Post by Deleted on Feb 9, 2017 18:15:40 GMT -8
We all have at least one story that we look back on and cringe. This thread is specially dedicated to those. Feel free to gather your early works, from old fanfiction, to first novel attempts, to the earliest roleplays you can remember.
So, the backstory behind mine is that I was transferring photos from my mother's old computer to a new one, when lo-and-behold, what beautiful works do I find? Attempts at novels ranging from ages ten to twelve. The excerpt of the one that I am posting below is, tragically, the best little bit of garbage in that burning dumpster heap. It was called, 'Mark of Leaders,' starring wolves with oddly-African sounding names, extremely unusual birthmarks *because nature, am I right?*, and such an oh-so-original sibling rivalry. I believe I was around ten when I wrote this, possibly eleven.
The basic consensus was that every wolf within a particular pack was born with a mark that revealed the rank. Story revolved around two brothers, one born an Alpha, the other born an omega. Alpha kid of course bullies our poooooowwwr wittle omega, who then develops a deep, burning desire for WEVENGE! The following scene is supposed to be the 'climax' of the novel, where our wittle omega decides to be a big ol' baddie, disposing of his brother in a manner similar to, 'I killed Mufasa,' featuring the most cliché damn dialogue I hope I've ever written.
And thus, begins the tale of Malka.
A dark figure watched the happy pair make their way to the lake. The figure always kept just out of sight, hidden in the shadows. Envy sparked in icy blue eyes and the glint of claws shown in the moonlight. The animal curled up his lip at the sight of the golden she-wolf, the wolf he had once loved.
The wolf’s hackles rose as he caught sight of a large white wolf. The white wolf’s pelt hid hard muscle, and a pair of gleaming white fangs caught the loner’s eye. It would be a difficult opponent, the loner decided, but he was ready. Besides, he was fueled by pure hatred and loathing.
This white wolf was the one who had caused so much pain. The one that had taken his mate. The one that had killed his friends. The one that had made him an outcast, a lowly servant in the eyes of his pack.
But he had been patient. All that time while he had been living in the shadows, he had been planning. He had perfected the tiniest detail, the slightest flaw. He had mastered the art of silent assassination, and now, he could put his skill to the test.
The darkness had claimed him as its own, and in turn, now the darkness was his and his alone. It had a place deep in the depths of his heart, a place in his twisted mind where the last shreds of sanity had disappeared. This was who he was.
Long gone was the whimpering pup who begged for scraps. Long gone was the scrawny adolescent who had served as the scapegoat of his pack. No, that wolf had died. In that wolf’s place was a murderer, dark and deranged.
It was who he was. And was proud to be.
He took a few tentative steps forward and tensed his muscles. His target was playing with the golden she-wolf, shoving her with his broad muzzle and nipping at her flank. The loner flattened his ears against his head and growled. That had been his mate once.
The loner crept towards his brother, amused how he didn’t suspect a thing. He was the predator now, and the white wolf was his prey. The predator was always merciless, and never pitied the prey as it gave anguished whimpers. The loner would follow would follow the predator’s example.
He waited as the pair of wolves curled up to sleep. The loner didn’t want to arouse the she-wolf, so he would have to be as quiet as possible.
The loner padded softly up to the white wolf he called his brother, his beautiful blue gleaming wickedly. He circled the white wolf for a moment or two, then came to a conclusion. He sank his teeth into his brother’s scruff, and carefully pulled him away into a secluded area. This was the perfect place.
His brother stirred once, but settled again. The loner rolled his eyes. He could have been howling a melody in his brother’s ears and still he wouldn’t wake.
The loner stopped and released his brother’s scruff. He placed a paw on the white wolf’s flank, applying just enough pressure to draw blood. He suddenly lunged forward, sinking his teeth into his brother’s muzzle. Blood filled his mouth with its metallic taste, but he didn’t mind.
His brother instantly jolted awake with a yelp of pain. His brother leapt to his paws, but the loner kept a firm grip. The loner’s brother hooked his claws around the loner’s fur and gave a jerk. Pushing the loner away, the white wolf snarled, blood welling from the cut in his muzzle.
“Malka. I should have known.” The white wolf lashed out with a forepaw, the blow barely missing.
Malka sprang to the side agilely, his eyes sparkling as if it all were a marvelous game. He had been toying with his enemy’s, either lulling them into a false sense of security or striking out of the blue. They had had no idea that he had been there the whole time, laughing at their expenses. They thought him as a coward, turning tail at the first sign of danger, oh, how wrong they were.
This was his game, and he had never been beaten in it.
Coming from the side, Malka hurtled himself into his brother’s side, knocking him off balance. Malka felt for his brother’s throat beneath the thick fur, then sank his teeth in.
The white wolf tossed Malka away from him with a kick of his hind paws, but Malka had anticipated this, twisting in the air and landing on all fours.
“Oh, Kiburi. Your stupidity is simply astounding. It’s like playing with a puppy. No matter what, you know you’ll always overpower them. I thought you would have had some sense to see this.”
Kiburi bared his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that threatened to overpower him. Blood stained the white fur around his neck and trickled down his snout.
Malka sensed his brother’s weakness. He smirked as his brother seemed to realize this too. For once, something other than pride shown in his brother’s eyes. Fear.
