Gnothi's Stories Without Homes - Seeking Male, Female, and Trans Characters

Started by GnothiSeauton, August 30, 2016, 09:07:25 PM

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GnothiSeauton

Gnothi's Stories Without Homes




*queues up Sarah McLachlan songs*

For the price of one PM, you can give these poor, neglected stories a home...


Welcome to Gnothi's Stories Without Homes thread.

Every once in a while, my muse tends to have a mind of it's own.  It likes to get away from me and focus on one of my ideas much, to the point where I just *need* to write something for it in order to get the scene or story out of my head and put my attention to other things.  My muse is a pain, but it wants what it wants.

This thread is intended to be a sort of wanted thread/display thread for stories and ideas that I've already begun in terms of a starting post.  Either partners abandoned before it could start, or my muse just couldn't stop thinking about it. 

The stories here range from light and casual, to extreme and disturbing.  Each one will be accompanied by a short blurb spoilered, wherein I'll give light on the idea, the sort of character I'm looking to play beyond my introduction post, as well as what sort of character and direction I am hoping for with the story.  Nothing is set in stone, but it should be noted I strongly favor plot and story over smut.

If a story interests you, please PM me.  I might not be the quickest with PMs, with my schedule offline as well as my workload on here with my group games and attentions, but I try to get back to people.

One big thing to keep in mind:  Don't let the size of some of these pieces intimidate you.  In most cases, they're the product of an over-active muse, in addition to just setting the scene and stage for the story.  Most of my posts are a few paragraphs at most, and not novel-sized posts like some of these.

Another thing:  nothing is set in stone.  If you have an idea, or twist you want on your character (since it is your character after all) please don't hesitate to let me know.  It should be a collaboration.

Also, please refrain from posting here in the thread.
If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
~World Building Workshop ~ Current Ideas and Requests  ~
~ Preferences ~ Status  ~ Nightmares and Inspirations~
~Gnothi's Stories Without Homes~
A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... The man who never reads lives only one.

Seeking New Stories

GnothiSeauton

#1
    Updates




    Updates

    • August 30th, 2016 - Creation of Thread, Magnum Opus, Contested, Owed, and Life Lessons
    • August 31st, 2016 - Addition of Playing with Fire
    • September 1st, 2016 - Addition of Family Bonds.  Removal of Family Bonds.
    • September 6th, 2016 - Addition of Decay
    • September 7th, 2016 - Addition of Claimed
    • September 8th, 2016 - Addition of Don't Let Me Down (1).  Removal of Decay.
    • September 20th, 2016 - Addition of Family Reunion
    • September 21st, 2016 - Addition of Domestic Servitude.  Removal of Family Reunion.
    • October 4th, 2016 - Addition of Lessons to Live By, and Don't Let Me Down (2)
    • October 5th, 2016 - Addition of Owed
    • October 11th, 2016 - Addition of Desperation
    • October 15th, 2016 - Removal of Magnum Opus
    • October 22nd, 2016 - Addition of Rent to Own
    • November 20th, 2016 - Addition of Playing House.  Removal of Don't Let Me Down (1), Don't Let Me Down (2)
    • December 7th, 2016 - Removal of Contested, Playing with Fire, Desperation, Rent to Own.  Shuffling of thread.
    • December 10th, 2016 - Removal of Playing House.
    • December 21st, 2016 - Addition of a bump post.
    • December 23rd, 2016 - Edit of bump post above to be new home of Contested.  Addition of a new post listing current cravings.
    • January 9th, 2017 - Reopening of Playing House.  Re-assortment of current cravings.
    • January 14th, 2017 - Reopening of Decay.  Closing of Domestic Servitude.  Addition of Guiding Hand.
    • January 24th, 2017 - Various thread edits.  Removal of some stories.  Tidying up.
    • January 28th, 2017 - Addition of The Old College Try.
    • January 31st, 2017 - The thread has been overhauled in a variety of ways.  To make the thread nicer and less scattered, older stories that are no longer desired have been removed to my storage thread.  Some stories have been moved around and placed in some of the former posts.
    • February 25th, 2017 - Addition of Contested.  Removal of taken ideas.
    • March 6th, 2017 - Addition of Duty.  Removal of several ideas.
    • April 1st, 2017 - Addition of Like Father Like Daughter.
    • April 10th, 2017 - Addition of Desperation.  Removal of several ideas.
    • June 17th, 2019 - Reopening of the thread.  Removal of Contested, Owned.  Revamping of Life Lessons, Don't Let Me Down (1 & 2), and Magnum Opus.
    [/list][/list]
    If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
    ~World Building Workshop ~ Current Ideas and Requests  ~
    ~ Preferences ~ Status  ~ Nightmares and Inspirations~
    ~Gnothi's Stories Without Homes~
    A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... The man who never reads lives only one.

