Thursday, February 21, 2008

Pendances challenge

it's in the works but here goes
Here lie the author’s memoirs intact and unabridged. Mademoiselle silver tones, secret agent for the force, was still undercover and on the hard. She was traveling in disguise. She paused halfway in transit and lifted an ostrich feather upward to just below her feline eyes and drew the portion of disguise, disenchantment and illusion just below her feline eyes and over her silver furred jaw line. Here now, she mused in another circumstance could this be ever so beguiling.
She hesitates in the near shadows contemplating her next move, run or the mustachioed gendarme will see her. In a liquid movement she flashes by the abutment, the ancient stone now remained as only a testament to any of atrocities of a daunting history. Here she adjusts the ostrich feather cloak. The cloak is midnight blue, with scant silver shot trim; its maker was a sorcerer from Gamma Quadrant seven. She was told it still possessed secret powers, some of these were still unknown to her as she had pressed seven dacares in the creatures’ heavy paw that woe some day in time. She put all these known or unknown powers in this galaxy to the test this night.
Stealth, silence, grace, sinews gathered under velvety silken fur. Muscles gathered, answered their call, flexed and resumed motion. She traversed the distance from alleyway to window ledge, along such to the low hanging rooftop. Something in the near distance caught her peripheral vision. She turned her feline visage and here keen eyes caught a shadow like movement. Here, no up to the left, ah there in the half distance. She was almost certain she had witnessed a movement in the darkness. She peered relentlessly down forgotten alleyways and dark lonely streets.
Her contact was a ghost grey alley cat named Marauder Pendance. Pendance was a star captain with a four star cluster pasted across his well-muscled chest. He was feline in ancestry but owed some of his bloodline and fealty to a grizzled old star trader half a galaxy away. So there he ended his ancestries trace, way back to when the kittens prowled the old terran neighborhoods, resplendent in their concrete and wooden structures and manicured lawns. He was an old acquaintance and had saved her lustrous feline scruff on more than one occasion. She paused under the old sign, its tempting glow scandalously advertising the unwary traveler to partake of that den of iniquity. The Fallen Dove served its wasteful purpose with mocking glee, turning hearts cold with unrequited greed. The denizens of the dark met here for unscrupulous dealings, snagging up gaudy dealings, and stolen gems and trade wares.
Somehow she drew her breath in and listened for the recognized signal, at once she tuned in to the background noise, the elements of sound slowly shifting in her hearing range. She must remain cognizant. Then she distinguished something odd and selective, a pace above and beyond the dismal harbor sounds. She perked up intense feline ears. Yes, an octave higher, a tempo slower, on the same frequency, a low hum. Again she channeled her being into listening. The strange sound was now closer, only higher up above her head. She heard the sound again. A flash of motion and now, to the powers of her keen feline secret ears, welcome sounds, but this time the same pattern.
He walked from the shadows and into her heart. At first her eyes perceived just a silhouette. Then in the lilac moonlight of Santara nine, she witnessed her contact. The fedora was low across his brow; its telltale majestic style demonstrated that seductive style a style that could only be claimed by this male. Yes, this was a style that would always prove to be just like his dashing daring character. He wore a sharkskin suit and carried a lethal looking dark slim case. Tonight he wore the guise of a planetary musician temporarily planet side on a visa owned by a masquerading star captain. A whistle like noise escaped from his lips, his visage partially veiled by shadow. He spoke or rather intoned the necessary sounds that she must acknowledge.
Mademoiselle reflected his curiosity momentarily, and then swept a quadrant pass before his eyes. Signal released, she caught his paw and together they passed before the shadows to an awaiting sea rover docked at pier 29. The sea rover was damaged from another onslaught of the local authorities no doubt tipped off and bribed by local instigators. This was the best guise they were able to accomplish in their relentless daring hunger for the truth. Their pursuit would be mystified only momentarily by a clever ruse thought up by an old acquaintance of Commander Pendances’ that was stalling at the bar and buying them precious time. So together they conquered the stubborn locks and quadrant seals on the sea rover. Hastily they swept past the cockpit signals. The sea rover bobbed complacently in the restless waters of Santara nine. The motors would be sluggish with disuse, but magically fired up and purred for the Commander at first paw touch. If all went well they would be out of harms way and on towards the second half of their journey.
Mademoiselle was penchant and brooding as the waters plumed by from the transom of the old sea rover and they passed by the green foliage and dark shapes of old structures that encompassed their harrowing path. She was jolted awake when he brought out a crimson plate and wafted the familiar savory smells of yellow tail scat fish steamed and accompanied by her favorite fruits. “For the lady” he purred proudly. A delicatessen in a handsome captain’s coat tails he was. His get away vehicles were notorious for being well provisioned.
She reached forth a silver tipped paw and daintily retrieved a small piece of fish and vegetables. What must preclude this feast was a just a touch of Santara 9 knor berry wine. Chilled wine was perfect for tonight’s escape plan with a soft spiced taste remotely reminiscent of terran wines from old times. Her palette was rewarded with the fruity moist taste sweet of the delectable liquid ambrosia. They had barely partaken of the food, when he let forth a low growl. Something had followed then and it was gaining distance to their water craft. He twisted the wheel quickly skipping across the waters at a break neck pace. Whoever was following them was matching navigational skills to his well honed skills. He pondered his own fate and his lady loves in his own thoughts.
Perhaps if I could have dived just so, in this manor or then perhaps not, he mused in his inner thoughts while gripping the wheel like a maniac. He suddenly realized something familiar about that craft. “What kind of mockery could this be?” he mouthed aloud. “Jarvon you swamp demon!”
Tarry Naught

