You can make a thread if you want. Also I like drawing dragons,elves, and any other fantasy stuff. I can also draw humans, but my ears aren't the best. I am not that good at drawing most animals, but I can try.

K, so I was listening to Viva La Vida by Coldplay and I took the line "I used to rule the world..."

and somehow it turned into some really creepy emotional dystopian story--?

I'm still editing, but expect it to be posted soon :) 

Okay, what you like to draw works great!  I usually write fantasy.  I've just submitted a thread on This Month for planning.  

What are you thinking, Leo? I want to get my hands ready to draw that thing you're gonna write.

*picks up pencil* I'm armed now, no one mess with me. 

Okay, here we go. It's a little over 1,000 words, sorry. Also, the inspiration for it was "I used to rule the world," the first line of Viva La Vida by Coldplay and "This is how it works," the first line of On The Radio by Regina Spektor.

Untitled~ 

I used to rule the world, he thought, but he mouthed the words also, and even though they were wide open his eyes were dead, somehow. I did. He insisted it to himself, like he didn’t believe it but he had to, had to.

But now you don’t. Not anymore, he told himself angrily. He wanted revenge, needed it like he needed water on a hot day. 

He shuddered suddenly, panic filling him. I never ruled the world. Whose memories are these?

~~

This is how it works, she’d been told, but she wasn’t sure this was how it should work. She could see the man in the chair, making himself accept the memories that weren’t his.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “This is how it works,” the person next to her repeated dutifully as he left her to her job. Her horrible job, that would give her the money she needed to survive. She couldn’t pass it up. She choked back a sob. 

~~

He was not himself anymore as the memories pulled him under, drowning him in floods of information and emotions and thoughts he didn’t have, didn’t know, didn’t want.

He was standing in a hall, a knife in his hand. He tried to shut his eyes before the memory made him look down. 

He couldn’t. As the memory-version of him looked down, he screamed.

~~

This is how it works. This is how it works. Thisishowitworks. Even with her eyes screwed shut and her fingers jammed into her ears she couldn’t block out the screams. She couldn't imagine what this man was seeing. He was going to die, she knew.

And before he did, her people were siphoning memories that used to belong to Fey Desce, the Ayelf’s most feared villain, into his mind. Fey Desce, the Usurper.

She was alone, operating the machine, and she hoped he knew how sorry she was. She tried not to throw up as the tears began to blur her vision.

~~

This was not his body, and he knew this, but he could not escape the fact that this memory was now his and therefore… this was him. No. No. No no no. This isn’t me.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he screamed.

The dead kings were at his feet. Their daughter and son were with them. Dead. All dead. The Crown Prince was not even fifteen years old. The Princess was not yet seventeen. She would have been, tomorrow. Legally an adult, in the land of the Ayelf.

He strained at the bindings. He needed to scratch these images out of his mind, he needed them gone by any means necessary.

~~

This can’t be how it works.

A dry sob burst out of her. As she collapsed to the ground, turning the dial up ever so slightly, balling herself up on the floor, slamming her hands against her ears as he screamed even louder.

Why had she signed up for this? What had she done to herself? What was she doing to this man? How could her people do this? She sobbed into the floor, choking on her breath, inhaling the dust and tears, resisting the nausea threatening to take over.

~~

No. He needed to get back to himself. He could resist. Who had he been? My name is Fey Desce- no. No. What was his name? It was not Fey Desce. He would not let Fey Desce turn him into a monster. These were not his memories. No. No, no. I refuse to let you take over. I will never let you take over. My name is Eithan Atassa, and I do not surrender. 

My name is Eithan Atassa. I am from Lishette, Hanelor. My sisters are dead. I was captured by the Ayelf last year and I will die before I lose my memories.

No, that wasn't him- 

My name is Fey Desce-

~~

The man was not screaming anymore, but she could see the tears sliding down his face as he clenched his teeth so hard it had to be painful. She found herself silently hoping he would hold out, even though she knew they didn’t ever last long.

Danya, was this worth it? she asked herself. Your sisters are dead. Your brother is dead. Your parents are gone. Why are you doing this, Danya? What do you have to lose?

Nothing. 

With a yell, she slammed the dial of the machine backwards.

~~

He immediately felt the memories loosen their hold on his mind. He was not Fey Desce. He was Eithan Atassa. 

But the images…

He would never forget the dead faces of the two kings, dead, and the princess, just about to turn seventeen, and her brother, the carefree teenager.

He would never forget the knife in his hand.

And he would never forget the absolute absence of remorse he had felt.

~~

Danya’s fingers flew across the dashboard. She flicked switches and dismantled wires and pushed buttons to release the prisoner- she didn’t even know who he was. This is how it works, they had told her. Not this time, she told herself. Tears were still blurring her vision but she knew how to work this machine by heart, because of the amount of training she had been put through.

But even the hundreds of hours of conditioning had not destroyed her humanity.

The doors opened with a whoosh of air and the restraints opened themselves. The room was soundproof and had no windows. No one would know except her and the prisoner.

~~

Eithan looked at his still-shaking hands as he stood up and stumbled to the door. Tears were still streaming down his face. A figure was running down the stairs to help him.

Or attack him. He didn’t know which. But seeing as the figure had just basically let him go, he assumed it was help. He hoped.

He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and immediately the image of the knife filled his vision. He snapped them open. No. It wasn’t me.

~~

She rushed down the stairs. She couldn’t breath, the tears were taking her breath away. She didn’t care.

She took one look at the prisoner’s face and would have screamed if she had any breath left to. Danya, what have you done.

She choked out her brother’s name. I thought you were dead. They said you were dead. I’m so sorry. I love you. What happened? 

~~

Danya? The sobbing girl in front of him wasn’t more than seventeen- the age the princess would have been- and she was taller than the sister he remembered. But she said his name. And her hair was the same color- the exact same shade of almost brown but almost blonde- and her eyes were the same brownish green, and she had one freckle on the outside of her left eye.

“Danya?” They said you were dead. “Danya, is that you?” She nodded, wiping away tears that were immediately replaced with more, gasping for breath. Danya, how could you? 

I started a story initially for the writing contest's theme of music, but I think I'll just use it here. It's about a girl who loves singing but is ashamed of her voice. I'm about halfway done with it and I'll try to finish and post it by the end of the weekend. 

Is the signing-up stage still open?

If so, I'd like to join! I'll go with being an author for now, but I'd be happy to switch to an artist if there aren't enough!

Ive made a thread on This month for us to plan

This is the sketch of Eithan, Danya will be on the other side of the wall (line). What do you think? Anything to change??