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LXG DRABBLES! GALORE

Friday, January 30, 2009

SALUTATIONS BLOGGER.

Been a while hasn't it?

Yes, I missed you too.

(But now is not the time to weep salting teers over my absence!)

Actually I'm posting with an actual reason, ( I pause respecfully to get you time to compose your surprised expression)

Recently I rented the movie League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (It's fantastic, I give it five rubber chickens)

Anyway about a week ago I picked up my laptop to do a little fanficking. Needless to say the moving stuck with me so much that I jotted down a little drabble about the hyperthetical of if Quatermain had some illegitimet( not the write spelling, I'm sure) daughter.

And it pretty much snowballed from here...

Here is what I have written so far...

***

My story started, as some do, with a death.

(The problem with this death however is that the person didn't stay so for very long.
But I digress.)

The demise that started it all, was that of my estranged father, the Noted Hunter and England's greatest hero Allan Quartermain, stories of his adventures had captivated English boys (and girls) for years.
Growing up the only things I knew about him were gained from those same stories. Needless to say I adored them.


We lived in Africa for the most part, my mother and I. She was our villages midwife and school teacher to the children that lived there(including myself). Every night, she used to read me from the various volumes I had aqumulated about Allen Quatermain's adventures, ( I couldn't read fluently at the time, still relying on mother to help me with the 'big girl' words).

She did have a beautiful voice though and sometimes (if I were especially good) she would even tell me stories of her own time with Quatermain. Those are the ones I liked the best, at the time I was particularly partial to the one where she, my own mother, had taught him to shoot long range, although I hardly dared believed it.

As a child I used to day-dream about Quatermain coming back to mother and I, whisking us off with him on one of his adventures, perhaps to revisit King Solomons' mines or to take us away to somewhere exotic like Egypt or Australia.

Often when the village got a new visitor I would race down to see them, half convinced it was going to be him, of course each time I was bitterly disappointed.

Actually one of those visitors was an Artist, Peter Helsque. He was old ,balding and slightly surly but always willing to listen, he and I took a liking to each other immediately. I remember he painted the most beautiful water-colour landscapes. I was mesmerized by them, and even in my seven year old ignorance I knew painting was something I wanted to be able to do. Moved by my enthusiasm or rather my ability to sit absolutely still for long periods of time, I was the only person he would paint (much to my youthful pride).

I was very sad to see him leave. One of my most distinct child hood memories is crying into my pillow the night he left, clutching at the small set of water-colours that had been his parting gift. I had cherished it for years.

Shortly after my thirteenth birthday, my mother decided to teach me to shoot, (just as she had taught My father! Needless to say I was ecstatic). I'd been asking for years to be taught, almost ever since I had been told the tale of how Mother had Originally met the Great White Hunter (Catching his eye, by taking out a fleeing Bandit at a thousand yards. 'How romantic' I remember thinking at the time. Admittedly my idea of romance is a little askew, perhaps this is why?)


Though I didn't want to learn because I wanted to kill ( At that point, I used to feint at the sigh of blood, and visibly blanch when I saw the dead carcasses of the various Animals strung up to be stored in our meat safe), I wanted to learn because I knew that Quartermain would be more likely to let me join his adventures if I could make myself useful, and at the time being able to shoot seemed like the way to do it.

It was hard though, at first I was horrible at it. Mother said I had a natural eye for the target, but I tended to rush the shot and forgot about the recoil (Earning myself some nasty bruises in the process). But I was resilient, and by my fortieth I was proficient enough to at least hit my target at a decent range, most of the time.

Although nowhere near the expertise of my mother, ( who to this day remains the best markswoman I have ever seen.) She was also the smartest, kindest, most astoundingly beautiful person I have ever known.

I miss her everyday.
* * *
Our life went along at quite the normal pace, all the while I was growing into a young lady, or so I was told. We had been on trips to England over the years visiting family and the like, (not for very long of course)

My mother missed Africa too much, always eager to get back home she said, which to me always seemed odd. She was born in England it was were she grew up, when I pointed this out, she only said enigmatically 'Ah but home, Dear, is where the heart is'.

