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01/19/2012 01:48 PM 

To All That Dream

To All That Dream

"Too all that dream, and all that dare
To see the beauty of land, sea and air
Nothing shall ye ever spy
As wondrous as the Phoenix in the sky

Too all think, and all that ponder
The ways of things on this place we wonder
The one thing ye shall never know
Is To what home does the Phoenix go?

Too all that pray, and believe in too
A merciful, pure and true
A brighter sign there shall never be
Then the mighty Phoenix over the sea

Too all that live a life of good
Your deeds of love will come back; as they should
A happy life shall be yours to take away
When the Phoenix comes with the break of day

Too all that walk the path of dark
My next words ye would do well to mark
For your deeds of evil ye shall be burnt in flame
And your actions shall be meet with untold of pain

To Human, Elf, Dwarf and all
To every creature great and small
The Phoenix is many things; in future now and history
And though every person has their say, The Phoenix stays a mystery".



~ Author Unknown..

01/19/2010 08:36 AM 

Dark Shadows story: Sweet Dreams of You
Current mood:  creative

Sweet Dreams of You: Joshua Collins (a Dark Shadows story)

Current mood:creative

(DISCLAIMER: This is re-posted from my Dark Shadows RPG page. I just though you'd like to read some of my work. Apologies if you've seen this before.)


Joshua Collins gazed around the bedroom that was his and Naomi's, glass of brandy in hand. Ah dear Naomi. Long dead these past few years. All of his family dead truth be told. First his daughter, Sarah, than his brother Jeremiah, Naomi... no, Barnabas was next. THAN Naomi. Suicide it was. Losing Sarah to illness was one thing, but she just couldn't live with the thought that her son was... no best not to dwell on it. Abigail died at Barnabas' hands, too. So many others surrounding the Collins family. It was a surprise that he actually had an heir to carry on the family legacy anymore. Daniel was a fine young man now and he'd done wonders with the family business.

Old Joshua Collins yawned. He didn't want to sleep. HE was there seated in the chair in the corner. A shadowy wraith cloaked in darkness waiting like a vulture does for it's prey to die so it could feast upon the carcass of it's victim. HE would not take Joshua so easily. He was a Collins after all.

Finishing his drink - probably the last one he'd ever have - and reached to place it on the bedside table. A hand came out of the shadows and took the glass from his shaking unsteady hand and did the job for him. Death.

Death had been his constant companion for these long weeks now since he'd taken to his bed. He slept more and more each day and in those periods of sleep, he dreamed of happier times.

Dear Naomi. The room still smelled of her perfume after all these years... and the sherry she drank. Or maybe that was just his imagination. Funny how the mind could push most of the nightmares back into the dark corners of the mind and allow the bright ones to shine through. The portrait on the nightstand of her was a constant reminder that he had ever really loved anyone so deeply in his life. Yes, theirs was an arranged marriage, but there was a time when he loved her. He did you know. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen and they were most in love.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened... the distance that grew between them... or what had precipitated the event, but one day when he found her drinking herself blind and he felt his heart grow sadder. Cooler like the onset of winter. The last happy day of his life he could remember was when Sarah had taken her first steps... right into his outstretched arms....

"You are ever so stubborn, Joshua Collins," a woman's voice admonished.

"Who...? Who's there?" he demanded.

The darkness parted and a vision in a yellow gown approached. Her dark hair worn down in the same manor as he remembered when they first met. She was stunningly beautiful. "Naomi?"

"Who else would it be?"

"Oh, Naomi." Joshua gathered the woman to him and kissed her. It was as if he were a young man in his early 20's again. The kiss broke and he held her to him in a hug, never wanting to let her go. "I've missed you so, you know."

She put a hand on his chest and leaned back, parting them just enough to look into his eyes. The eyes of a young, viral man again. "I know. And I've missed you, too."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"For what?"

He gave a short, ironic laugh. "For... well for everything. I know I didn't make your life easy the last few years. I never realized how much I loved you..." he couldn't finish the thought.

"Until I was gone?" she finished.

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Yes. I can," she said.

Overjoyed, he kissed her and surrendered himself to the moment.



The shadow in the chair arose at the sound of a sigh and crossed the room to the bed. Warm practiced fingers checked for a pulse that no longer existed. The flesh was already starting to cool. The dark clad figure folded the old man's hands on his chest before turning to leave the room.

In the hall outside the bedroom door a man in his mid 30's looked up, the question already etched o his face.

"He's gone," Dr. Marcus told him.

Daniel sighed. "Did he say anything before he died?"

Marcus nodded. "Just one word...Naomi."

06/24/2009 08:36 AM 

To Boldly Go...

To Boldly Go Where No Dream Has Gone Before

Current mood:creative

Date occurred: Too many years ago to remember but I might have written it down somewhere.
Date recorded: June 24, 2009

Story Title: To Boldly Go Where No Dream Has Gone Before

Fandom or Universe: Star Trek TOS

Genre: Dream

Rating: G

Safe for work? Yes

Characters or Pairing(s): Convention goers

Potential Triggers: None

Notes and/or Warnings: None 

POV: Mine

Disclaimer: Every once in a while a dream from long ago resurfaces for my mental entertainment than disappears like a snowflake hitting a warm gust of wind. These are my dreams and they are in no semblance of order, reason or rhyme. If it happens, that is merely coincidence. 

