RuneScape Forum Archive | ~~English's Forgotten Tales~~

Englishkid62

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In his mind he could still imagine that voice, that haunting mask…

There wasn’t anything wrong with the house, only its inhabitants. For all he knew the boy could be getting a hell of a smack right now. Nobody really cared these days. After a pause he gave the estate agent a call, ‘I have an offer for 16 Brook Lane...’

~~End~~

12-Feb-2011 16:40:38 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:10:56 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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Notes on Sold!

Perhaps a re-enactment of the period between the two contrasting sections of Childhood, this story explores the hidden emotions in buying and selling a house, which often the adults doing business would hide behind a smile. I played with the idea that someone (Me) might be behaving inappropriately during the occasion, which was a lot of fun, because these are the kind of things not really possible in real life.

Continuing the idea of judging myself and criticising my own actions in the eyes of another, this story is very much within that culture. The story itself, however, suffers from extremely unsubtle characters - it is clear the author wants you to dislike Pete. It is clear who the author wants you to feel for, and the language used mirrors that. Technically, it is also not very good, and arguable is one of the weakest story in the Cathartic Pieces collection.

However, when I was writing this, I was on a one week holiday in Devon, surrounded by greenery and so on. So…why not be productive and write another story?

12-Feb-2011 16:40:38 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:19:37 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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~~Doll~~

(July 2007)

I remembered it was your mum who picked me out of a dozen others in the toy store, years ago. She chose me because I was colourful, nice-looking and soft to the touch. I was the perfect match for the newborn you. We were meant to be together. My job was simple: I was to look after you, to keep you company in this strange, new world…I remembered how you used to look when you were a baby. Aww. As cute as me.

You bit me, quite often in fact. It was how the babies explore the unknown. I was freely tasted, and you liked me. I was accepted. For the first few years, I watched you learning new things everyday, exploring new sensations and seeing new, strange faces – you were a quick learner, and were eager to try new things. It didn't take you long to tell the difference between your mother and your father. Other things as well, of course. Knowing that I didn't taste as good as the baby mashes, you abandoned me to the side, where I waited for you, hoping that you would pick me up again and smile at me some time soon.

I was there when you started to speak. Did you remember that? You looked at me and began mumbling, and I knew you were trying to speak to me. I wanted to make a broader smile but my emotion was fixed, my smile was knitted firmly on my face. I was always smiling, always happy for you. I was there too when you started to walk. You fell but twice and cried, and when you reached your mother she gave you a big hug. She wiped your tears away with her hand. You made it. She held you tightly and you stopped crying. I was so proud of you.

One day your mother decided that you didn't need me any more. The baby cot was going to go and I was about to go with it. I was placed in this cold, dark place called the Wardrobe – it wasn’t a normal wardrobe. It was a place where no toys wanted to go, a place mentioned and feared by all of us. If you were wondering, the Wardrobe was where all your ‘missing’ toys were.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:39 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:36:44 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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In there I waited for you, despite living in a world where no sunlight could penetrate. Yet no despair could possess me. I was the first toy in the Wardrobe and for years I was desperate for some news from you. Would you still remember me? Over the years, more and more toys joined me in this place – at least I was no longer lonely. We would talk about you all day and night. We would talk about your golden hair, and your smiles. It brought us hope, and that was what we needed. They told me that you had grown into a lovely young lad, cheerful and handsome. You were seven years old.

Then your mother began to clear up the Wardrobe for other purposes (a lot of us I never saw again) and she stared at me as if she remembered something. She paused – after all I was your first toy and was supposed to have some significance. I was the only one allowed to see you. I wanted to see you so badly! I wanted to see how handsome you had really become.

‘Remember this, honey?’ Your mother gave me a little shake with a smile on her face. For a moment I was worried that you couldn’t remember me. You were still a baby when we last met. I was eager to hear you speak.

‘No,' concentrating on your Playstation, you said without looking back. It was unfair. I was glad when your mother decided to give me a second chance, she got you to look around and then I saw you. Blimey! You had grown up so much. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I smiled at you and I knew, deep inside, you smiled back at me, too.