Malka charged forward, bowling his brother over. In a moment, his teeth met their mark and he released his grip on his brother’s throat. Malka lifted his tail in triumph as he watched the light fade from Kiburi’s eyes. He had won.
So, the backstory behind mine is that I was transferring photos from my mother's old computer to a new one, when lo-and-behold, what beautiful works do I find? Attempts at novels ranging from ages ten to twelve. The excerpt of the one that I am posting below is, tragically, the best little bit of garbage in that burning dumpster heap. It was called, 'Mark of Leaders,' starring wolves with oddly-African sounding names, extremely unusual birthmarks *because nature, am I right?*, and such an oh-so-original sibling rivalry. I believe I was around ten when I wrote this, possibly eleven.
The basic consensus was that every wolf within a particular pack was born with a mark that revealed the rank. Story revolved around two brothers, one born an Alpha, the other born an omega. Alpha kid of course bullies our poooooowwwr wittle omega, who then develops a deep, burning desire for WEVENGE! The following scene is supposed to be the 'climax' of the novel, where our wittle omega decides to be a big ol' baddie, disposing of his brother in a manner similar to, 'I killed Mufasa,' featuring the most cliché damn dialogue I hope I've ever written.
And thus, begins the tale of Malka.
A dark figure watched the happy pair make their way to the lake. The figure always kept just out of sight, hidden in the shadows. Envy sparked in icy blue eyes and the glint of claws shown in the moonlight. The animal curled up his lip at the sight of the golden she-wolf, the wolf he had once loved.
The wolf’s hackles rose as he caught sight of a large white wolf. The white wolf’s pelt hid hard muscle, and a pair of gleaming white fangs caught the loner’s eye. It would be a difficult opponent, the loner decided, but he was ready. Besides, he was fueled by pure hatred and loathing.
This white wolf was the one who had caused so much pain. The one that had taken his mate. The one that had killed his friends. The one that had made him an outcast, a lowly servant in the eyes of his pack.
But he had been patient. All that time while he had been living in the shadows, he had been planning. He had perfected the tiniest detail, the slightest flaw. He had mastered the art of silent assassination, and now, he could put his skill to the test.
The darkness had claimed him as its own, and in turn, now the darkness was his and his alone. It had a place deep in the depths of his heart, a place in his twisted mind where the last shreds of sanity had disappeared. This was who he was.
Long gone was the whimpering pup who begged for scraps. Long gone was the scrawny adolescent who had served as the scapegoat of his pack. No, that wolf had died. In that wolf’s place was a murderer, dark and deranged.
It was who he was. And was proud to be.
He took a few tentative steps forward and tensed his muscles. His target was playing with the golden she-wolf, shoving her with his broad muzzle and nipping at her flank. The loner flattened his ears against his head and growled. That had been his mate once.
The loner crept towards his brother, amused how he didn’t suspect a thing. He was the predator now, and the white wolf was his prey. The predator was always merciless, and never pitied the prey as it gave anguished whimpers. The loner would follow would follow the predator’s example.
He waited as the pair of wolves curled up to sleep. The loner didn’t want to arouse the she-wolf, so he would have to be as quiet as possible.
The loner padded softly up to the white wolf he called his brother, his beautiful blue gleaming wickedly. He circled the white wolf for a moment or two, then came to a conclusion. He sank his teeth into his brother’s scruff, and carefully pulled him away into a secluded area. This was the perfect place.
His brother stirred once, but settled again. The loner rolled his eyes. He could have been howling a melody in his brother’s ears and still he wouldn’t wake.
The loner stopped and released his brother’s scruff. He placed a paw on the white wolf’s flank, applying just enough pressure to draw blood. He suddenly lunged forward, sinking his teeth into his brother’s muzzle. Blood filled his mouth with its metallic taste, but he didn’t mind.
His brother instantly jolted awake with a yelp of pain. His brother leapt to his paws, but the loner kept a firm grip. The loner’s brother hooked his claws around the loner’s fur and gave a jerk. Pushing the loner away, the white wolf snarled, blood welling from the cut in his muzzle.
“Malka. I should have known.” The white wolf lashed out with a forepaw, the blow barely missing.
Malka sprang to the side agilely, his eyes sparkling as if it all were a marvelous game. He had been toying with his enemy’s, either lulling them into a false sense of security or striking out of the blue. They had had no idea that he had been there the whole time, laughing at their expenses. They thought him as a coward, turning tail at the first sign of danger, oh, how wrong they were.
This was his game, and he had never been beaten in it.
Coming from the side, Malka hurtled himself into his brother’s side, knocking him off balance. Malka felt for his brother’s throat beneath the thick fur, then sank his teeth in.
The white wolf tossed Malka away from him with a kick of his hind paws, but Malka had anticipated this, twisting in the air and landing on all fours.
“Oh, Kiburi. Your stupidity is simply astounding. It’s like playing with a puppy. No matter what, you know you’ll always overpower them. I thought you would have had some sense to see this.”
Kiburi bared his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that threatened to overpower him. Blood stained the white fur around his neck and trickled down his snout.
Malka sensed his brother’s weakness. He smirked as his brother seemed to realize this too. For once, something other than pride shown in his brother’s eyes. Fear.
Malka charged forward, bowling his brother over. In a moment, his teeth met their mark and he released his grip on his brother’s throat. Malka lifted his tail in triumph as he watched the light fade from Kiburi’s eyes. He had won.