The Letter End: Chapter Seven

All right, lovelies, this next chapter is a little different from the first six. It's a journal entry from the POV of a character I already introduced (not that it's any big mystery or anything). So go read it here on Figment or here on FictionPress! And most importantly, enjoy! =)

The Letter End: Chapter Six

Chapter six of The Letter End is now posted here on Figment and here on FictionPress! Enjoy, lovelies!

Seventeen, For Real Snail Mail

This next prompt comes from Sam, the first person to send me a prompt and picture through snail mail! I will post pictures of the photo and letter once I find my camera! =)

The Letter End: Chapter Five

Chapter five of The Letter End can be found here on Figment and here on FictionPress! This one's a little angsty, folks, so you've been warned. =)

The Letter End: Chapters 2 through 4

Chapters two through four of The Letter End are now posted here on Figment and here on FictionPress.

Sixteen, For A Touch of Color in a Dim World

This picture comes from Marlin:

Fifteen, For Lots of Randomness

These pictures come from Katie-Rebekah:

The Letter End: Chapter One

Chapter one of The Letter End is now posted here on FictionPress!

Fourteen, For Things That Glow

These pictures and this story come from Sanaya:

The light glittered in her eyes as she sat in the car on the way to their destination. She laughed, but the glittering of her eyes was only because of the sunlight.

Her friends waved goodbye to their parents as they kicked off their new beach slippers and headed straight for the pristine blue water. She picked out the laces of her worn out shoes and slumped onto the sand, forgetting about her auburn hair catching grains of sand. The sun beat down on her face, and she grabbed her hat, pulling it over her eyes.

She could hear her friends in the distance, shrieking about the cold water. She heard the silent crash of waves along the shore. She could feel the tiny pieces of sand tickling her feet. She felt the wind caressing her outstretched arms. She could feel the frying of the skin on her legs. It felt like she was a piece of coal tossed into a furnace, but she didn’t move a muscle. Her hand-me-down dress swished against her thighs.

She sat up abruptly, and took in a deep breath of salty air. She could smell that dampness on the sand. It had rained last night. She looked at her friends, some of them holding hands, walking further away from her. She looked away. Pieces of fiery hair flickered in front of her eyes, and another hand reached to place it behind her ear. It was him.

A smile played on her lips. She looked back into the waves, but through her peripheral vision, saw him place himself next to her, leaning back on his hands. His chest rose and fell slowly, and she tuned her breath to his.

“Why don’t you go into the water?” She asked, still staring at the boys and girls, now deep into the water, now lying on a gargantuan float while the waves lulled them towards the shore.

“Same reason as you.” His melodic voice said. She raised her eyebrows, and bit her lower lip.

“It’s nice on the sand,” she made her point by picking up the soft sand and pouring it over her knees. He copied her by picking up a handful and sprinkling it over her hands. The waves had moved in, now tickling her feet. She drew swirls in the muddy sand and watched the water erase them. Her hands felt cool as she patted the watery sand.

“It’s okay to be yourself, you know,” He said. Her eyes shot up to his face, sincerity in his own eyes.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure,” he mused, while an embarrassed laugh escaped from her lips.

“It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do,” she continued, and he beamed back at her. His face looked too bright, as if the sun would have to move over to make way for this scintillating object.

“See?”

“What?” she asked, pulling her knees to her chest as the water swirled around them.

“We can quote Coach Carter and be dorks.” He stated. “And you don’t have to be ashamed.” A soft breeze blew her hair over her face. She reached up to pull it back into a ponytail.

“I knew that,” she rolled her eyes. He put a hand over hers, resting on the sand. She raised her eyebrows again, but in her stomach, tiny butterflies erupted out of their cocoons.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” He repeated. She smiled at him.

“It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

The light glittered in her eyes as she sat in the car on the way back from their destination. She sat in the backseat, his fingers quietly interlocked between hers. She laughed, but the glittering of her eyes was not only because of the sunlight.

