Monday, May 14, 2012

Fiction Reemerges From the Ashes of Life

photo by unknown photographer
My name is Christopher Shorten, although many of you may have come to know me as "Alex Arlington" (the main character of my two unpublished novels).

It's been over two years since I started this blog by introducing Quinton and I and our innitial writing projects. Since then, I've been criminalized for the material I've posted on this blog, come to love a girl I've seriously wronged, watched our viewership skyrocket, and lost my best friend to tragic times.'s been a hell of a two years, and I hope you all have enjoyed it, because I'm just getting started. After a long hiatus, I am back with new material and a new outlook on the future. 

Out of my new revelation has come some interesting ideas, but this next piece concentrates on an older idea. If you're familiar with my writing, then you're familiar with the contrast I pose between lust and love. In essence, I think the contrast fuels much of my social ideology, but I'll let my words speek for me once more


"Love, tell me lies. I want you near."

“Sing for me,” she whispers so sweetly unto my ear. The chill of her candied breath shakes my sleepless mind. “Tell me what you think. I want to know, everything.”

“I’m not so sure,” I mutter, enjoying the constant flow of her breath behind me as we stand under a massive archway. No crowd passes. No birds chirp. Alone, in silence and peace we stand, and there we stay. “Will you still feel the same?”
“Won’t you sing for me? Solely of all the beauty you’ve seen in me, in this place.”
“But beauty can’t be seen, only felt. For what purpose should I sing of a feeling?” She wraps her delicate arms around my neck, over my shoulders. Delicate, soft, and tan, her hands grasp each other upon my chest as her lips crawl closer toward my ear.
“But the feeling has been felt, no doubt. What could be so bad about singing what your heart knows true?”
“But...But...” I stammer, “my heart has yet to know you...”
“Surely it has!” she exclaims softly still. “Your body has known me several times. The heart is of the body.”
“But the body is not of the soul,” I interject
“Then throw it aside.” She nibbles upon my ear so delicately that a shiver comes once more. I can swear the birds have upstarted yet again, for surely angels must be singing a tune in my favor.
“You are stubborn, but lovely; sexy, yet flawed.”
“Thank you, now sing,” she tempts me still, but the words fail to come.
“I cannot.”
“I cannot! I cannot! I cannot! Must you hear it three times more?!” Her lips back away from my tender ear.
“Not even for me?”
“My heart, and I alike, have yet to know you, so what could you possibly mean?” Her arms retreat and she steps ‘round to twelve o’ clock. She’s lovely, but holds nothing for a man without lust.
“Am I not the fairest?” she states with a cute expression.
“A goddess you may be, but beauty escapes you,” I sing out, bringing red to her face. Embarrassment follows my words but a fury covers her face all the same.
“If you must be so base!” She slaps me with a toughened hand without hesitation. I take the blow, hold my ground. Not pride, but assurance grasps my soul as I stare plainly into her wanting eyes. “I shall leave.”
“You were never here anyways,” I mutter. With that, she fades to the air and my people return, walking through the archway and around the world, alive before my eyes. The birds sing and the cherubs greet me with the sight of love. “Nora,” I whisper as she replaces the former entity.
“Tom,” she whispers as tears mark her face; she runs to embrace me. I hold her tight; for I’ve known her many times before. “Will you sing for me?”
“Always,” I whisper into her ear. “My heart is yours to keep; my sins, yours to destroy. Just never leave. I’ll be all you’ll ever need.” A gust erupts to mark the sore ear left by the goddess. In her voice, it whimpers still:
“Why couldn’t I be her?”


Next week will bring new posts from the other writers still on staff (a few have left our group during my hiatus). If you have any questions, comments, etc. feel free to leave them below, and I'll respond quickly. Until next time, my unknown friends.

Fate drives me.
Christopher A. Shorten

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