Post by Lady Hammer on Apr 12, 2007 20:37:40 GMT -5
Well, here it is. It's completely random. I just felt like writing something... different. I guess it's different. *shrugs* I dunno. I wanted to write about a bunch of nothing, so I did, and I like the name Hamlet. It reminds me of a cute little piggy. xD And after my teacher showed us this one Hamlet movie (after we finished the book)(I forget which year the Hamlet movie was made in), I totally was like "omg that Hamlet's kind of a blonde emo hottie. It's the goatee, it totally is."
So here you go. It's not finished, but I'm thinking about finishing it. It won't be long or anything.
Virtuous Felons
In the parlor, quiescent he lay, his white hands outstretched over the arms of a lustrous black chair, his head leaned back over the back. Long locks of silvery blonde fell to the floor by the hands of the Scissor Lady behind him, cutting, snipping, trimming. Snip, snip, she would mumble to herself with a gleeful grin. It was peculiar as to why she was given scissors, even, with a look like hers, for she, Ira, was the lady of wrath. The man in the chair smiled as she did.
“Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
The rose and poppy are her flower; for where
Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.”
The Scissor Lady looked into his icy eyes impressed.
“From a collection of mine,” he told her, reaching for his glass of wine, sitting with ever so virtuous humility on an end table. “It’s in the library, dated back thousands of years, Ira. Eve and Lilith are in a constant battle of who is truly empirical, and who is merely a lie.”
“Does your heart lie with Lilith, Hamlet?” Ira asked quaintly, snipping carefully with the scissors burning delight into her palms. Suddenly, before the man could answer her, a woman in white came rushing down the glossy black halls.
“Lord Spyridon!”
The Scissor Lady looked upon her with scathing eyes, though the rust-haired woman beamed about with the most perfect of smiles.
“Please, Aletheia, call me Hamlet.” Malice twitched in Ira’s eye, watching Aletheia giggle and nod aptly.
“As you wish,” she said. “I bear news of the Gods.” Hamlet raised an eyebrow, and for a moment scratched his goatee. “You see, today on the mountainside, Meena and Clepsydra of the waters called out to me to ask of my life in your manor. I told them of the lovely things that were here, the trees in the garden and their fruit, the glorious dinners we have - everything. The two will bring company tonight to pay us a sojourn!”
“You are a damnable woman!” Ira yelled suddenly, taking the scissors from Hamlet’s locks and thrusting them into Aletheia’s innards. “Damnable! You dare tell the Gods of us!” She took them out and opened the woman’s mouth, and jammed them down her throat to silence her. “Damnable!”
Aletheia withered away soon, her life bleeding into the floor, reflecting lantern light. Ira dipped her fingers in it with a carnal pleasure and brought them to Hamlet’s mouth.
“Please, take it,” she said. Smiling, Hamlet thought to push her hand away, but the look in poor Ira’s eyes was begging. He licked her fingers, his incisors protruding slightly.
“This is why we call you the Scissor Lady, Ira. You are so very talented.”
Ummm yeah.
So here you go. It's not finished, but I'm thinking about finishing it. It won't be long or anything.
Virtuous Felons
In the parlor, quiescent he lay, his white hands outstretched over the arms of a lustrous black chair, his head leaned back over the back. Long locks of silvery blonde fell to the floor by the hands of the Scissor Lady behind him, cutting, snipping, trimming. Snip, snip, she would mumble to herself with a gleeful grin. It was peculiar as to why she was given scissors, even, with a look like hers, for she, Ira, was the lady of wrath. The man in the chair smiled as she did.
“Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
The rose and poppy are her flower; for where
Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.”
The Scissor Lady looked into his icy eyes impressed.
“From a collection of mine,” he told her, reaching for his glass of wine, sitting with ever so virtuous humility on an end table. “It’s in the library, dated back thousands of years, Ira. Eve and Lilith are in a constant battle of who is truly empirical, and who is merely a lie.”
“Does your heart lie with Lilith, Hamlet?” Ira asked quaintly, snipping carefully with the scissors burning delight into her palms. Suddenly, before the man could answer her, a woman in white came rushing down the glossy black halls.
“Lord Spyridon!”
The Scissor Lady looked upon her with scathing eyes, though the rust-haired woman beamed about with the most perfect of smiles.
“Please, Aletheia, call me Hamlet.” Malice twitched in Ira’s eye, watching Aletheia giggle and nod aptly.
“As you wish,” she said. “I bear news of the Gods.” Hamlet raised an eyebrow, and for a moment scratched his goatee. “You see, today on the mountainside, Meena and Clepsydra of the waters called out to me to ask of my life in your manor. I told them of the lovely things that were here, the trees in the garden and their fruit, the glorious dinners we have - everything. The two will bring company tonight to pay us a sojourn!”
“You are a damnable woman!” Ira yelled suddenly, taking the scissors from Hamlet’s locks and thrusting them into Aletheia’s innards. “Damnable! You dare tell the Gods of us!” She took them out and opened the woman’s mouth, and jammed them down her throat to silence her. “Damnable!”
Aletheia withered away soon, her life bleeding into the floor, reflecting lantern light. Ira dipped her fingers in it with a carnal pleasure and brought them to Hamlet’s mouth.
“Please, take it,” she said. Smiling, Hamlet thought to push her hand away, but the look in poor Ira’s eyes was begging. He licked her fingers, his incisors protruding slightly.
“This is why we call you the Scissor Lady, Ira. You are so very talented.”
Ummm yeah.
I started writing more, but I just can't keep the style up really well. I mean I can a little, but it's not as good...