To me London always seemed exciting and new, and to be honest next to the hustle and bustle of city life the tedium of the little village where I grew up seemed almost unbearable.

Later that year, seeing my restlessness upon returning to the village my mother proposed that I be enrolled in a finishing school for young girls in England (The very same one she, herself had studied at as a youth) for the purpose of teaching me to be a lady.

Obviously I jumped at the chance. I had just turned fifteen when I left Africa, a wild girl from the dark continent. My mother had visited me every chance she got. Nevertheless I missed her terribly. (And after a month of being in england continually, I longed for home. But I stuck it out determined to become a proper lady,)

I returned to Africa permanently three years later, at 18, every inch a proper English lady, Well not quite - I was a work in progress. But It was getting there.

During my time in England, I took a more pro-active approach to my father, I reasoned that waiting all those years for him to find me hadn't exactly payed off, so I was going to find him. It took me the best parts of two of those years, writing polite but strongly worded letters to various publishers (those whom I knew had anything to do with the Quartermain books) around Europe. Finally I found him.

He had been in Africa, the entire time. For Nine years infact. (And yet never once Visited Mother or I)

My last year in England was spent burying any love I had ever felt for the Great White Hunter, Allen Quartermain.

When I returned home, to Africa, I never spoke of him to mother again. I still drew of course, and took up shooting again, although not hunting. I was never the hunting type.

I'll admit I was somewhat out of practice, but similarly to reading or writing the skill never really leaves you. My mother was ecstatic to have me home, though she looked smaller and more fragile then I remembered. But we were happy.

And then news of Allan Quatermain death was brought to the village. And the adventure that I had so craved for years began.

I accompanied her to the place of his burial, although not to the grave site itself. No, Instead I watched from a safe distance, as the humble funeral took place. Their were few people there, mostly old hunters past their prime and a small group almost all dressed in black. I barely even paid them attention. My mother laid her flowers quietly, mourning him in her own way and left.
That night there was a terrible storm. Worse then I've ever seen, Macumazahn, the headman of our village (and good friend of the family) later remarked that it was not natural.

I barely paid him any attention so pre-occupied was I with my own thoughts. As I, Just like my mother mourned the passing of Allan Quartermain. Though not as a daughter does a father, because he wasn't. No, I mourned his legend, his stories. Because they were all I really knew about him.

Shortly after the storms, Mother fell Ill, Fatally. I tried almost everything to help her, getting the best doctors in from both London and Paris, I don't care to bore you with the gory details but essentially they all said the same thing. That Mother only had a limited time left, she had a horrible fever and was in terrible pain.

Odd though it may seem that for all their qualifications from the most prestigious collages in Europe, it was actually the Shaman from the village over that provided the herbs necessary to alleviate her suffering, although no cure.
Basically all that was left to me was to wait for her to die, all the while I could almost feel my heart breaking.

Not surprisingly, (as she was always a fearless old thing) mother didn't seem particularly worried or afraid, in fact she was her usual laughing bubbling self though I could see her getting visibly thinner everyday.

We had many guests over that week or so, mostly mothers' pervious colleagues come to pay their respects while she was still alive. Which made me realize that I didn't know much about her life before my birth, aside from the parts that involved Quartermain.

After that week was done, and all the visitors had come and gone, the house was quiet And I made my resolve to spend as much time with my mother as possible.
* * *
"Read that last paragraph again, Would you Anna Dear" asked Mother, her voice slightly rasping.

"Of course" I replied, withdrawing my hand from her own, in order to turn back the page, and then subtly slipping it back again,

"So grouped, the curtain calls upon Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy, Whether it ever rises again depends upon the reception given to the first act of the domestic drama entitled. Little Women" I puzzled over why she liked that particular paragraph so much, or even that particular book. I didn't care for it myself. No, back then I'd have much prefered to curl up with a good Adventure Novel.