    Seeking New Stories

    GnothiSeauton

    #2
    Don't Let Me Down


       

    Idea:  This is an idea that follows two young women in college, and the time of personal discovery that goes on between the two.  What starts off as an art project, with one character being a painter and the other being a nude model, the two begin to start a love affair that rocks their worlds and changes them from what they were before the other came into their life.

    My Character:  My character is an artist of sorts.  Out and proud.  She's confident in herself and isn't afraid and won't apologize for who and what she is. 

    Your Character:  Up to you, but I saw her as being a young woman who is from a somewhat conservative, religious upbringing.  Quietly questioning her beliefs and sexuality.  Sees the opportunity to be a nude model for an art project, and decides to take a chance and do something exhilarating.

    Themes and Outlook:  This is a heavy romance story between two young women in college.  There will be smut, but it'll come later.  The chemistry between characters is key.  I saw the two of them sort of slowly breaking the ice, with my character acting as a sort of mentor in the beginning to helping your character out of her shell.  Eventually thought of the two of them going to each others' houses for the holidays and introducing them to families, with the difficulties that come with that.




    Every so often, an idea came to her that simply would not leave her thoughts.

    An image that burned so brightly, so hotly, in a way that was blinding to almost anything else.  Try as she might to focus upon another project, to try and devote some of her muse's attention elsewhere to things that were far more needy, her mind always came back to what was perfection; illusive, desirable, unobtainable.

    In lectures...  When she should have been focusing on the boring diatribes and recitations from books, when she should have been taking notes and putting all of her attentions on the topic at hand...  Her mind went back to the image.

    With friends...  While they talked about what movies they were pining to see, what music they had been listening to, or who fucked who and other sordid gossiping...  She thought of the image that simply would not leave her thoughts.

    It was there, lurking in the background, haunting her thoughts and attentions.  An endless taunting of what she had wanted, and what had seemed like a nearly impossible thing to bring out of the realm of thoughts and day dreams, and into the world of the living.

    And try as she might to try and recreate it herself, to conjure up the image in her mind and draw it the way she had wanted, it simply never truly seemed to work.  The sketchbook that sat before her was evidence of that, the collection of failures and inadequacies.  Always hollow, always missing a certain something that was intangible.

    Which was what had driven Andi to doing something she was sorely regretting.

    She knew she would get plenty of meaningless, junk messages.  Trolls that lurked on campus that had seemingly far too much time on their hands.  Friends who thought it would be funny to prank her.  Idiots that, by some miraculous way, gotten into college without the ability to read.  And far, far, far too many dick pics.

    But that was what she got, she supposed, for putting up fliers for a nude model.

    There were plenty of headaches, to say the least.  Yet, once in a while, in the two weeks that had elapsed since the fliers had been posted upon bulletin boards across campus, there were a few actual, decent responses.  Just ones that never seemed to pan out.

    The few that seemed serious enough to meet, at least, never seemed to pan out.  So often they met in places like Planet Java, where Andi found herself sitting in the early, frosty morning.  Public, for both of their peace of minds.  But one after another just never seemed right.  They were missing that something special, that divine spark that had been so elusive.