You remembered me, and more importantly, you still wanted me.

‘Can I keep her?’ you asked your mother. ‘Please?’

‘Yes, you may,’ she replied as she handed me over. I was again in your hands. I could again see you everyday. I watched you grow and I protected you at your bedside when you were asleep. You were so sweet to me that we were like real friends – you talked to me and you spent time with me. I didn't want anything else when you smiled.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:39 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:37:03 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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Day after day and you only grew more beautiful, if that were possible. I watched you grown into a teenager. The hormones made you a fiery person exploding with energies. That was when you started to talk to me a lot more because no one in the world understood you. I liked it when you talked to me. When the world treated you like a criminal I was always on your side, sticking with you to the very end. I was your best friend. When everyone else abandoned you I was always there for you, looking after you because I was the only one that truly understood you. Deep inside I knew you hadn’t changed at all. I wanted to tell you I had always loved you.

I was heartbroken when you hid me from your friends one evening, when they dropped by. You were embarrassed when they saw me beside your pillow. You hid me instantly, you hid me from you. Before your friends, I was but a doll with no feelings. And you thought so. I cried and cried for nights because that was when you stopped talking to me. It was when you realised I was holding you back from your ‘real’ friends. I was not important. I was an insignificant part of your past. I ended up on a shelf in your bedroom when you were seventeen years old. You told me you needed the space. Although I could still see you, and I watched you walking past the shelf in and out of your room everyday, I could tell that I was no longer visible to you, I was no longer important to you, like I once was.

You were still my special boy. I was still to watch you grow up into a competent adult. One day, I finally realised why you needed the space on your bed – and it broke my heart. I saw you walking into our bedroom with a beautiful girl, one that could hold you in her arms and touch you gently with her fingers. I could tell you loved her – but to me, she was a despicable thief! Who was she to lay her hands on my special boy? I envied her. I wanted to be her. She was real and therefore her feeling must be real. You left me. I was just a doll.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:39 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:34:47 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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I was happy for you – at least I should be happy for you. Even though I was left all alone on the shelf, it was always you, and only you that mattered to me. You were happy, and that was enough. From a gentle caress to actually-doing-it-for-real I saw everything. It pained me. She turned you from me – she stole you from me.

On this shelf I watched you grow into a charming prince, then a happy marriage, and then a father, a father of two children…I should be happy for you, but watching you everyday broke my heart. You were having such a fantastic life, so happy, so fulfilled – without me. I wanted more from you. I wanted you to look at me, to talk to me and to hold me like you used to. On that shelf I waited…

Sixty years. We were both antiques and we stayed the way we were. My colours had faded, and so did the colour of your hair. You had wrinkles – but beautiful wrinkles they were. And one day you saw this tiny doll on the shelf like you had never noticed it before… and then you smiled at me. You saw from my point of view, and you reminded me why the wait was worth every second of it. You reached out for me and held me carefully – tenderly.

‘I…re-mem-ber…you...’ you muttered slowly and when I was against your chest I knew our love hadn’t died. You stared at me, and in my eyes you saw your baby cot, your parents, still alive, still smiling down on you when you took your first steps, your childhood, your mother’s cottage pie, your teary teenage years and all your other memories. They were there now, shining in your eyes. ‘Thank you,’ you whispered to me and held me to your chest. You thanked me, how I was always there for you when you needed me. You were still the baby I met all those years ago.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:40 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:35:16 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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Then the day came. You were in your room and you clutched at your heart. You were in agony and I couldn’t ease your pain. You had never been in so much pain before and I was helpless, watching you die. I shouted for help but no one could hear me. You were suffering, and I was sitting purposelessly on the shelf, wanting to hold you in my arms, to comfort you, until the moment you finally gave up, lying on the floor. I loved you. In your will you said I was to be buried with you. I knew it! I was crying because you chose me, and not your pernicious wife or anybody else, to be with you forever and ever. Our bodies shall one day crumble and our tiny atoms of ashes and carbon shall forever be mixed inside this one coffin, never to be separated in centuries to come – and finally, we were one.