Mother leaned back and sighed happily, closing her eyes. I watched her fall into a light slumber stroking her fingers comfortingly as she slept. Her skin pulled slightly taught over her face, making her look almost skull-like.

I felt my chest give a painful throb, a pain I had been feeling increasingly over the past week. Blinking back tears (it wouldn't do to have Mother wake to find me crying), I lay my head on her bed wearily and closed my eyes.

* * *
I must not have been asleep for long before I awoke because it had barely begun to get dark. My legs were stiff from kneeling on the hard floorboards, and as I blinked sleepily in the slight gloom I began to have the strange sensation that something was amiss, not wrong precisely, just out of the ordinary.

As I stood moving my legs slightly in order to get the circulation flowing again, I looked around the room. It doubled as both a study and sitting room. Mother was lying on a plain but comfortable lounge placed opposite the desk and book cases which were the rooms only furnishings.

I noted that it was quiet, extremely quiet. An anomaly in the African Savannah, where some sort of noise can always be heard.

As quickly and quietly as possible, I went to my mothers room and removed her prized hunting rifle(christened Mather after my deceased Grandmother) from her case, she gleamed slightly as I hefted her out of the darkness of her home and into the half-light of the late evening.

I strained my ears for any sound to alert me to an intrusion on our property. I knew that I was being slightly paranoid. And more then likely our visitor ( if there were any at all) would be some sort of larger predatory animal, which in any case meant keeping a weapon on my person would probably be to my (and mothers, of course) best interests.
However it seemed my natural paranoia served me well in this instance, as my straining ears caught the sound of light footsteps on the porch outside, had I not been listening for such a noise I doubt I would have heard it.

My hands shook as I approached the door where I assumed the intruder would try to enter (mother never locked it, as theft was unheard of in our village). My legs felt unusually weak as I readjusted my grip on the rifle (shooting at a painted target on a tree was one thing, while locking pistols with a possibly armed assailant quite another.)

I heard another creak as the person edged slowly and with much stealth towards the door I was but a mere foot away from. My plan at that point was to thrust the rifle threateningly in the face of the intruder as they opened it and demand to know who they were and what their business was, looking back I can see how some could say it was more then slightly flawed, especially in light of the events that followed immediately after.
My breath caught as the barely audible footsteps stopped, and the handle of the door turned, with excruciating slowness.
****

Duh, Duh, duh!

Yes I know, I'm a literary genius in the making.

Personally I think it's a bit long, and I'm not sure if a want to pursue it, I don't think I'll have the time too really what with school about to start and all that. But we shall see, we shall see.

Untill our next meeting.

I remain in all things your most humble servant

- me

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"A pleasant walk, A pleasant talk, along the briny beach"

Saturday, August 2, 2008

vOh, It's been while.

I think, I might blog abit more. Get me into the spirit of things, as it were.
Well, dear blog, I've had some pretty major chances happen in recent life, like for example; I'ce changed living arrangements, which I think will work to the benefit of all.
And, Alas, I've also changed schools, which is quite probably the only downside to the whole affair. Its not too bad now, which is to say it's tollerable, I just have to come to terms with the fact that almost every one of my fellow students, is a flaming imbecile. Honestly one would think it's the faculties goal to make *sure* that the student body as A whole has An IQ of no more then 50, my fellow students education has seriously failed them, It's disgraceful. Really. Though on the bright side, I do happen to be the most intelligent person of the student body, in it's entirity.
Which is a good thing I suppose.

Which brings me to my next piece of news, I've started reading the Twilight series, and finally understand what all the fuss is about. their quite sweet. I definately recomend them, to all. So, go read them, Now!


Well, thats all for me. Beloved Blog.

- Toodles.

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Monday, March 31, 2008


Hcbvuhdvbfuifbnrihgbnedg.


Nothing particualrly of interest this week, just... an entry to complain/bitch about my pervious entry...


Because..

I've just relised that, my last blog was the e-equivilant to... brutal DEATH!! by e-Death ninja's. So, Apologies.