    She should have just forgotten about the whole damn things, she knew.  There were more than a few times when Andi thought of just doing away with the whole damn project and try with all of her might to do another project, to throw herself completely with reckless abandon into some other machination of her mind.  But she still held on to hope, held onto the crazed, desperate hope that maybe the next girl would be the one, be the light her muse had been searching for...

    Which was why she was there instead of at work.

    Andi sat alone at the table in the back of the small coffee shop on campus.  The smell of the roasting coffee beans and baked goods perfumed the air as she sipped her steaming hot chocolate.  Would this be the one, she thought?  Probably not, but she had to hope, she supposed, as she waited for the next reject to come on down and waste her time.
    If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
    ~World Building Workshop ~ Current Ideas and Requests  ~
    ~ Preferences ~ Status  ~ Nightmares and Inspirations~
    ~Gnothi's Stories Without Homes~
    A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... The man who never reads lives only one.

    Seeking New Stories

    GnothiSeauton

    Don't Let Me Down - Switch


       

    This is the inverse of the idea above

    Idea:  This is an idea that follows two young women in college, and the time of personal discovery that goes on between the two.  What starts off as an art project, with one character being a painter and the other being a nude model, the two begin to start a love affair that rocks their worlds and changes them from what they were before the other came into their life.

    My Character:  My character is a young woman who is unsure of herself, and of her own thoughts.  Raised in a conservative household with religious parents, she's been taught to suppress her thoughts and feelings.  The only time she's acted out on her impulse and desire for women was at a summer camp, where the attraction was decidedly not returned after a disasterous first kiss attempt.  For the first time in her life, she's truly free, and wants to step out of her shell just a little bit.

    Your Character:  A confident artistic type who is gay and not afraid to admit it.  Beyond that, up to you.

    Themes and Outlook:  This is a heavy romance story between two young women in college.  There will be smut, but it'll come later.  The chemistry between characters is key.  I saw the two of them sort of slowly breaking the ice, with my character acting as a sort of mentor in the beginning to helping your character out of her shell.  Eventually thought of the two of them going to each others' houses for the holidays and introducing them to families, with the difficulties that come with that.





    “I really think we can make a difference.” Tiffany said over the din of the dormitory hallway.  “Like, it's not hard to see how deplorable the state of things are around here, you know?”

    Sarah Walford gently nodded her head as she tried to keep up with the shorter blonde, torn between wanting to look around at the sights and sounds that surrounded them, and wanting to keep track of the little blonde in the growing sea of people.

    “I mean, you can take one good look around, and just see how filthy things are here on campus.  Just so horrible...” The blonde continued, marching forth.  Around them came the shambling students of Willis Hall, still struggling to shake off the shackles of sleep and fatigue.  “There are times when I really wish I had just listened to my parents, and went to Saint Thomas, but if we could just save one soul, just one, it'd be worth it, you know?”

    Again Sarah nodded her head, turning her gaze to the occasional opened dorm room, taking a peak into the private lives that laid beyond the often closed doors.  “Yes.” She said in her gentle voice.  “I agree.”

    While Tiffany had come to Ashford University to try and save souls, to spread the word of God and try and be the good young Christian she had been born to be, Sarah could not say the same.

    It was experiences such as that, being surrounded by something new, something different, that had brought her to a college like Ashford.  A place far removed from home, and that protective, close-knit bubble she had been born and raised within.  Walking around dormitories, like Willis, was the sort of experience that had made her want to come to a university that was full of life and diversity.

    But as far as Tiffany knew, as far as her parents knew for that matter, Sarah had just wanted to meet others like her, others that fit the mold of being pure, innocent, and devout. 

    “Do you think we'll find anyone?” Sarah asked, holding the stack of remaining fliers close to the chest as they pushed on through the residents going their own way.