Thirteen, For Singular Focus

These pictures come from Zina:

The Letter End: Chapter One and Chapter Two

The first two chapters of The Letter End are now posted here on Figment! Soon it will be posted on FictionPress. I will update the blog when it's posted there. =) Thanks, everyone, for your awesome prompts! Keep them coming!

Twelve, For Some Epic Randomosity

These pictures come from Erin:

Eleven, For Poetic Conversations and Dreams

This next prompts come from Julia:

It’s cold here, in my dark mind.

I can’t escape it no matter how hard I try.

But I’m not sure I want to leave from it.

Perhaps I should delve deeper into its depth,

And focus intently on it instead of running.

Or maybe I should forget it completely,

And live in the world apart from myself.

But the world is cold and dim too,

And with neither choice could I live.

So I linger on the brink of them,

Both immensely important and influential.

Both so familiarly foreign.

Both filled with unique fears and joys.

This is where I truly live,

Between fantasy and reality.

Only I can’t tell which is the reality.

“Kayla?” Christy asked, her voice carrying through the soft nighttime breeze. “Can I ask you a question?”

The fire seemed to flicker in rhythm with Kayla’s laughter as she put another log on it. “Stargazing causing you to get philosophical? It does that to me too. Looking out at billions of billions of stars, and thinking just how amazing it is that we’re here, that we can see them and question things. That we actually are alive.” Entering into her own thoughts of wonder and life, she lied down next to Christy to take it the wonder of the stars.

“That’s sort of my question,” Christy laughed. “How do you know that we’re really alive? I mean, are we even real?”

Kayla studied the question over in her mind. “Well I don’t think being alive is the same thing as being real. I’d define being alive as in having a functioning body here. Even if we aren’t real, we definitely fall into the ‘alive’ category, and besides, I know I’m real. I feel real enough to me and I can think and feel, so yeah, I’m fairly positive I’m real.”

“And what if you’re wrong?”

“Then nothing really changes, since I can still think and feel. If that’s not being real, I don’t see a point to wanting to be real.”

“Ok, fair enough. I really exist, but…. How do I know if anything else is real or not? For some ludicrous reason I can’t seem to find we all hold the idea that this,” she made a big, wide, hand gesture, indicting the world around her, “is what’s real. That’d be okay, if it weren’t for the accompanying thoughts. Everyone also seems to agree that dreams aren’t real. And then there’s the reality of heaven and hell, and other spiritual forces. And some people have those theories about other dimensions, and parallel universes...” Christy slowly trailed off, worried she might overwhelm Kayla.

 “It’s not that strange to think this world, or universe, or dimension, or whatever, is real. We can feel it. We can observe it. It’s affected by factors and systems. It’s all we know, and we can’t control it all. Reality’s hard to define, but I think if millions of people physically feel and observe it, it has to be real. At least, real to the people that feel it.”

“No.”

“What?”

“It’s not subjective. If it’s real, it’s real period. Something can’t just cease to have ever existed for a different person. I’m sure of it. I’ve never seen the ocean, but it’s not more real to some swimmer than it is to me.”

“Maybe,” Kayla allotted.

“But then what about dreams? You feel them when you’re in them? If the world is real, then they should be too.”

“Now you’re wrong, dreams aren’t actually felt. They’re merely thought and thought’s might be real, but they’re just that; thoughts. You can think wrong; you can think false. A reality couldn’t be false, or it would cease to be a reality.”

“I guess…”

“Are you ready for things to get more confusing? Because now you’ve got me thinking about heaven and hell.”

“Sure,” Christy yawned as the fire shrunk.

“Do you think they exist, heaven and hell?”

“Maybe.”