Tags: Star Trek, conventions, costuming, abandoned places, exploration and adventure, disjointed thoughts, layers of memory, dreamscape.

Summery: Me...Her? Dressed as TOS Crewmember, short blue uniform, black boots & hose. Dark brown hair done up and piled on the head. Lt. Sandra Joe Lundstrum. USS Enterprise NCC-1701. I'm fighting hard to write SHE instead of I. We'll see how this goes. And yes, I switch between tenses because that's how dreams go.

THE STORY:
The convention was a primitive one held at the dawn of convention-going before they ever became organized. The location was a huge abandoned warehouse complex decorated with the bright mid-morning sunlight. The air was not overly warm, yet it was surprisingly clean of pollution as if a wind had blown the stink far away where it would dissipate into nothingness. The neighborhood was quiet, almost peaceful... empty of life except for the occasional passing car or emergency vehicle siren some blocks away, or birdsong... or a dog barking in the distance... all out of line of sight. A car was parked outside the warehouse, but whether it, too, had been abandoned or not was uncertain. Then again, probably not. There wasn't much dirt on it in the first place. She walked across the empty expanse of concrete and asphalt towards the door with a sign on it. The door where the car was parked. Looking at the building, the walls of the first floor had few windows, but they were intact. Unlike those smaller ones that made up the second level. From halfway up the upper story was all glass and frame, some of those small windows were either open to let what little breeze flow through as it willed, or were deliberately broken by persons unknown in a timeframe unknown. A man in his late 20's came forward from the vehicle he was standing beside (he wasn't there a moment ago) and reached to open the door for her. He knew why she was there and it was his job to be accommodating. Dark, hair, jeans, t shirt and leather jacket... then he was gone as she entered the building. The door, of its own mysteriously normal accord, whispered closed behind her.

The inside of the building was a sharp contrast to the abandoned exterior. White painted walls, dividers, tiled and carpeted floors, hidden lighting, softly playing... music? Sound effects? The white noise buzz of many conversations, the inanimate hum of the very place itself. People dressed in a riot of colorful outfits milled about, standing around conversing, moving from one event to another, or sitting and enjoying a repast of some sort... Masks or real life aliens? Costumes or clothing? It was hard to tell, for what IS a costume, really, but clothing you wear for specific occasions... like work... church... swimming... sports... leisure... so many colorful costumes that people take for normal every day wear... taken for granted.... And yet something not in fashion is called a costume. Yet here it is perfectly normal... accepted as normal. That which is outside this place is not desirable, yet inside this place... home. You can feel it like humidity in Colorado. One moment it's not there, and then suddenly you can feel it... taste it... you welcome it with elation as it seeps into every aspect of your being.

An event is about to start. She's been looking forward to this for so long and now the day has arrived. Taking a seat in the very center of the row near the front, yet not in the very front row, she sits, smoothing the short skirt of blue and looks at herself as she does so. Yes, she is presentable, and as a representative of her ship there could be no other way to look. The skirt, slit seductively... tastefully up one thigh, black translucent hose encasing slender legs, ending at the top of polished high black boots. Further up, the black-trimmed neckline dips just a bit lower over the left breast than the right, drawing ones eye to the star fleet insignia sewn just below. Trim and well build, the woman has a lovely figure, not too un-proportional, yet just right.

Then there is the smell of pizza in the air and she wonders if she has time to pop out quickly to the stand outside the room for a slice of pepperoni and cheese to bring back to her seat. Yes, she'll chance it. The room's not filling up quickly. Not yet anyway. She has time...

02/10/2009 04:33 PM 

Midnight At Collinwood (A Dark Shadows Story)

Midnight At Collinwood (a Dark Shadows story by myself and Rachel)

Current mood:awake


The lone figure of a man sat in a comfortable chair the study reading from an old family journal, a glass on the small table beside the reading lamp.

Now scooping Sarah up into his arms, Barnabas smiled warmly before assuring her, "And you are very right, my dear, I shall never be far from you..." With a point of his finger toward her heart, he softly continued, "I shall always be right here."

Roger Collins had always loved reading about the family history and this little journal was his most recent find. If 6 whole months could be called recent, that is. Ironically enough, he had found it in the West Wing one day while searching for his wayward son, David. (The boy had later been found exploring in the East Wing.) Roger had tucked it into the pocket of his smoking jacket with the thought of reading it after his search. The small tome was promptly forgotten. 6 months later he had found it again when he pulled the same jacket from his closet. It wasn't one he'd worn often because it was one Laura had given him and the memory of her came to him every time he saw the garment. Thus it's lack of continued use. Mrs. Johnson had'nt yet done the laundry and Roger's usual jacket had been unavailable tonight.

Such was luck.

Absentmindedly, he reached for the glass only to find to his dismay that it was empty. With a sigh, Roger placed the ribboned bookmark between the pages to mark his place, tucked the journal into his pocket and got up to refill his glass.