And another thing, whats with the calling my "non-existent" blog viewerers "chickadee's" I think I r truly going insane... who knew?

Poo You tube, My new addiction, but, that's okay, because it isn't like a have a life anyways. Oh and it Rhymed. Just another example of my ninja-like skill. Oh and I'm back at the School, Which is fine. Just close your eyes and pretend it's bad dream.

Also, my computeR is a FUCKING PIECE OF CRAP/POO/SHIT/EXCRETORIES AND IS DRIVING ME INSAAAAAAANNNNN-ER,... not working, it's making weird noises, not unlike the noises an animal makes as it bones are painfully crushes against a car, not that I've seen that or rather heard it,, but Id imagine it's a pretty similar noise. "The noise" makes me want to brutally murder.. something.....lots of pain...paaaaaaaaaain.... oh and there it goes again.Nice. I

am tempted to kick it, but then It probably can't feel any pain... How convienient... FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.


Oh, I do feel better now.


Your, slightly better-y


-Shilling
PS: Tuneage: I wanna be sedated - The ramones.





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Bewere the POOP OF HELLL

Friday, March 28, 2008




News news news news, I have some news! And I'm going to ignore your muttered mutterings of "for once" .. so there!

N ow onto my news: Using my ninja-like skill, I, Shilling have created... A maximum ride forum, this brilliant idea spawned from the lack of any decent ones on teh mighty "internets", here is the address if you want to check it out, (http://themaximumride.proboards80.com/) although Admittedly if you *are* reading this, then your probably either Woo or Zod.

If not: Welcome to Shillings blog, Please leave all money/value possessions at the door on your way out. Thank you!

Moving on,
I know I've probably said this before but. Assignments are the POO OF HELL, I deduced this using my impeccable logic for Teachers being the "HOUNDS OF HELL" must poop out Homework and assignments, Oh yes, I caught on to their Dic-dasterdly plan.

But really now that I think about it, my logic probably isn't all that impeccable,really being an raving LUNATIC and all, having already passed "loopy" and am on my jolly way straight way straight to BAT SHIT INSANE.... but no, it's fine really........

"IHFUWYHEBFUERGFTERUBTEODGNSDIKFBNEURCKDFNBERIUFGEHRTOWR"


Oh, which reminds me, my actually assignment is to write a children's book, so.. this is what I've come up with so far

Some people say that monsters, are gruesome, fearsome things,
With fifty legs or twenty eyes, and big black shiny wings,
Or that, they have sharp yellow fangs and stand some ten feet tall
Or even worst then that.
Some say…. they don’t’ exist at all.

And although some may believe it, I know it isn’t true.
For monsters are such a friendly bunch,
It’s a fact! I’ve even met a few

For instance there’s the Spindlewingler,
Who may look odd at first,
With all the hairy lumps she has, it couldn't get much worse.
But soon you’ll see she’s nice as pie and really just as sweet,
but she can make some cupcakes that’ll knock you off your feet (?)
Not sure about that one.... suggestions?

And then there’s the Chubbbubbler,
The biggest monster yet, he’s the roundest, softest cuddlebug
I bet you’ve ever met.
He creeps amongst the pillows, it’s his favorite place to sleep
But you’ve probably never seen him though,
For he never snores, no sounds at all, not a peep

Next comes a Rowdy langlebuster,
The loudest of them all.
He makes chirps, he squeaks, he trumpets
In fact, it drives most up the wall
But really he’s a budding artist for all who care to see
He paints pictures, portraits, landscapes.
He even sometimes gives them away, for free!

His best friend be the Swingler
A tricksy little thing, compared to other monsters,
She’s no doubt the prankster king, and it is for this reason that monsters tend to fear
The ending of the month of March with Aprils drawing near. <
My favorite part
Even though its known that pranking’s, against the rules
It isn’t on her favorite day.
And that is April fools

And now there’s one last monster, before the story ends.
He’s the smallest of them all, he could sit right on your hand
He’s a shinnie after all, and he loves to dance and sing
But the best thing about shinnies, is that they have such pretty wings

And so when someone tells you, there’s not monsters near you bed.
Pluck up the courage, pull back the covers and take a look instead
Because when you see that yellow eye, give you a friendly wink
It’s then I’ll hope you realize
Those Monsters are closer
then you
think.



