremely
vulnerable to any kind of attack like pushing them over or just a sword
through their midsection. Either would do, and either way there would
still be plenty left after they knew what happened, to kill him. But
hopefully not enough to kill all his men. He set off on his quest while
his men camped out waiting and hoping for their leader's mission to be a
success. Dark fell and the cold swept over the soldiers. The men
thanked the heavens that there was no wind or rain. Meanwhile, our
captain had found his way to what appeared to be a back hall way that
enters out onto the ledge. All that stood between him and his men's
destiny was the hall's darkness and about 50 feet . . .or so he thought
. . .The pound of his heart drowned out the shuffle of his tattered shoes
scrapping along the floor as he pushed through the darkness of the
hallway. It was merely spotted with the light of torches that hung on
the large stone walls. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle
of his sword and if it weren't from the leather around the handle
absorbing the sweat from his palm it would have slipped right out of his
hands. He gripped his sword with both hands then, because he thought he
heard enemy foot steps, although he knew it was impossible as he couldn't
even hear his own. It seemed to him that he should have confronted an
opposing force by now, as he had gone quite some distance. Then he saw a
glare flash through the dark. He stopped dead. It was a thin light that
appeared to jump to the ceiling and disappear. He instantly recognized
this as the glare off a sword approximately four feet long. He did not
know if the owner had spotted him and he did not care. He drew back his
sword in an awkward manner, as he did not have time to worry about proper
form. The life of him and his men could depend on his survival. A deep
and moist breath entered his lungs before he brought down the weapon with
all the force he could muster. The sword sliced down and air whistled
from being shoved aside by the deadly mass of steel. He clenched his
eyes tight as he did not know what might come flying out of his victim.
He expected his sword to have met its target after it had gone down a
ways when a clash and a spark were all that preceded the return of
silence. He recoiled several feet. “What could have happened,” He
thought, “Could I have hit a wall? Impossible. I felt it hit barely
past the middle of my sword. To be a wall it would have hit the tip and
not likely have caused a spark. A stone or a door? No.” Then his hopes
of a surprise attack on the character diminished when he realized the
only possibility was the sword of his foe. Gathering himself, he pulled
back the sword and swung it straight over his head toward the ground.
Again he failed and this time all he hit was ground. Realizing his whole
upper torso was open for attack, he ducked down and lunged at the
darkness. Again, no enemy, and he landed on his chest in mid breath
which forced all out his open mouth. Then, springing to his feet he
heard a muffled chuckle coming from a ways in front of him. Now, seeming
to have time to think things through, he realized what a fool he must
look like, swinging and diving blindly all through the darkness. What
was he to do? If he continued to swing through the air, his enemy would
only get in a few laughs before slaying him. He could run the direction
he came from, but he would have wasted all that time and his mission
would have been a failure. And who was to say his enemy was not a faster
runner? Surely a disgraceful death - a sword through the back. Then an
idea. He leapt back a few feet, tore a torch off the wall, and hurled it
end over end down the hall in the direction the laughter had come from.
At first it seemed useless for all he could see was the rough height of
the foe and the weapon he carried, which he already knew was a sword. He
had about given up hope when a break of luck. The torch hit the end of a
cloak he was wearing and on contact ignited it. The flames spread up the
cloth causing the figure to dance wildly flapping his arms all directions
in hopes of suppressing the flames. They then spread almost up to his
face and the figure had become hysterical and ran the direction our
captain had been headed. He laughed to himself as he followed the
walking ball of flames. The fire man now sprinted for what appeared to
be a quick end rather than to burn to death for he ran out an opening,
past the archers, and over the side. His arms flapped on the way down to
the point where he looked like he was trying to fly, and fell behind out
of view. The boys back at camp were not please by this at all and began
to pack their belongings for the long march back up over the mountains.
Back in the castle the archers were in panic as it is not often that a
flaming friend runs by them and dives off the edge of the castle. All at
once they peered over the edge to see what might have happened. They cut
through the darkness with the keen eye of an archer but still only saw
masses of mist rolling out of the mote where they assumed the character
had landed. Many took a deep breath or swallowed and turned to think
about what they were to do now while the rest simply continued to stare
at the mist in hopes they could see something that would explain the
incident. The warrior captain peered around the corner to where the
archers were standing and noticed the confusion that had come over them.
He instantly decided to seize the opportunity and drew his sword once
more. He prepared his nerves for the attack and was ready to lunge when
he smelt something odd. Then it became stronger. It smelt like war,
cooking, and a rotting body all at the same time. Whipping around to see
the cause of the aroma he saw nothing but heard a fast and increasingly
swift feet dragging across the castle floor. Could it be one of his
men? Another one of the people he had just dealt with? Perhaps a
different creature, but far more deadly? Wrong were all three. The next
thing noticed by the captain was a face. A dead face. A rotting dead
face. A scorched rotting dead face. Then a scorched body with tattered
cloth for clothes following it. The monster must have dropped his sword
when he fell for he drew back his fist, or what was left of his fist, and
still running, swung directly for the warrior's face. It made direct
contact right below his nose, popped his head back causing it to smack
into the wall, and almost rendering him unconscious. The warrior
stumbled around a bit before falling on his face. Fortunately for him,
if such a thing is possible at this point, the archers had not heard a
anything. They were stilled puzzled but had almost settled down. Back
in the fist fight, the captain, still laying on his face, was picked up
by the monster. It threw him into a wall but did not let go his firm
grip on his mail. The captain remembered where he was after the shake
and became scared again. What would this foul creature do to him? He
stared into the monsters black eyes. It was the only thing he wanted to
look at for everything else was completely fried from the flames. It
appeared to take a breath before beginning to mumble words from the hole
in his face:
“You fool! You came here to kill the innocent leaders of this castle.