“Well I do. I know they do. They’re real, but not real like here. I don’t mean that they’re metaphorical or anything like that. I mean they’re more real. We know this place exists only through the senses and logic, but there’s more proof of heaven existing, although we only see shards of that proof now. Really useful shards that can still do so much down here, but shards none the less. Think about it, heaven was made first. Heaven knows our existence more than we know their’s. We’re a part of their reality, but only a fragment. Can you imagine what else is there? How certain they must be in everything? And hell is equally as real. They’re all realities! Now as for alternate dimensions…” the diming fire went out as a mild breeze passed. Kayla groaned. “That stupid fire takes so much work. Christy? Are you actually asleep?”

Turning over on the hard ground, Kayla realized tiredness was upon her too. “Fine, Goodnight.” 

Bright lights shine down on n me, drowning my half open eyes. I open my mouth to ask someone to turn them off, only to realize that I don’t know who I’m asking, and I don’t know why the lights are so bright. That’s when it hits me; I don’t remember anything.

Then the doctor comes in and explains things, he doesn’t know how I got here and doesn’t offer me any real answers. Then he hands me a bag, he says its mine, and it might have answers. But it doesn’t. It holds questions.

My cell phone has three contacts; Kelly, Chris, and Diane. I’ll call them later. Next I pull out a note with an address written on top. “You live here now,” was scribbled under that with a key attached.

I go there, into the building that’s surrounded by trees, and finish sorting through my bag. Someone left me a note; someone picked these objects to give to me. There’s a lot of cash, breath mints, and another key.

I call Diane first, but she doesn’t pick up. I call Kelly, and she rushes over. I show her my few items and explain everything I can remember. We do our nails and she doesn’t stop talking. But nothing she says is helpful; none of it’s about my past. I have a feeling we were best friends though. She’s 15 and told her parents she’d be spending the night here. She told me she wasn’t going to abandon me when I was so confused. I thank her, although I honestly don’t care either way.

“Kelly?” I ask, interrupting some rant about jeans or something, “Tell me about my past? Who am I?” She hasn’t even used my name once.

“I can’t,” she explains calmly, “I was told not to.”

“Told by whom?” I ask sharply, seeing my answers on the water’s edge, but the metaphorically wave refuses to rise to my level. “And so what? We were friends, right? Who cares what someone told you.”

“I can’t tell you that either,” she laughed, “look, I know it must be annoying not knowing anything, but have you ever considered that knowing the past might not help you at all. Trust me; this is a secret you want to keep buried.”

I ask her to leave, and she does. The house feels empty in its silence. I can’t sleep that night, and call my last contact; Chris. The clock said 2:00 am and I felt guilty for calling, but I need someone right now. He picks up.

“Hello?” his voice greets, pleasant and smooth.

“um, hi,” I stumbled with my words, “I don’t actually know who I am, or who you are, but you’re in my contact list, so I figured maybe, you would know something, or we might be friends, or,”

“Can I come over?” He interrupts.

“If you bring food,” I smile, my stomach growling.

“Bye,” he hangs up and I go into the living room to wait.

He brings his favorite pizza and refuses to tell me what my favorite is. He’s cute, but his features are hard. He knows things, I can tell.

“Here,” he says after avoiding about fifty questions about my past, “I can’t tell you anything about the past, but I can talk to you about now. So how about we talk about now? About today, about now.  What did you do?”

I tell him about everything from me waking up that morning to now.

“That was the most factual and boring thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, although he seems interested when I was speaking, “tell me about it personally. Are you scared?”

“Should I be?”

“No,” he shakes his head and finishes off the pizza.

“Well how about you? How’s your life? Are you facing any confusing dilemmas too?” I take back my questions, “sorry, am I being too personal, I don’t really know how close we are so I don’t know if I’ll accidently cross a boundary.

“Relax,” he says, “since you have amnesia, I think we’ll have to redefine our boundaries. Don’t worry about crossing them.”

We talk all night, laughing and learning about each other. Well, I’m learning about him at least, since he might already know me. Although he does ask me a lot of questions to. I really like him.

