Authors note: Hello all! Once again I can't sleep feeling an urge to write a piece here. ;) Here we go. Another short story, I hope u guys like it.
"Something is eerily volatile about one. A single mind is less capable than two and a single man less powerful than a hundred.", Amos wrote as his frostbitten digits gingerly struck the waiting keys of the typewriter. "Click!" The machine hummed pleasurably at every new line drawn out from the man's weary mind. "One is isolated yet also free. Yet beibg one is nothing which I have found to be half as pleasurable as the decadent vigor of two." One he was. Amos paused from his diligent typing to make the journey. His every step was marked by the woeful cries of the creaky oak floorboards in his study. Weary.
Amos turned the brass doorknob and the blissful, white cold caressed the sides of his consciousness. "Cold out.", he exhaled. There was no Human answer. There never was. "Life's good." He was lying to himself.
Amos artificially made his way to the southern edge of a thin sheet of ice. He had never been so struck by the sight of this lake in the winter before. The writer peered into the vacant eye sockets that stared straight through his own from the clear slab of ice. The crystaline shards of tundra seemed to point towards something greater, something fantastic that be had not seen before. Amos's gaze followed a fissure in the ice to a single three foot tree. The Only one of it's kind he'd seen since he had begun his great experiment. "That's a nice tree." It had not lost it's leaves. Only one. Amos hurried with gentle feet across the powdery blanket of snow that had covered the low grasslands of Maine as a mother does her first born in the blankets of her affection.
"One tree, one me."
Amos sat by the glowing fireplace as he swiftly tapped through the pages of his Ike copy of "Walden." "Thoreau did it. So can I. Bein one is he greates treat life can give." Amos uttered Hess words with a benign reluctance long supersede by his own will to convince himself that his oneness mad it go away. Made her go away. Made Teresa go away.
Self reliance was his virtue and oneness his creed. Amos continued to flip through old novels as a student does a notebook. Dutiful. As he began to pull a book from his stack, his interest was redirected towards a strange figure that had appeared on his cabin's front steps. It was her. It was Teresa.
"H-h." The young man could not speak. "Hello, Amos. Still hiding I see? Well, I've come with some news. You don't need to hide anymore. I want to l be with you again. We will travel the world just like you dreamed. Montecedro, France, the Balkans."
"Stay back!" Amos kept from his position in front of the fireplace and tripped over a journal he had been keeping about his time in isolation. "Teresa, I am sorry. I miss you so much." Tears began to form between the man's eyelids and froze with every breath his nostalgic love drew. "Don't be afraid." She extended a confused arm out towards him, as if for a hand shake; nothing more.
"Stop damn snow!" Crash! Amos threw his journal through the circular stained glass window above the hissing grandfather clock. As the writer stumbled from the covers, he began to cry softly, and rolled out of bed without the grace of a five year old reciting the preamble to the U.S constitution. Amos did the only thing he knew how.
"Oneness," he wrote, "Is a curse of the mind and a poison to the soul. I am plagued by fits of nostalgia for my dearest Ter-" His hands became stiff. "Click!" The typewriter snarled at every jumbled line spewed out from Amos's pained mind. The cabin went dark, and the stained glass window above he old grandfather clock became a portal to worlds unknown. Amos dreamt of climbing up to that portal and pushing himself out through it, yet he realized that the best thing for him was to be one. And so he fell from his wicker chair and wove himself into a tight ball of angst. "Teresa," he whispered painfully, "Why can't we be two?" The old grandfather clock continued to hiss and the powdery snowdrifts had become an unforgiving blizzard. Amos was one, and Amos was not at peace. He cried for several minutes before a few cold tears trickled down onto the oak floorboards. Two of them.
"Something is eerily volatile about one. A single mind is less capable than two and a single man less powerful than a hundred.", Amos wrote as his frostbitten digits gingerly struck the waiting keys of the typewriter. "Click!" The machine hummed pleasurably at every new line drawn out from the man's weary mind. "One is isolated yet also free. Yet beibg one is nothing which I have found to be half as pleasurable as the decadent vigor of two." One he was. Amos paused from his diligent typing to make the journey. His every step was marked by the woeful cries of the creaky oak floorboards in his study. Weary.