Science fiction ideas

Australians ever changing into what can only be termed changelings. The mutations brought about changes and even so there evolved some of what the scientists termed telepaths. They began to take on the physical capabilities similar to that of the humans. There eventually transforms creatures with improved manual dexterity, and much more rational and creative thinking processes. Due to the wars some of the animals were trained efficiently for sabotage and wartime missions. The eventual results could be blamed on the distant radiation and hyper drive evolution. Mans fears contributed to the eventual detriments of their own planet.
The Australian people are by far unique and their individuality mixes with the scientists. In the following ways these everyday habits and outward appearances evolve for the creatures the Australian hats, the bush mans clothing, the evolved traditions, and the Aussie speech patterns.
The scientists in their haste to save an entire species from certain and grisly doom have gathered animals from all over the continents. All types of creatures have been plucked from endangered species sanctuaries. The desperate scientists were giving their own lives for the sake of the animals. Better to gain knowledge as a scientist and giver of life than to be pressed into service for the madness of the military structure, which meant sure and certain death or worse. The animals had taken to space travel, for they instinctively recognized their flight from peril and worked to accomplish what humans of another nature had wrought. However in this plight of desperation there is mutation. The lifespan of some of the mammals and marsupials is increased. For the creatures who once before saw only the passing of a limited number of seasons, their Longevity now encompassed many more years of productive life. Thanks are given for the mutations so that these animals were able to accomplish much more than the greedy humans had intended them for.
The Australian scientists had gone through proverbial hell and high water, much water. The destruction of nature’s natural rhythms had caused the oceans waves to catapult over landmasses once safe from the wrath of nature. Their results were forms of skullduggery, carefully plotted out espionage sneaking about for safety, spying on warlords, conniving, and much underground and very secret works were performed. The animals did much of their duties with ease and precision, often skulking quietly among their food sources and the gardens that were kept secret to the enemy.
Eventually Animals and Australian scientists flee from war torn earth. Scientists Australians for the cause, the beasts barely escape war on Earth in interplanetary vessels. They blast off and catapult towards unknown solar systems off they go on adventures.
The course to the other planet was happened upon by sheer accident. A meteor shower caused an upset and the course was incidentally changed. The wrong controls were activated. There were injuries to some of the older human members, and alas to some of the animals.
Upon the ships reaching the planets surface, the earth animals meet the alien life. On this strange planet the animals both terran and alien reason out language. The ships crew is caring for the scientist’s offspring. The offspring of the scientists learned by necessary telepathic communication.
Ok be easy it is rather my first sci-fi attempt and nope I do not have any illustrations

creative writing draft

Revised Jan 31, 08 from notations from classmates.