In the next week, we become a couple. I really do love him, and he says he does too.  It seems perfect.

Then he gets a phone call when he’s talking to me. All he says to them is okay, but he looks at my urgently and says, “Your life’s in danger. We need to run. Permission to keep you safe?”

“Sure,” I say, confused. He grabs me and rapidly drags me out of my house. On the sidewalk, a man dressed in all black drops out of nowhere and talks to Chris. They know each other; they’re working together. We jump into his truck and he speeds away from what was my home.

“What’s going on?!?” I demand.

“That was one of my men. I sort of run a unit, group, thing. I’ll explain everything when we get to the hotel. Keeping it hidden isn’t working. If you still want, I’ll explain everything about your past.”

We get to the hotel and meet up with around 10 other guys that are under his orders. They all have one hotel room, and I have my own. Chris and one of them walk into my room to explain things. They shut the door behind them.

“Where to start,” Chris hesitates, then jumps into an explanation for everything, “you’re name’s Cassidy. You’re fifteen and there are people out to kill you right now. Okay, that definitely wasn’t the right place to start, I’ll try again. There’s a war going on. It has two sides. Oh, wait, I know where to start. There are people that can do things most people can’t, some people have a power. You know, like teleportation or mindreading. You are not one of this people,” Chris adds, seeing my hopeful, excited expression, “but I am. I don’t use my power anymore though. For morals, and reasons I’ll explain later. Anyway, most people with powers live in secret. But there are people that want to tell the world about people with powers. They think the world deserves to know, and are mostly people without powers. These people are on one side of the war, your side of the war. The other side, the one I was on, knew that all hell would break loose if people found out about our powers. Most people aren’t understanding, and once they found out, bad things would follow. And then there’s a third side that wants to conquer everyone without powers, but they don’t have many followers and aren’t really that important.

“So anyway, you were like really up in the ranks on your side and it was the same for me on my side. We were complete enemies and I came really close to killing like thousands of times. And you came close too, a few times,” Chris reluctantly admitted. “Then we started like this secret relationship thing, and stuff got really complicated. I’m still pretty sure you were just playing with me all those times, but whatever.”

“So the people coming to kill me?”

“Hold on, I’m getting to it. There are actually a lot of people coming to kill you, and I really mean a lot. I gave you the amnesia with a drug, potion thing so that they could all think you were dead and wouldn’t be after you anymore. Well, technically Steve did it without my permission,” he gestured to the other man in the room, who just shrugged apathetically. “Although, I would have done the same thing in like one day, and was actually planning it all out at the time. You can hate me for that later. So there’s this scientist guy looking for you who wants you to fix some fancy weapon thing because although you don’t have a power, you’re really smart and know a lot of stuff. Then there’s another scientist looking for revenge because for reasons you’ve never told me you tricked him into thinking you have powers and he tested and experimented on you, and once he found out you didn’t actually have any, he got really pissed at you. So he’s looking for revenge, I guess. Plus, there’s like a ton of people from my side of the war that have their problems with you and want you died. And then there’s this shape shifter….”

“Why does he want to kill me?”

“She’s looking for revenge. She thinks you murdered the love of her life.”

“Did I?”

“I don’t know. He was never your enemy, and was a really nice guy.”

“Oh my god, I was a horrible person.”

“You don’t even remember; you might have had good enough reasons.”

“No reasons justify murder.”

“She thinks you didn’t just murder the love of her life. She claims you murdered her whole family.”

