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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

A picture is worth a thousand words?


Rune

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I always thought this would be a neat exercise. My apologies if it has already been done before and I missed it. General concept is that a picture is posted and people respond with a 1-2 paragraph story about the picture. It's mostly just for fun and can be kinda goofy or serious if anyone is interested. Just take a look at this picture and see what you can come up with. If someone wants, another picture can be posted for a similiar exercise.

 

All credit goes to Antipixel which I highly suggest you visit.

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The young girl waited silently below the tree of orange. The sunlight bathed the bench as her hand caressed the cold stone below. She shivered slightly as time crawled past. She doubted her reason for waiting and clinched her fist slightly. Anxious thoughts turned into silent rage. Where is he? She wondered. The leaves from the tree overhead created shadows that danced across her face. Amid the cloudy spots of black her expression changed to mimic her fleeting mood. Happiness turned to anxious concern then back to a smile then followed by a frown. Finally he came and she bounded forth from her resting place to find herself in his arms. All of her concerns and uncertainly floated upwards, seeping through the leaves above and towards the sky. The leaves rustled slightly in the uprising before settling back to sleep clinging to the tree of orange and waiting for the next breath of life to sit beneath it’s branches.

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Sighing to herself, Omiko looked out her window. Autumn had fallen and the leaves were a bright orange. Thinking back on the times her mother had told her stories about the Japanese Samurai warriors that his father so admired. Just last year, she heard of how her grandfather had led just a handful of men to stop the evil warlord who sought to overthrow the Emperor. A year ago, she had lain herself in her mother's lap and heard of ancient tales of valor. A year ago, the autumn leaves had fell and she played in the field outside her home. A year ago, her mother had smiled at her and tucked her into bed. A year ago, this house was still her home. THis year, she'll be married off to an Honored Lord and be leaving the only home she ever known. This year, Autumn has fallen in her life...

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Melissa sat on the bench beneath the tree, slowly twisting a leaf between her fingers. Autumn was onsetting, bringing with it memories of her father and how he'd loved the fall. Life on the farm had always been an endless chain of things to do, everyone working together from the time they could walk. And yet, once a year, everything paused briefly. With the crops in and the harvest crews gone back home, yet too early for winter wheat, every autumn held a brief few weeks of gentle strolling through the changing world. Never since had she walked with anyone who took the time to see the changing shades of gold as grasses aged, or deepening purple shadows of sunset across the mountains. Looking at the leaf twisting between her fingers, she wondered how many shades of gold and orange he would see - and how many ways she'd realize how much she missed him. The wind suddenly pulled the leaf from her hand and whirled it down the sidewalk. She watched it fly for a moment, then rose slowly and followed it on its way.

 

 

 

(apologies for how rough this is, i've not had time to draft it out and edit it but didn't want to let such a wonderful idea drop any further down the page.)

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The orange leaves wave quietly as a light breeze passes over the Komikira gardens, the gnarled branches of the old keniji tree gently beaten by the light pulse of the Autumn wind. The movement slowly dies down, like the soft rhythm of a dying heart, as the leaves gradually rustle to a standstill. Withered and crippled, a mockery of their former Spring glory, they watch over the gardens; oblivious to friendship, oblivious to honor, oblivious to love.

 

Oblivious to betrayal.

 

Time halts in its course as a single leaf drops from the highest branch, its wretched distortion losing it a spot amongst its lofty brethren. The leaf dances gracefully to the wakazashi fields below, like some grotesque skeletal winddancer, a morbid puppet show of natures lost grandeur. Upon nearing the fields, it slides down the handle, then the hilt, of a katana blade that rests embedded there. It smoothly glides down the blade, sensually carressing it, savoring every moment, until it finally reaches the pool of blood that rests at its base. The leaf foats there, helplessly stranded.

 

A meeting point for whispers and laughter. An impromptu dueling ground. And now, a tombstone.

 

The old keniji tree of Komikira gardens.

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It is, like, totally odd. The red-lensed glasses make the green leaves orange and the whitish-pink bark brown. And the stop sign just fades into a black outline against the rising sun.

you were right. No drugs, just dawn and glasses. I love the rising day, the sky before the sun crests, the way the world just, like, totally takes this BREATH and there's a note like the two notes just before the Moody Blue's "Dawn is a Feeling" song, ya know? Like, the whole world is just cosmically in tune and there isn't a soul to share it except you and nature pure and just totally awesome.

No! I didn't mean I want you to go. Loser! Like, grow up and don't be so sensitive all the time. No, I still want the glasses for now. You can have them when the sun is up.

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I look at the bonsai, and I think 'Why?'

 

Why do we need to be here? This place, this sanctum is haven enough for now.

But it won't always be.

 

Soon they will break through. Soon, we will see open, bloody combat again. Soon swords will rise, men will fall, and alliances, perhaps nations shall be forged and broken.

 

Such is the way of it.

 

He sighed, paid final obescience to the shrine and its' adorning bonsai tree and rose.

 

Donning his quiver and taking up his bow, he took up his position on the rampart.

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"Branches that spiral and bend

Like my life from the beginning

Coming near and far from the trunk

As life revolves around a path

This time near the center

Seeing a target so close and so clear

That time far from the stream

Lost in dreams and thoughts of happiness

 

Orange leaves catch my eye

Fiery as love and the wish to live

Sea of color around the branches

Transient as life winding down the path.

Slave to the whims of the wind and weather

As my life to my heart's desire

Autumn leaves fall and cover

The path where I am, where life brought me. "

 

She closes the book after writing the verses, and looks again at the garden. Absent-mindedly nibbling the tip of the brush's handle, she lets her eyes wander around the leaves and gnarled branches of the odd-shaped tree.

 

"The path where I am, where life brought me."

 

And where was she? Why had life brought her there? Her objective had been clear, once. Her dreams had been tightly reined and wound around her chosen path. Now, she felt that all the time she had been fooling herself. Her dreams had shot branches in all directions, and her secret thoughts and desires had grown, to become fiery as Autumn leaves. And what was once her path was now part of a greater setting, supporting her dreams and lending them strength. Ironic.

 

Sighing, the High Priestess leaves her private garden. They await her decision.

 

And it will surprise them.

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  • 3 weeks later...

The garden is silent as the tree dies. Cells crack and crumble, color produced less- the green slowly fails. Limbs wither and the trunk begins to atrophy. Water and sunlight can help less and less, until finally the starving, twisted husk is but another erect corpse decorating the countryside.

 

Where do trees go when they die?

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