Going Home
Earthly conflicts are as inevitable as the rush of the ocean’s tides. What shall ever become of this destiny we attempted to see, designed by the universe and all the power it holds over time, life and our precious memories? Should this be the last time we can look upon each other’s faces, and then we shall fall from winter’s trees as spent as winter’s last testimony to life, as weary as winter’s last oak leaves.
Happenstance you appear nightly in some earthly form and unravel what seems to be old mysteries, a past yet unknown, since you were taken from us before you accomplished any of your own dreams. What missive, what message is there that you are trying to tell, I’ve written down every word and cherish those thoughts, yet on this unknown parody my heart seems to dwell.
Tiger-eyes, in my own true dreams your appearance is as unchanged, unmarred by the everlasting sands of time. Here in my own private picture show appears a haunting creature so like a stormy jungle beast stalking alone in a forest deep. Did you not once tell me, not long ago how our life together would always be something special to keep.
Here in the realm of unspoken reality, I cover my eyes and refuse to see, our own child sending you forth in a chair made of iron and cloth. You clutch the life-giving cylinder of times stolen air, your face cannot reflect; only 40 or more years in age. Eyes that at once reach my soul, how they seem weary. World worn your eyes are reaching out, seeking refuge from pain, only now soon you may exist in a time where I cannot stay. My eyes stream with glaciers of rage.
Endlessly she defies the challenges of time, a wary thief. She whispers like a siren and calls to you in your broken sleep. How dare she take like a cowardly thief? Leave him you harpy; he heeds not your haunting beauty. She averts her gaze all at once. Human’s eyes spy a raving beauty on one side on the other a hag, a ravenous life thief.
Her name is whispered discreetly by a nurse as she glides by white hallways. Hushing steps, she takes as though she has stolen a cat’s feet. At one point she laments his name is still written in the book of life; hush now she can scarcely whisper, tis cancer we blame. She the beauty, she the life thief! She hovers at loved ones bedsides, withered lives breathe, she hovers a monster at a child’s bedside, this harbinger this bringer of grief. Her breath is as ice, her thoughts are white steeds, and away on a travelers adventure her coachman whips away life’s brief deeds. All hopes and life’s needs falling, calling relentlessly, yet uncaring these last desperate attempts to release the almighty soul. Hearken you harpy, yet reflections from loved ones, this brief interlude leads, speak everlasting promises to the ears of thy loved ones, avenge this outcry, yet this beseeching upon her icy ears, she never heeds.
Torrential rain, the gutters contain life’s torrents, a release, and then a moment still; the rain of this sorrow falls now on my deeply reticent soul with a chill. Crystal tears, a dewdrop on a rose leaf. My child’s ebony tresses shaking, quaking, her angelic countenance now wracked with grief. A box now contains a man’s testament, his relief. The grey silken liner embroidered with birds on the wing; one silver silken bird has turned about and is wheeling toward a place in the sun, yet this bird shall never take flight alone. Simple words embroidered on silver silk bring a heartfelt sentiment, “going home”. Yet could this life have ever been less in torment, but now seeks such blessed belief.
How I marveled the day the nurses brought her to me. A cherub, a name for this child I could but weakly speak. For the arrival of this babe almost cost me my only life. This once a nurse’s quiet footsteps, this once this passage back in time would on fates borrowed wingtips bring this mans only girl child, an answer to my cherished dreams.
As such resides this stolen memory, so ends a rapturous life play. Bow players take life to your heart in your own precious way.
Here we find yet another place in time and I will grace you with it’s tell tale excerpt. A little brown dog has always stood fast on its lofty carved wooden shelf perch watching me gallantly from my parent’s room. I passed by the awaiting silent stuffed sentinel often as I halted on the threshold of my parent’s room. The room is still a sanctuary guarded by the realistic threat of reprimand. Memories tumbled through my troubled mind. Daily my father was taxied to his dialysis and chemo treatments. He commented to my sister that the little truck served its purpose well. Ah, yes another story. Better yet let’s call these the adventures of the little grey truck.
How I had listened intently when my father reminisced through my grandfather’s memoirs. Grandfather came from a wondrous land of wolves and frozen tundra. He was a silent hero since he had passed before my arrival on terra firma. Soul owner now of things that lived once freely in the past, I rewrite his memories. Photographs written with descriptions in a language that I must learn soon reside in a strong wood box that I inherited when my grandmother went to heaven. Many adventures were mine to cherish when with pencil to paper I labored through notes and ledgers that have seen turned the pages of many calendars many times and still my minds eye envisions many adventures from years of old, in a scenic country so far away. This same country is the land of my Scandinavian ancestors and from these roots my family tree grew to its fallen legacy.
Take care with the photo of my parents on a wondrous sailing boat. Feather-like Plumes of White Sea foam froth streaming, trailing along behind the careless travelers. Inviting, compelling the eyes of the beholder seek, then somehow see, old glory as she waves towards the blue skies of beautiful Hawaii.
Oh, how fond those stolen memories. Father wears a Tom Selleck blue Hawaiian print cotton shirt. The pattern on his shirt waves invitingly on a gypsy breeze. My musician friend promised to place this momentum in his newfound joy a sailing vessel named after a fortunate cetacean. This photo reveals to me on a sailing vessel two people obvious, oblivious and so in love.
Yes, we go back now to the little brown sentinel for it is the one last item we place in the wooden box close to my remaining parent, for this is the one he won for my mother when they first met. This treasure, this sentinel now guards a stolen moment while its traveler traverses a path so designed by destiny. This stuffed little puppy means so much to them, then we girls knew he would give it to our mother when he saw her in heaven. For you see, she arrived last night to take him with her. The careless travelers on the sailboat bound heaven ward for their own blues skies of Hawaii.
yep, it is long, but it is better than the first draft