“Yeah, I suck”

Truth is a hard thing to find, and it can destroy a person when they forget it, when they no longer know false from true. Soon they can’t tell wrong from right, and at that point, gaining back all that knowledge is usually almost impossible. When so much knowledge is lost, almost everything seems like there is no way to understand it. But then again, maybe nothing is ever truly able to be understood.

so you probably don't care, but it ends something like this; the scientist guy finds me and I act like I still have my memory and actually know how to do things. I trade me helping him with the weapon for knowledge about where my family is now (although that basically gives away that I don't remember everything. Oh, and Chris refuses to tell me anything deeper than what he already said about my past.) Right when he's about to declare me useless and kill me, Chris and the other people with him save me. And I somehow figure out that my family's completely jerks that try to kill people with powers. Then the shapeshifter comes as Chris and basically destroys me emotionally. She's about to kill me, and we have this intense talk before she actually tries. I don't blame her for wanting to kill me, and I'm about to let her, but then she has some epiphany and leaves. Eventually i found out (as a third person thing, not Cassidy) that the night her husband had died I was with him, but i didn't kill him. there was some sort of accident with a dangerous project we were working on to save humanly. I didn't save him either though. I still have no clue what was up with her family though, and I don't get my memory back. Yeah, and that's about it. 

Ten, For Fantastical Elements

Another fabulous prompt from Marlin:

Nine, For Falling Skies

This next prompt comes from Clara:

I had a dream where the clouds broke and they started to fall on everyone.

Eight, For Mysterious Girls

This next prompt comes from the lovely Sofia:

To Mother,

I have arrived in the Foreign Land as planned. The ride here was all right, no one asked any questions. I guess that's what I'm most afraid of, that someone will notice me. It's a stupid thing to be scared of. No one notices me anyway. I am staying at a boarding house. The owner is a small lady with poor eyesight who doesn't ask questions. 

I don't know, Ma. What do you want me to tell you? I'm not enjoying it here. I'm paranoid. I can't sleep at night just wondering if someone's coming after me. If they know about me. You wouldn't know what it's like. You've always belonged. 

I don't talk much. I think some of the folks think I'm mute. Better that they think that. 

I don't have much else to say. Hope you're doing well. I don't even have to hope. I know you're fine.

From,

Your Loving Daughter

Seven, For Towers of Power

This next picture comes from Sequoia:

I took this picture while I was on a trip to Austria with my mom, visiting my grandparents, aunt, and cousin. We stayed at a resort; this is a picture of a view of the lake at one of the little tower things they have. The tower things were adorable, though they were old and deteriorating. I edited this in Photoshop.

Six, For Song Lyrics in Photographs

This prompt picture comes from Marlin, who plans to produce weekly contributions for a certain period of time:

Thank you, Marlin! =D I look forward to being inspired by your incredible work!

Five, For An Array of Covers

These covers were designed by the incredible Gwyneth, who asks that they do not be taken and used for other people's purposes:

Four, For Randomosity

These pictures come from the lovely Julia:

Three, For Egyptian Mythological Dreams

Hello, lovelies! This next prompt comes from Sami:

The Judge's Apprentice

I once had this very strange dream during our school Egyptian month where Ma'at is training me to become the next judge of the dead. This was actually a serious nightmare because Ma'at's job is to decide whether or not a dead soul has a worthy heart or not. If it doesn't, you get to watch the soul be devoured and torn apart. With our world now, there was a lot of ripping apart souls. Basically in my dream, I also started judging the souls. Unlike the myth, there was no magic set of scales to help with descision. Lot of stress in that job. Don't want to let a bad soul into the afterlife, don't want to be blamed for murdering the wrong soul. It's Egyptian mythology though so I get it if you dont use it.

 

The only other stuff that I can currently remember is getting sent to a mental hospital, escaping, being stalked, but with no help whatsoever because everyone is so certain that I'm not real.

Two, For Drunk Turtles

This prompt comes from Aaron:

One, For Mustached Unicorns

I have received my first piece of art from one of you lovely supporters! Here are the message and picture as sent:

Mexican Mustached Unicorns take over again. Like sirens, Mexican unicorns' love seduces their pray. Waiting for the right time, on the second star of the night, they lunge at their loves and eat their beautiful manes. Leaving them weeping with roses in their eye sockets. They walk away and disappear through the brush of December, never looking back.