I love you.

~~End~~

12-Feb-2011 16:40:40 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:35:46 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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Notes on Doll

Taking full advantage of the boredom and surplus of time in that week of holiday, during which there was no internet access and no communication with the outside world, I sat down and did about two hours of writing.

Taking further steps on the idea of watching my own self with critical judgment and be an observer, this has extended to the relationship of a doll observing her master from birth to death.

I very much had mortality in mind when I wrote this piece, and gave the narrator a tone. Given its potential to be an emotional piece, I had another practice at writing stories that move an audience. This was a small step, nonetheless.

This story in the end suffered the syndrome of ‘lack of action’. The doll seemed to stay on the shelf for more than 30 years. It just wasn’t very exciting to read, and I’d sacrificed description for character and emotion. It is clear from this point that this is the way I have decided to take with my writing, at least, for the next few stories.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:40 - Last edited on 19-Mar-2011 15:36:09 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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~~The Priceless~~

(February 2008)

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.” ~ C.S. Lewis

"What a Noob!” David muttered, perhaps to himself as he scrolled down the Hiscores, examining each stat closely, and then frowned at the screen, “My GOD, will he still play when the rest of us are dead?” I scowled at him – I was shocked with disbelief, and for a moment I could not even breathe – these cold words blasted the last trickle of my hope away. It was as if my heart was burning in hell’s fury … then when it cooled there was bitterness, a sourness that could never be fully described, and a chilled sympathy that could not be expressed.

It had not moved him. All these beautiful skills had earned no more respect or admiration than those who played RuneScape for barely two minutes. Something caught my eyes instantly and I stared blankly at the skill: 99 farming. It was a surprise to me for I could not recall seeing it before – although David laughed at its existence, I knew very well what it meant. “It’s over, then,” I said to myself - I had finally got the message.

He had done everything and he had given everything. He proved his unbeatable perseverance and he invested his all – he had even given up what he could’ve been.

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered to the Hiscores, and felt an overwhelming pang of guilt flooding all over me. This was wrong – completely wrong.

Sometime after David’s departure when I was alone again, I looked out through the window into Christmas Eve, appalled and disgusted with what the reality had to offer. It was a strange feeling … I was no longer looking forward to Christmas – the festival of love, warmth, passion and union. Beneath the snow outside was nothing but perished leaves and animals, I wondered how many must starve tonight. Despite being indoors with a radiator glowing on full power I could feel the chill of death around me – it was as if the love of God had departed from mankind forever.

***

12-Feb-2011 16:40:41 - Last edited on 26-Mar-2011 10:08:43 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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I started playing RuneScape in October. I guess it was just one of those random games I came across on the internet and simply play without a particular cause. It was an ideal way to relax – for we all knew life was harsh and before we knew it our time vanished right in front of your eyes for no apparent reason, whether we liked it or not. Although most school work nowadays required almost immediate attention, I believed I could always postpone the deadlines for a little longer, as if the hideous burden would miraculously resolve itself in years to come – what was the hurry?

My question was never fully answered: “Why bother?”

There was only one bus that could get me to college on time. Apart from the fact that the driver was always a little earlier than expected, I could never catch that bus, although sometimes I knew I would’ve caught it if I had run (presumably all the way from home, which would take over two minutes).

In contrast to the cruel A-Level coursework, RuneScape provided an ethereal, fantasy world where everyone paid homage to my very existence. I was needed. I was this hero amongst millions who was appointed the task to change the lives around me. There was no day, or night, as if time itself was frozen, securely held by some sort of bank pin; it was to be expended at will and firmly at my disposal.

12-Feb-2011 16:40:41 - Last edited on 26-Mar-2011 09:40:22 by Englishkid62

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~~English's Forgotten Tales~~

English's Forgotten Tales