Amos turned the brass doorknob and the blissful, white cold caressed the sides of his consciousness. "Cold out.", he exhaled. There was no Human answer. There never was. "Life's good." He was lying to himself.
Amos artificially made his way to the southern edge of a thin sheet of ice. He had never been so struck by the sight of this lake in the winter before. The writer peered into the vacant eye sockets that stared straight through his own from the clear slab of ice. The crystaline shards of tundra seemed to point towards something greater, something fantastic that be had not seen before. Amos's gaze followed a fissure in the ice to a single three foot tree. The Only one of it's kind he'd seen since he had begun his great experiment. "That's a nice tree." It had not lost it's leaves. Only one. Amos hurried with gentle feet across the powdery blanket of snow that had covered the low grasslands of Maine as a mother does her first born in the blankets of her affection.
"One tree, one me."
Amos sat by the glowing fireplace as he swiftly tapped through the pages of his Ike copy of "Walden." "Thoreau did it. So can I. Bein one is he greates treat life can give." Amos uttered Hess words with a benign reluctance long supersede by his own will to convince himself that his oneness mad it go away. Made her go away. Made Teresa go away.
Self reliance was his virtue and oneness his creed. Amos continued to flip through old novels as a student does a notebook. Dutiful. As he began to pull a book from his stack, his interest was redirected towards a strange figure that had appeared on his cabin's front steps. It was her. It was Teresa.
"H-h." The young man could not speak. "Hello, Amos. Still hiding I see? Well, I've come with some news. You don't need to hide anymore. I want to l be with you again. We will travel the world just like you dreamed. Montecedro, France, the Balkans."
"Stay back!" Amos kept from his position in front of the fireplace and tripped over a journal he had been keeping about his time in isolation. "Teresa, I am sorry. I miss you so much." Tears began to form between the man's eyelids and froze with every breath his nostalgic love drew. "Don't be afraid." She extended a confused arm out towards him, as if for a hand shake; nothing more.
"Stop damn snow!" Crash! Amos threw his journal through the circular stained glass window above the hissing grandfather clock. As the writer stumbled from the covers, he began to cry softly, and rolled out of bed without the grace of a five year old reciting the preamble to the U.S constitution. Amos did the only thing he knew how.
"Oneness," he wrote, "Is a curse of the mind and a poison to the soul. I am plagued by fits of nostalgia for my dearest Ter-" His hands became stiff. "Click!" The typewriter snarled at every jumbled line spewed out from Amos's pained mind. The cabin went dark, and the stained glass window above he old grandfather clock became a portal to worlds unknown. Amos dreamt of climbing up to that portal and pushing himself out through it, yet he realized that the best thing for him was to be one. And so he fell from his wicker chair and wove himself into a tight ball of angst. "Teresa," he whispered painfully, "Why can't we be two?" The old grandfather clock continued to hiss and the powdery snowdrifts had become an unforgiving blizzard. Amos was one, and Amos was not at peace. He cried for several minutes before a few cold tears trickled down onto the oak floorboards. Two of them.
Another poem by me. This one came out kinda lame,but I'll let the rating be the judge (assuming there will be any).
That Girl
Have you seen that girl,
That goes around here and there?
Nobody knows where she’s going,
Is she even going somewhere?
Pretty face, pretty hair,
Nobody knows her name,
She seems sad, what a coincidence,
I’ve been feeling the same.
She seems lost,
Doesn’t even know where she’s from,
I’m a nice guy so I invite her,
To stay in my home.
She seats in the couch,
My, is she pretty?
I wonder what I can say,
To comfort that girl , so dreamy.
Sarah,
She tells me it’s her name,
She feels sad,
Funny,
Because I’ve been feeling the same
That Girl
Have you seen that girl,
That goes around here and there?
Nobody knows where she’s going,
Is she even going somewhere?
Pretty face, pretty hair,
Nobody knows her name,
She seems sad, what a coincidence,
I’ve been feeling the same.
She seems lost,
Doesn’t even know where she’s from,
I’m a nice guy so I invite her,
To stay in my home.
She seats in the couch,
My, is she pretty?
I wonder what I can say,
To comfort that girl , so dreamy.
Sarah,
She tells me it’s her name,
She feels sad,
Funny,
Because I’ve been feeling the same