For what? A larger kingdom? I have been in your position. I know what
you think about. Maybe you have heard of me. Bocaje. Bocaje Liehado.”
Of course he knew him. He lead the most famous and elaborate attack on a
castle in recorded history. The castle attacked was none other than
Thaed. The defenses of Thaed in those days were hundreds less of what
it was in the time of the captain. And for no other reason than large
casualties on both sides. Bocaje's men: The Braves of the South, as they
called themselves, and the People That Be fought a horrible and tragic
battle. And thought the People were the only people left living, both
sides truly lost. The captain's fear grew more than it had in his life.
Bocaje continued to speak, “I was once a great and powerful leader of a
well trained and respected army. Look at me now as I stand before you.
I am a rotting corpse, and thanks to you, I am a roasted corpse. You may
ask yourself why I am among the living dead. Before I attacked this fine
castle, I was unaware of just why I was doing so. I like you, lead my
men and most died. True we both killed a lot of the enemy and you might
have even defeated them. But let me get back to why I am a walking
corpse. In my heart, I wanted to spill my men's blood and the enemy's
blood for one thing, and one thing only. Power. Hundreds and thousands
of men parished for my greed. And now, I spend eternity wandering these
halls, long after my death. My men are not living dead, however, they
were simply scared into fighting, or fought out of loyalty. Neither are
punished. I stopped your attempt to kill the remaining resistance
because, though it is too late for me, you can still be saved from my
fate, and your men's lives can be saved. Leave the castle! Take your
men and go where you came! And may you not only hear what I have said,
but understand it.”
Upon these words, he dropped out of the grip of Bocaje, ran down the
hall, and out of the castle. He told his men of what had happened, and
what he had seen. Disappointed, but understanding, they trudged back
over the mountains and never spoke a word of what had happened to the
rest of the city. They lived the remainder of their lives pleased that
their souls had been saved, and happy with the things they had and the
life they lived. Back in the castle, Bacoje had stalked the halls for
countless years. He never slept, for dead don't sleep. This man, for
saving the soul of another and many lives, he was finally released of his
eternal sentence. His free soul excaped from the torched, decaying shell
and floated off to a better place. Where he was not to be tortured by
his concunce [I have no idea how to spell this word.], or live a life of solitude.
Truly he had won the most important victory.
"Jacob"
By G3MacMan (Whose name is Jacob)Jacob
A name
not any name, my name
Jacob- it belongs to me
to several others it does belong, but not in the same way I keep it
I keep it as a symbol
not a symbol like a stop sign, yield, or the ones we all know
for they are boring and unoriginal
something I know would be a false assumption if you were to assume about meThis name I hold is actually quite different from its holder
name- simple like a blank sheet of paper, plain as the ink on this page and not bolder
holder- complicated as the mysteries of the universe, exciting just below the surface
exciting below the surface, much like an orange . . . I am an orange
the peel my skin
below the peelings lies the only tasty part
the part we all have inside (though some’s peel is thicker that others)
sweet and succulent as most of us are (some are more sour)I am an orange as you could say
my peel would be rather smooth and have little bruises compared to others
(for I take few physical risks)
but the most important part as we all know, is the inside
they are also the most interesting, and I will leave it at thatAs even a blind man can see, my name and holder are enormously different
we are different in so many ways, many of which I have mentioned
but we are both different from everything else
in this way we are alike
in this way I fit my name like no other person can
not a person named Susie, Matt, William, or even Sam ever could
for I belong to a simple word, Jacob, and that will never change
"Dreams"
By G3MacManThough the sun shines bright, in my head it is still night,
The restrictions are over powering,
The shackles and hand cuffs hold me back,
I must stick on the path for ropes surround it,
I want to see the world from the top,
With wings instead of cuffs.But when the night turns darker,
I leave the ropes, the cuffs, the shackles where they lay,
As I drift away to the never impossible,
I see the world as I like, where things are my way
Where we all are free –
Not physically, spiritually, politically, but in our imagination.
"Lady in the Mirror"
By G3MacMan's grandmotherWho is that lady in the mirror?
She's looking back at me.
That couldn't be my reflection-
For I'm not 73.Her hair has turned all white.
Her face is all red-
She's walking and talking,
So I know she's not dead!The wrinkles on her face
Look familiar to me!
But they couldn't be mine,
Cause I'm not 73.I still have my hearing,
And pretty good sight.
I can remember things too,
At least over night.I'm not aching or hurting,
As some people do-
Or stay in bed with a cold or flu!I'm not crippled up or banged up,
Or in a rest home.
I can run and jump,
and do things on my own.So maybe the lady in the mirror
Is me after all!
I'll stand up straight,
And try to look tall.I'll paint my lips,
And powder my nose,
So the little old lady looks nice,
Where ever she goes.I'm thankful, I'm grateful,
Just to be here!
And happy to celebrate one more year.