    “I won't lie Sarah, it's hard to say.” Tiffany said.  “But God would want us to try, you know?”

    Personally, Sarah didn't think God cared one way or another if they tried, if they had put up a hundred fliers or no fliers at all.  But the young woman kept her opinion to herself.  It'd do her no good at all to upset her roommate, and by extension, the closest thing to a friend she had, by speaking her mind.

    It also meant joining the Young Christians group, and being volunteered to help post fliers across campus about upcoming events.  Movie nights.  Ice cream socials.  Study groups.  Bible studies.  The sort of atmosphere she had grown up in, had spent her life surrounded by.  But she wasn't home, under the ever watchful eyes of her parents, removed from the tutors and home schooling that had ruled her life.  A small price to pay for the college experience she had wanted.

    The bulletin board was a crowded space, full of miscellaneous fliers and notes tacked on over the days and weeks.  For a moment, Tiffany and Sarah had looked on, one seeking out a perfect space (even if it meant taking down a someone else's in the process, for it was all going to be alright with God), the other letting her eyes wandering across the collection of notes and notices.

    An ad for a new drummer.  A notice about upcoming gaming sessions.  An ad offering tutoring services.  Sarah was glancing over them when Tiffany sucked her teeth in mild disgust.  “See?” She said, reaching up to remove a flier from the cork board.  “This is the kind of filth we're fighting, Sarah.” Her eyes went back to the paper.  “Artistic nude?  It's nothing but pornography...  They should be ashamed of themselves...”

    Tiffany balled the ad up as before reaching for a flier from Sarah's hands.  Soon the pristine white paper went up in the open space, adjusted to near perfection by the perfectionist in Tiffany.  “There.” She said, taking a step back to admire it.  “Now, instead of an ad for pornography, it's an ad for salvation.  I feel better already, don't you?”

    Softly Sarah shrugged her shoulders offering a meek, gentle smile.  “I guess so.”

    “Awesome blossom.” Tiffany grinned as she handed over the balled up flier.  “Throw that away, would you?”

    ~~~~~

    For the life of her, Sarah could not figure out why she did not throw the balled up ad away.

    At the moment, she had accepted it into her hand, offering a quiet nod of acknowledgment, before shoving the balled up paper into the pocket of her jeans.  And instead of depositing it into a trashcan, like she would with any other piece of refuse, it remained there, throughout the day, throughout the remainder of their pilgrimage across campus and classes.

    It was only when she was alone in her dorm room that she finally pulled it out to look at it.

    She should have been studying herself, trying to maintain the grades that had carried her thus far into the upper echelons of her class, but for the life of her, Sarah could not help but to think of the paper.  It haunted her thoughts, lingered in the back of her mind, wondering what sort of thing it might truly be.

    She felt almost wrong, almost as if she were doing something dangerous, by taking out the paper.  Tiffany was gone for the evening, meeting with her trigonometry study group, and as she had waited for her to leave, to give herself a bit of privacy, Sarah could not help but to feel like a kid again.  She was reminded of hiding books from her parents, of waiting until they were gone, before diving into the forbidden worlds she had been denied.

    It was smoothed out upon the desk, beneath the desk lamp as if it were some piece of incriminating evidence.  And for a long while, Sarah simply looked at it, and wondered.  She was reminded of the art books she had looked at when visiting the library, of the paintings and portraits that had struck her in such a profound way, moving her in ways she had never felt before from a photograph.

    Would this be on that level?  The level of a masterpiece?  Undoubtedly not, but Sarah couldn't help but to be curious about it nonetheless.

    What would it be like?  What would happen?  How would it all go down?  For the life of her, Sarah did not know, and that was the exciting part of it.

    She had promised herself to be different at school.  To do things that she wanted for a change, to experience life beyond the perfect, meticulously curated life her parents had chosen for her.  To be herself.  For the most part, she had played by their rules.  Never late to class.  Joining the Young Christians.  Mingling with the others who had their faith play such large roles in their lives.