 

Unable to sleep, David crept out of bed and headed downstairs. Often when he couldn't sleep, he'd sneak into the kitchen and raid the refridgerator. As he dreamt of Mrs. Johnson's infamous apple pie, he spotted his father up and about in the foyer. 'Maybe he can explain to me what's going on.'

"F-father? Why are you still up?"



 

Roger stopped, startled by the voice of his son. "Me? That's a question that might be better applied to you, young man. Just what are you doing up at this hour?"

However, before the boy could answer the ancient clock in the foyer struck midnight. Father and son gazed at the grand timepiece and listened to the chimes fade away like some lonely sentinel out on watch.




David shrugged his shoulders. "I-I couldn't sleep. I've just been thinking. Did Aunt Liz tell you about what I saw tonight?" He peered at his father, trying to read the expression on his face. If he was angry, it wouldn't be a good time to broach the subject of his only playmate but on the other hand, how often did he get a chance to speak with his father?


 

Roger shook his head. "No, I haven't seen your aunt all evening. I think she went to bed before I got home from the office." He paused. "What is it that you saw?"


 

David frowned. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything at all, but now that his father had flat out asked him, David knew he couldn't get out of it without saying something. "I-I Sarah again...but of course you won't believe me! Aunt Liz didn't."



Roger sighed. Oh not Sarah again. Couldn't the boy see something else for change...? Like maybe a hawk or a wolf or some other human? Something that was actually real and alive for a change? All this talk of seeing ghosts was becoming a little disturbing. Alright, granted Victoria Winters had said that having imaginary friends was normal for a child, but David was too old for that now. Roger just wished the boy would grow up and act his age. Maybe playing an explorer of ancient whatevers wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"I think you've been reading too much of the Collins Family History. I'll have to talk to Vicki about that in the morning."


David sighed in frustration. "I knew it...I shouldn't have told you anything! And if you're looking for Victoria, she isn't here. Aunt Liz told me that she got some unexpected call from Bangor. But that's not like her at all to just take off like that and not tell me where she's going. I think something funny is going on around but no one wants to tell me because I'm just a kid!" He threw himself onto the sofa, continuing to pout. "Sarah told me that someone is in danger...and she doesn't lie."

Pausing, Roger thought better of refilling his brandy glass and replaced the stopper of the decanter. "I wish someone would leave me a note or something when things like this happen. I'm not psychic after all," the man groused more to himself than anyone else. Vickie leaving suddenly was certainly strange and the fact that David didn't know where she had gone was even stranger. The thought of waking Liz and interrogating her about it crossed Roger's mind almost as fast as his rational self quashed the idea. Liz would be furious with him if he did so, if only because she was probably fast asleep by now.

"Are we the only two still awake in this house, or is Mrs. Johnson doing some late night cooking? Which wouldn't surprise me at all, mind you."

Good Lord knows she could use the practice, he thought to himself.


David hated it when his father changed the subject, something he did often when he either didn't want to tell David what was going on...or perhaps this time he was just as in the dark as David was. "I don't know if Mrs. Johnson is up or not...but then I haven't gone down to the kitchen yet." He chuckled to himself, amused at the possibility that his father also liked to raid the refrigerator at all hours of the night.

Somewhere in the back Roger's mind a little voice was telling him it was far too late in the evening to start a fight and that nothing really could be accomplished by it in the first place. David would insist his ghost existed just as hard as Roger himself would insist that ghosts were not real, thus only a stalemate could be achieved. The almost inaudible ticking of the hall clock reminded the man of the time and rational thought dictated bed.

Then Rogers stomach gurgled sourly. Alcohol on an empty stomach rolled around for one nauseating moment before settling again. He hadn't even been fortunate enough to get home in time for Mrs. Johnson to heat anything up for him and now his stomach was upset and very vocal. Truly wishing for a peaceful conversation with his son Roger waved the boy off the couch. "How about we go and see if there's anything left of dinner. That is, if you haven't already finished it all off. I know growing boys such as yourself have a healthy appetite."


A small crept over the boy's lips as his father suggested getting a late night snack. Could it possibly be that his father was human after all? Stranger things had happened! Sending his father an appreciative glance, he quickly hopped off the couch and reached for his Spiderman comic book. "There's still some Salisbury steak left over and maybe some mashed potatoes." Of course none of the food really mattered much to him for during this split second, his father was showing him a kindness that he didn't often get to see.

Seeing David's eagerness actually pleased Roger. Maybe... No. Better not wish for miracles. Lord knows he wasn't about to receive any. Not tonight anyway. Just take it one step at a time. "Well, then, let's see if I remember how to heat up the stove, shall we? Maybe there's some desert left... unless you've eaten it all that is."

David gave him a sheepish grin as they both headed for the kitchen. "Nope. I couldn't possibly eat it all. Not in one sitting anyway." Was this the start of something positive between the two of them? As much as David hoped for such an occurrence, he somehow doubted it. Drinking often put his father in a calmer mood and that's probably all it was.

{End Scene}

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