A Writer's Perdicament
-sighs-
You know, I don't really know why I do this.
[sound of paper ripping and crumpling]
I honestly don't know why. I write and I write, all day and all night, on paper or in my mind. I write stories, some that get finished, others don't; some half writen or a word or a few on paper.
-sighs- [a shawdoy figure is seen leaning back in a chair in a dark room, the only light is coming from the window with a small gap between the curtains, rain can be seen falling outside]
Your a reader aren't you? Then you probably read my stories, if you have, they fucking suck don't they? Yup, I can't write, yet every one else says I can.
"Oh! Alex! This is some really good writing!"
"Very Good! Your a natrual writer, a very good knack for writing."
Keep on writing! Your writing is excellent...
[angry growls and incoherent curses and words]
Fuckin' shit man, if I can write real well why doesn't seem like it in my stories!? My Ass! I can write well, I've seen it myself, but only in poems or poetic stories, anything else is just... what ever you want to call it: piece of shit, shitty, crap, crappy, terrible, horrible, so on and so forth.
[more angry growls] -sighs- [the shadowy figure slumps back into his chair and stares out the window, watching the rain fall like the many different stories he has read and those he has created]
So many stories. I could see any story that I thought of: big, wonderous, something that is worthy of recognition. -sighs- Yet, I do it all for not.
+the fingure slowly starts to fade and shrink away in to the darkness, the rain and it's sound fade along with him+
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+you see the figure from the day before again in the same room again. You can see from the sunlight that is palely shining through showing a cluttered desk of miscellaneous objects, pens, paper, bottles, and plates of half eaten food and showing that the figure is actually a tiger, lost deep in thought of the story he is writing+
[scribble, scribble, tap, tap, tap] -sigh-
Back again are you now? Well what do you want? Oh, you want to read a story, do you? Go Away, I Have No Story For You.
[pencil clatters on desk, and chair squeaks as it turns, the tiger stares at you with sapphire eyes and emerald pupils]
Aren't planning on leaving then, eh? Ugh, fine. Hmm, where did I leave off the day before... Ah yes, a story, a big, wonderous story wothry of recognition. That's where I left off.
Yeah, the 'perfect' story, one that I'd just sit back in my chair once its done and say, 'Yeah, there we go. That's the one.' -sigh- Hasn't happened yet, nor shall it happen anytime in the future.
[A sadden look befalls the tiger's features as he stares off elsewhere in his room, appearently think of his stories again]
Yeah, I can't get my 'perfect' story, but Oh, I can get the perfect battles. Hehe yeah, I'd get and give battles worthy of recognition, like how the Mandalorians do.
[a smile flashes across his face, giving him a wolfish look. the room starts to spin, slowly at first, slowly gaining speed. then it becomes just a mad spinning, swirling cyclone of colors and then it stops all together suddenly. the tiger is seen standing on a balcony, his back facing you, a breeze flicks his cape around and you see he is dressed in extravagant armor. in front of him you see millions of men and women in orange and black armor, some appearing to be like that of the U.S. Army, and others in the same armor as the tiger, only less extravagant, but the same uniform colors of orange and black. you hear the tiger's deep, voice so close, yet so far, and his voive seems to rumble in the air around you]
I was a very well military strategist. On countless worlds across the Imperium, my warriors and I had fought, in the same countless numbers of campaigns; from lush, green jungle-worlds to the concrete jungles of hive-planets; fighting the unspeakable abominations of Chaos, the new and technological upstart race of the Tau to the mystical and crafty Eldar to the respectable, yet stupid Orks and to the metallic, shiny, but deadly, warriors of the Necrons.
Millions of men and women, both Humans and Furres alike died in battle to bring the cleansing light of the Emperor to his dark enemies. We were amongst the many revered regiments and chapters on our part of the Imperium.
Sons of the Tyger, my Space Marine chapter, lead by the chapter master: Tiger Lord Caleb; The Warriors of Tyger, my Imperial Guard regiment, lead by the most respectable man, and his fighting unit, plus an honorary Furre: Col.Schaeffer and his 13th Penal Legion of Last Chancers; I also lead my own Ordo Malleus chamber along with the venerable Inquisitors and Grey Kight chapter.
[the blacony, the warriors parading below it, and the entire world flash away quickly and every thing returns back to normal, back in to the room with the tiger sitting at the cluttered desk and pale sunlight shining through the window]
Bah! Enough of this revelry. I am, at the very least, trying to write a story. Go now and leave me be.
[scribble, scibble]
+the room fades and shrinks away again in to the black nothingness+