    But why shouldn't she say no?

    Her heart raced as she went to her computer and began drafting the e-mail.  It was as if her fingers had a mind of their own as they typed, acting upon their own accord in order to help her branch out.  What was the worst that could happen?

    To whom it may concern...

    I apologize for the tardiness of my response to your advertisement.  I was wondering if you were seeking candidates for your art project? 

    If so, I would like to arrange a meeting at your convenience to discuss details.


    Be bold, she told herself.  Be different, she said.  “Do it for yourself.” She said aloud, as the message zoomed off into space with the pressing of a button.
    If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
    ~World Building Workshop ~ Current Ideas and Requests  ~
    ~ Preferences ~ Status  ~ Nightmares and Inspirations~
    ~Gnothi's Stories Without Homes~
    A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... The man who never reads lives only one.

    Seeking New Stories

    GnothiSeauton

    Life Lessons


     

    Idea:This idea is focused upon the adulterous relationship between a teacher and one of her former students.  What begins as a serendipitous one night stand begins to turn into something more than that as the two of them navigate the difficulties of their feelings while being in relationships with other people.

    My Character:  My character is an older female, in mid forties who is hitting a bit of a wall in her life.  On the surface, it would seem like she's happy and content with her place in life:  married, two teenagers, a nice house, good career, etc., etc., etc.  But on beneath that veneer of complacency is a stirring creature that just wants more out of her life, that seeks to break free from the chains and live life.

    She's been getting by with the occasional night out.  A time where she treats herself, gets away from work and the family, etc.  This would be where the story begins, with her needing a night out after a really, really bad day...

    Your Character:  Your character would be a younger male in his mid twenties, a former student of hers who was one of her favorites and one who was a good kid in school.  Ideally, I'd like to see your character working alongside my character's husband.  Either a partner or close coworker, something like that which would force them to come together and be more in each other's lives. 

    Themes and Outlook:  One of the twists I had in mind was that this young man works at her husband's publishing firm, unknown to either of them until they reunite at the office Christmas party.  I would really like to explore the relationship between the two of them, while they are in the middle of relationships with other people.  I think it could be a fascinating thing to write, that struggle between the two of them, that competition with each others' significant other for love and attention.

    I would like this to be focused on story, with a decent amount of intimacy and sex between the older woman and her younger lover.







    Heather Womack

    The Crawford Lounge had always been her favorite place to go on her Night.  A near perfect place to go, situated just off of the lobby of the hotel, negating any need to spend money on cab fare or navigate the busy sidewalks of the city, it held more appeal than it's location.

    She enjoyed spending her Night there in the lounge.  A comfortable place to sit was almost always found at the bar, where she could sit with her drink, listening to the live jazz band play it's soulful, poetic rhythms and beats, and just unwind and relax, just escape from the stressful frustrations of work and home that were left for another day.  A perfect night cap, after spending a day taking it easy, doing things she yearned to do, things she desired, without having to worry or please anyone.

    No having to run around shuttling the kids to and fro after school.

    No going home to a house where no one, literally no one, other than herself seemed able to lift a finger to help out.

    No having to cook, get the kids started on their homework, and then get started on the stack of papers and assignments turned in by her students.

    No having to lay with her husband, telling herself the same stories and mantras that she had learned to tell herself over the years in their marriage.

    She was free, on those nights, always once a year in the Spring, to do as she pleased.  If she wanted to eat, she could go and eat what she wanted, when she wanted. If she wanted to go to the movies, she did not have to yield to the desires of others, or feel as though she were causing them to suffer through one of “mom's movies”.  If she wanted to just lounge around in a bath robe, have room service, and watch her trashy reality housewives, there was no one there to give her an eye roll, or try and weed her into giving up the remote.

    She was free on those nights to not be Heather Womack, mother of two young women, loving but miserable wife to a caring but clueless husband, underpaid and overworked high school English teacher, but someone else.  Someone of her own choosing, of her own design. A character from a story.