I shall begin working on a story right away!

 

Repetition at Its Finest

So if you're here, it's undoubtedly because you saw one of my three desperate posts on Figment. Either that or you're one lucky Stumbler! No, really. Because this blog is going to be absolutely funny noodles.

All right, on to the point of this post. I will perform the spectacular act of copying and pasting my Figment post into this Blogger post for all you first-timer Stumblers to see what's partly going on in this blog.

LETTERS. I WANT THEM. PLEASE? 

Yes, a letter. As in, a piece of paper (or seven) stuffed in an envelope with a stamp and an address on the outside. Maybe a sticker or doodle or two. Or both.

Ahem.

Why? Because I'm planning on writing a story. Not just any ordinary tale, but one that can be molded into a comic at some point. It has a relationship with dream worlds, dreams and nightmares, Greek mythology, the indie scene, and you. Yes, you.

I want your dreams, your nightmares, your dream diaries. I want pictures of your favorite places, your coolest, most eccentric outfits, your Photoshopped creations. I want your stories, your sad and happy and coincidental and romantic and interesting in relation to the real world or just something you wish would happen to you.

These stories, pictures, and dreams can be as cutesy or gory, funny or graphic, and realistic or imaginative as you want to make them. Use Photoshop to tweak the colors of a photo or to completely reinvent one. Use a friend's influence to create a tale woven of nightmarish lands with vicious unicorns that have anger management issues. I don't care, just make it as interesting or as boring as you like.

The things I receive will not be taken directly and used word for word. They will be the influence to my writing and drawing. So, for example, if I receive a letter talking about a group of indie girls who like advocating for rights and a photo of a pineapple, I'll find a way to put them together to make a story. This is just an example. I'm not sure what kind of stuff I'll get from you guys but I sure hope it's interesting.

Anyway, a return address is not necessary if you're iffy about giving out your address. However, I will do my best to send out a thank you card to those of you who help me out. If you'd rather include the name you use on this site and the title of a story or poem you'd like read and reviewed in return for your letter/photo/story, I'll be happy to read and review your story or poem.

Please send your letters, photos, and stories to:

Alyssa Ricigliano 

460 Franklin St. 

Buffalo, NY 14202  

USA

This is the private work address of a friend and not my personal address. I am aware of the risks of posting addresses on the internet but this cannot be traced directly to me.

Thank you everyone for reading this! Please post here if you plan on sending something my way. I hope to hear from you soon! =)

If you're interested in sending something, it will more than likely wind up here on this blog. I may post pictures and copy the inspiring piece word for word. I may post only a picture. I may post only a general description of the works I receive.

Whatever I do, I will do my best to post as often as possible, but mostly the posting will be limited to the frequency with which I receive mail from you lovelies. So, send away! And if you absolutely can't, under any circumstances, send a letter, feel free to send an e-mail my way.

My address is aricigliano@ymail.com and please just title the subject line "Letters" or "The Letter End" so I don't accidentally delete your message. It helps if you leave a comment here letting me know you sent something my way. Thank you!

You Had Me At Hello

Hello, everyone! Thanks for checking out this blog, The Letter End, which will document the largely entertaining writing process of an artistic novel (some sort of comic fusion or some such fun as all that).

It is currently untitled, but it will have something to do with dreams, nightmares, Greek mythology, the indie scene, and all from the perspective of at least one female main character. There is bound to be romance and possibly some violence, but overall, randomness shall ensue with a not so random overarching plot line.

I have yet to discover what that plot line is yet. Why? Because, my lovelies, you have not yet sent me your tales of the twisted abysses of your minds or the photographs from your imaginations. Those wonderful bits and pieces I receive from you will be the foundation of the stories that will take place in this world I am trying to create.

So if this rambling is something you're interested in following and possibly participating in, do click on the the "Follow" located button somewhere on this page and leave a comment. Or twelve. Whatever you fancy.