And that took me all of about... oh...I don't know... 3 MONTHS!, The months of my life i'm never getting back... Oh the woe! Oh the insanity!
Todays picture is infact, The icecream Monsters, which.. I painted... by the way,
My tuneage for this week has been
Made for TV movie - Incubus
And thats it from me, my chickidee's
- Shilling














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Friday, March 21, 2008


Oh Easter yay!

Don't you just love Easter.. No? Well thats because your just a lonely little fuck devoid of love and emotion with the heart of a shriveled peanut..... Juust kidding. I do love Easter though, with all the chocolate, bunnies and... chocolate, We have managed to stuff the entire contents of our fridge with chocolate and chocolate by-products... it's Like chocolate galore down here. And we are slowly devouring it... ALLLLL. Which I'm sure will result in much pimples, sugar highs and throwing up, but we shall persevere!!!


Other then that though my life has been a bland stretch of nothingness A highway into the abyss of boredom, Really. I have two assignments due soon, one of whom I haven't started, And really really really don't want too.. But I'm thinking I need to get my brain-thing in gear and start it, or I may find myself with a big fat "F" and we can't have that can we?


I did get some moar paint-colours and brushes. Running out of canvasses, I might make my current sugar high useful and make some art... And by Art I mean a mass of paint smudges on a white canvass.


Well thats it from me, and my chocolate induced insanity.


Keep on truckin'


- Shilling

Bursting

Saturday, March 15, 2008


Ive had a sudden burst of creativity these past weeks, finishing not only my shoes but a painting as well!! I'm feeling pretty darn chuffed about the shoes too, having got a few compliments about them.

And I know your on the edge of your wee little seaties wait for a picture But your going to have to wait, for my partental unit's computer is really really really really.. slow. But I will get them up somtime in the future...
And so, in other news.. I've started reading the maximum ride series which I have been putting off for some time. And I was sursprised how good of a read they acctually are, And I urge all of you out there who *havn't read them* aka those who have been living under a rock to pick them up from your local book selling place, Because as far as books about mutant avian/human freaks go It's pretty darn good, so.. Like... go read them,.. right now....>>


I've also been buying some Cd's later which is a biggy for me, seeing as I don't really spend my mulah$$ unless I have too, Like really really have to. And you know I've descovered the benifits of retail therapy(checks to see if that is the correct spelling ) Even though before my *splurge * I didn't feel crap or anything afterwards I felt great, So I'm thinking I might splurge a bit more often..

And..., Oh and the Cd's a bought were Incubus (not quite sure what album but it has Megalomania and Pistola on it if that helps)for all you incubus fans out there. And Rancid - Life won't wait, Which was a pretty good buy, so yeah I'm happy, and the cover art is pretty rad too.


My tuneage this week has been: The pirates who don't do anything - Relient K.


Because I've decided My life's ambition is to become a pirate, who two Eye patches four peg legs and a parrot on each shoulder, Over the top me? nahh.

Yours shwash bucklingly
- Shilling


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Oh the Woe.

Thursday, March 6, 2008




Sunburn - I gots it.
And I hurt EVERYWHERE. Needless to say, I don't like it. But who does, really? I truly am suffering... SUFFFFFFFFFFFFFFERRRRRRRING.... GGGGGGGG.
Argh. So I spent all yesterday, playing fish, and cooling down due to the intense buring heat that is my skin.

And also, I have been drawing... ALOT, Draw mania. I thinking of BUYING a pair of plain white shoes to shillingerize them, Which is a big deal because I really really tight.

So yes, Hopefully They will turn out Okay-ish.
Wish me luck.


Ciao.




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