    But on that particular night, she could not help but to feel as if her escape had been all for nothing.

    “I just need to get away.” She had told Brian as she packed a bag, cradling the phone between her head and her shoulder.  “I'm just... I need it...”

    “If it's what you need, it's what you need.” He had said.

    Simple.  Bland. Typical Brian.  A normal human being might have picked up upon the distant strain in her voice, might asked what was wrong, might have just tried, for the sake of appearance at the very least, to act as if he cared.

    “We'll be okay without you, I think.” He said, his voice distracted, more interested in the shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone.  “The girls can order a pizza, and I'll be home later tonight.”

    Brian was Brian.  Careless. Clueless.  Boring and dull. So absorbed in his own profession.  Married more to his job, and holding on to it in the rush of younger candidates, than he was his wife and kids.

    She had bit back a remark, swallowed the searing truth that wanted to come past her lips to her husband on the other end of the phone.  Her eyes closed, hands clutching the black dress in her hands. How she wanted to yell at him, How she yearned to scream and shout and cry, how she wanted to tell him that she simply knew. “Sounds fine.” She said in a quiet voice that was strained with anger and pain.

    When she had found herself, had willed herself into taking her yearly Night a bit early, Heather knew what she wanted to, what she needed to do, rather than sit around and be pampered.

    The Crawford was a fun and enjoyable place to go, a relaxing and soothing place that attracted all sorts of individuals.  Guests staying in the city. Underpaid and overpaid office workers from any one of the surrounding behemoths of steel and glass.  Suburbanites, not unlike herself, there for a bit of culture and atmosphere that was so severely lacking in their ordinary lives.

    It wasn't uncommon for her to be approached by a stranger, engaged by some unimportant figure in the hopes of striking it lucky.  Flirting, pick-up lines, witty little remarks, Heather had heard them all before. Some were new, some were mildly entertaining, but most of them were recycled, lifted from the internet like litter strewn along a highway.

    Yet, unlike in her youth, where such advances would have been discarded without a second thought, even as tacky as some of them were, she could not deny a certain satisfaction that arose within her with each passing year.  That feeling of confidence, that assurance that, despite the coming winter of life, she still had “it'.  That satisfying, comforting knowledge that she was still desirable.

    And it was that satisfaction, that reassurance, that she needed more than she ever had that night.

    Who was Alissa Hargrove?

    A question that had haunted her mind, lingered in her thoughts from the moment she read the name.  Don't think about her, she told herself.  Just don't.  But the name continued to flash across her mind, bright and ungainly in it's appearance like a neon Vegas sign

    She had resisted the urge to Google her, to try to unlock the mystery of the woman, but Heather restrained herself.  It wouldn't have taken much searching if she had wanted.  His e-mail had been there, laid open upon the laptop in the bedroom.  Woefully careless.  There for anyone and everyone to see. 

    There for her to see.

    Reading some of the e-mails was a bad idea.  She knew that even before curiosity had gotten the best of her.  It was sitting right there, right there upon the desk, out in the open.  Begging to be read.  Wouldn't anyone else want to just take a peek?  To take a glimpse into the busy, demanding whirlwind that consumed so much of her spouse's attention?

    There were work e-mails, of course.  Tons of them.  Appointment reminders.  Set up info for meetings.  Avalanches of memos and correspondence with clients and coworkers.  But right there, marked with the gut-wrenching gold star in a sea of unmarked, disregarded, unimportant messages, was Alissa.

    With one click of the mouse, she couldn't help herself.

    He had been so relaxed, so casual, so like the Brian of his youth in that e-mail.  A few lines that carried more weight than any tome. When had he been like that around her?  How long had it been? She didn't know, could not remember. He always seemed so tired, so disinterested.  There, but not completely there.

    Was he thinking about Alissa Hargrove?

    She didn't want to think about her.  Heather had tried, with all her might, all of the lingering strength she had after a long day, to shove such thoughts down.  But they were like weeds, pesky and relentless, growing despite every effort to pull them out root and stem. 

    What did Alissa Hargrove have that she didn't?

    Everything seemed to move on autopilot, a blur of movements while her mind was elsewhere.  She needed to get out.  Needed to get away.  Needed something, anything, to just not think, not feel.  A bag was packed, just a few things to get through the night.  Money left on the counter, a small note for the girls whenever they arrived back from their friends'.

    ”We'll be okay without you.” Brian's words echoed in her head.  Heather wondered how true that was in his mind.

    She drove to the hotel in the city, and got herself into a room.  The whole time her thoughts lingered upon Brian, of the life they had lived together, of the family they had created together, of the lies that seemed stripped to the surface.  Twenty years together.  Twenty long years.  Was it the end? 

    Heather was helpless against the tide of her thoughts.  She checked into her room, threw herself upon the bed, and looked to the window, and the sprawling city that lay beyond it.  Could it truly be the end?

    The thought had been lingering upon her mind.  She knew things were difficult between them.  Strained.  But it wasn't something acknowledged openly by either of them.  An unspoken understanding.  They were good together still, she thought.  A good team when it came to parenting their children.  They tried to be there, to be the family that dominated the family photos of their house.  Happy and together.

    But they had their problems.  They had their difficulties.  When was the last time they had a night out together?  Just the two of them, without kids, without the baggage of their lives?  When was the last time they fucked in a way that didn't feel as if it were some obligation, some marital duty to one another?

    He was so often so quiet, so distracted.  There, but not truly there.  A shade of the man she had married.  But in those e-mails, those correspondences between him and whoever she was, he seemed like the happy man she married.  Relaxed and carefree.  Casual and jovial.  Flirty and enticing.  Where was that man who could brighten her life?  Where had it all gone wrong?

    She could have cried.  Alone in the room with her thoughts, Heather could have cried her heart out in the room, punishing herself with her fears and worries, delving deeper into the abyss. 

    But as the clock struck seven, Heather brought herself down into the Lounge. 

    Her dress was red, and clung to her body in a way that was almost a second skin.  Effortlessly she blended into the crowd of fellow guests and office workers there for a drink, surrounded by the happy, mirthful lounge-goers.  All the while the storm of the mournful gloom and dread circled within her.

    Alone at the bar, alone with her thoughts, alone with the bourbon before her, Heather sat and tried to make sense out of everything.
    If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
    ~World Building Workshop ~ Current Ideas and Requests  ~
    ~ Preferences ~ Status  ~ Nightmares and Inspirations~
    ~Gnothi's Stories Without Homes~
    A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies... The man who never reads lives only one.

    Seeking New Stories

    GnothiSeauton

    Magnum Opus


    Idea:  This idea is a combination of two ideas of mine, "Last Hurrah" and "Taming the Muse".  I had thought of a talented, successful painter in her thirties who is given a diagnosis of terminal cancer.  While it's devastating at first, she comes to terms with it, and is determined to live her remaining life to the fullest, including painting her last painting before embracing death.

    My Character:  A young, successful painter in her thirties, who is recently diagnosed with terminal cancer. 

    Your Character:  What I had thought for this was for a younger male from the streets.  A younger vagrant who is living on his own in the streets, trying to survive.  I have a few face claims in mind, but would defer to your decision.

    Themes and Outlook:  I would like this plot focused story to focus upon her decision to live her life, and this young man's helping, along the way.  I thought that she would come across him, and be so taken with him that she offers room and board in exchange to paint him.  They both could help each other along the way, with him helping her to experience the life she might not have experienced in the past, and she helping him to better himself and give himself more stability in life.






    The change had been unmistakable.  It always was, she learned, when the news had been broken, the truth brought out into the light.  Crestfallen.  Despondent.  They always tried to put on a strong face, to be that pillar of strength they thought she needed in such times.  Pained smiles, pats upon her back or shoulder.  Some tried to be humorous, tried to brighten the dark, gloomy mood that had fallen over their relationships with her.

    Martin Gomey was no different.  The smaller, older man had tried to put his best face forward as the two of them stepped out of the cozy, warm restaurant, and into the cold bleariness of winter.  Her agent offered a last smile, strained from the news that had been said, along with a gentle, delicate pat and caress upon the back of her shoulder.

    “We're going to beat this thing, kid.” He said in the same gentle tone.  “I'm going to start hitting the phone, find you some of the best doctors and specialists in the world.”

    Elaine Montgomery could only give the same tired, worn smile as she listened to the very words she had heard over and over again by those who knew.  She could only offer a gentle nod of her head, be polite and silent.  It wasn't easy, to stand there so often, to listen to those close to her try and give her hope, to try and give themselves hope, that she would be alright, that she could beat the cancer that was eating her away inside.

    “I would appreciate that.  It means a lot to me.” She said automatically, the same practiced and given response that had been given to everyone who made such offers of help and assistance.

    They said their goodbyes to one another.  The same embraces that were so gentle, so careful, as if they were afraid that even the slightest bit of pressure would break her into pieces.  Promises to call if she needed anything were made, though she knew she would not dare make such a call.  Goodbyes were said, laced with deeper emotions, before the two went their separate ways.  He, back to his home in the Bronx, where he would tell his wife the sad news that Elaine Montgomery has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  She, back to her lonely loft in the city.

    She walked in silence, a slow and careful walk among the people living their lives in the winter wonderland that Manhattan was becoming.  There was no rush to go back home.  Once, there might have been a time in the winter where she could not have waited to go home, dreaming of the warmth interior as the frozen hell grasped the city beyond the windows.  Such a night would have awakened the flame in her heart, causing the fingers and wrists to unleash the creative flow upon the canvas. 

    But now...

    It was a prison, waiting for her.  Her home, the confines where she would spend the rest of her days, waiting to die.

    Guilt made her tell people the truth of the grave situation she was facing.  Her lawyer was the first to know, papers being drawn up to help manage her estate and finances.  She told her mother and siblings, breaking the news to them over the phone one after another, more out of some sense of duty, she supposed, than desire.  And now her agent knew the truth.

    What they did not know...  What she could not tell them...  All of the offers for help, the friends that would be called, the inquiries made, all of it was for nothing.  Elaine had no plans to put herself through such hell, just for a few more months. 

    She was going to die, and die upon her own terms, by her own rules.

    Such a determination had hardened in the time spent after the diagnosis.  How she spent a week, locked away in her loft, drinking and crying, crying and drinking, on and on and on.  The Grief Stage, she thought.  But soon, she learned to accept it, to take in the fact that within two months, she would be dead and done in this world. 

    To tell those who knew of the cancer, who had heard the admission from her own lips, they did not know that she had made her peace with such a timetable.  They all had the hope, the false hope, that she could survive it.  That, with treatments, surgeries, and medication, she could live a little while longer.  That, in time, she would beat the disease within her.

    Two percent. 

    With all of the surgeries, the mountains of pills, endless bouts of radiation, there was but a two percent chance she would be lucky enough to live to an old age.  Two measly percent.  And for the time until she died, she would be a ghost of her former self.  Bedridden.  Her insides aflame as they melted to liquid.  Could she live that life?  Was that even a life?

    No.  Elaine accepted her diagnosis.  She came to terms with the shortened lease upon life.  And rather than try and fruitlessly delay the inevitable through pain and suffering, she was going to do what she wanted to do:  live her life.

    She thought of painting.  The rest of her days, painting.  Nothing but the paints, her palate, and the canvas before her.  It brought a smile to her face in the frigid bite of the cold, warmed her up deep down inside.  If the painter was to die, she was going to paint until the end of her days.
    If I can't have you, my love...  I'll destroy you
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