The Botanist

The Botanist

Based on an amazing dream I had.Another World.
I was a healer. They called me the Botanist.

A dying world under parasitic attack.
A great infection by way of astral projecting along internet networks;
A bio-chemical infection under the master manipulation of an evil man.

A Thing of science and powerful magic.  

I call him a Thing. For he was not worthy of the same caste as humanity;
a being more cruel and inhumane I cannot bring to mind.

An existence more Demon than Man.

I would give you his name but I never knew it.
And I didn't care for finding out.

I remember the sanctuary before the world fell apart.
A place of beauty beyond my ability to describe.
A part of me fought and survived for so long out of a burning desire to see it flower again.

But the cold, hard, logical rest of me knew I never would.

Our world was not dying.
No matter what light and good I fought to protect.
No matter what we did.
It was already...

Long dead.
****

The sanctuary was beautiful once. 

Before the End Began.

Although you don't usually capitalize the word; 
I do so here.

For this was THE End.
The End of all things.

I remember flowers.
One of the few alive who still do.
Before the infection took them from me.

Before he took it all from me.

Before my children were infected by that 
THING and its Bio-chemical program.

The Infected plants were bad enough.
The worst of it by far was the people. 

It collected them.

Infecting them slowly,
Piece by piece.

Rotting and turning them bit by bit,
Whispering in their ears as he takes their mind. 
Slowly driving them mad as they die.

I tried to save them.
I failed.
Time and time again.
I failed.
The world ended.
I failed.
They all died around me.
Allies. Friends.
Infected one by one.
I failed.
The world had ended. The dark had won.

But I would never let that thing see me despair.

That would be my One.
My only.

Small victory.

Or so I thought, the day I died.

But I was wrong.

Thank God, I was wrong...

*****

The Pilgrim.

I never knew his name. 
I didn't care to know.

He was dying.
His body riddled with infection inside and out.

We never asked names. 
Not when everyone you knew was so like to be killed at any moment.

I had never seen a soul last so long under infection.
And the fool used to say he was weak!

We both knew he was doomed.
His body and organs were falling apart.
I never knew how the fool could smile so brightly every god damn day. 
But there you have it.

That he could still walk and function was nothing short of a miracle.

He was beyond dying.
Like the world he tried to protect.

He was already dead.

But again.
I was wrong.
I remember one last, sad, thought;
As I died, my body burning in holy fire.

Pilgrim.
I wish I had learned your name...
*********
When Flames Die

The Sanctuary fell. 
One of the last strongholds of the free world.
Pilgrim fled to the refuge that had become known as Haven City.

I Stayed.

I was infected.

I would soon be dead.

And a part of me knew.
Had known, for far too long...

The longer I lived,
His greatest foe, 
It would never end.

I purified my body in Holy fire.

I died knowing all was lost.
I died knowing I would never see my flowers; 
My children again.

The darkness had won.

I have no words for the joy I feel;

Knowing I was wrong.
********

Survivor

Pilgrim they call me.

But I once went by the name David.

The Botanist died when the sanctuary was attacked.

I saw it.
She killed herself.
Purified her own body. 
Right there in front of me.

But I saw what it did to him too.
And the resulting and profound effect it would have on our world.

He gave up.
I saw it in his eyes;
His greatest foe had escaped beyond his reach.

And the fight just left him.

A part of him forever knowing he would never be satisfied with any other battle.

He played the part. For whose benefit we never found out. Maybe a part of him refused to accept the fight was over.
From the sanctuary he massed his infected to take Haven.
And when they threatened to take down his precious networks;
Something that could not have happened while the botanist lived as they were the only means of attack or defense against the virus.
He came quietly.

He had planned for this of course. 

He could have escaped.

But once in the prison. Cut off from his networks. 

Impotent without power.

He grew quiet. He grew old.

And he died.

And, miraculously;
On the brink of absolute destruction.
Our world began to heal.

I'm still infected.
'I should be dead', the doctors say.
People have said that to me a thousand times over.
And yet, somehow.
I Survive.
I have a story I must  tell here.
 And a lot of flowers to plant.

She would have liked that...
****
Her Name
I have no doubt she saved us all.

Had he never known such a foe he would never have lost his fire for destruction.

And we would all be dead.

She always blamed herself for the despicable things he did to the people around her in the name of war and vengeance.

I hope with all my heart. Wherever she walks now.
She knows she died saving us all.

.
And that no matter the flowers I fill this world with.

It will always be empty without her.

Botanist.
I wish I had asked your name...

Afraid of losing you,
I never knew how painful not knowing was.

Now that you're gone...
****

Beyond the Gateway: For his name is Music

 

Beyond the Gateway: For his name is Music.

Ascending path of more than gravel and stone,

A path of note and string,

A path of pure and potent sound,

We hear it when he sings.

When he sings of trees in blossom,

and of lovers gathered there,
When he strums an image before him weaving magic in the air.
He'll be sad song when times are tragic. 

A lullaby when we need it. 

For his name is Music;

 

The last spirit of true magic.

Welcome, Page-Walker!

first of all,
Thank-you very much for visiting my creative writing blog.

-Bows-

  postponing chapter uploads while I work on a piece called 'my story'
should be up soon!

My  chapter sagas can be found in the tabs above,

and are updated chapter by chapter on the first of every second month!

(next uploads should be on time and up on the first of march!)

Also if you are viewing this on you phone:
Go to the bottom of this page and select,


'view web version' 

To see my works as they were intended.

(the mobile version is useless =_=)

I just cant give my writing to you guys until its perfect.
 I write a draft and then spend at least 100 hours editing it!
Not even joking. 
Probably even more than that. 
Before I think its ready for you guys.
Even a month writing just about every day and I'm still late a lot -_-

Bio:
Not a lot to say about me.
I'm just a guy lucky enough to be able to do what I love and write every day :)
But my writing is a little harder to describe.

I don't mean to write all old fashioned and pretentious.

 That's just how it comes out.

But I'm writing:
A. Because I love it.
B. To show the people who can enjoy my work the worlds I love to weave.

If there is just one person out there who loves and enjoys my work; 
That for me is true happiness.

I know there are people who won't see the magic I see here.

And that's OK. 
There are bound to be people out there who don't like my writing.
But at the same time,
If you can't read a piece of work without looking for a reason to hate it.
Don't read my work.
I'm not here for page-views or fame.
If there are readers out there who know the magic of sitting by the fire on a rainy day with a secret treasure chest of words in their hands

Those are the people this site is for.

I don't write to look down on other people; 

I just want to share my stories with people who can love them.
And if you don't think I am doing that to your standard. 
That's fine.
 I write the way I write.
 And I get that some people won't enjoy that.

writing is artistic expression, not scientific pretension.

if you cant let go of that and find your imagination wherever you've lost it.
Don't read on.

*****
My writing
 The way I see it.

written word has become to me; 
Something so beautiful I struggle to box it into the confines of  human perception of language and concept.

But might,

Be best described within this short excerpt: 

"Pages that to David
transcended mere pen and ink;  
Every word a map of Runic mystery.
A deep magic, ancient and powerful

that weaves with me an existence of true and tangible reality in the mind

 A Word-World
of forgotten realms we all once walked and played as children;
now whispered to us faintly twixt the pages of a book."  
              
                                                                   

~Blue Fire Phoenix      

    
 Yours in the pursuit of page-bound wonders,

Smogford

I don't want money or fame, 
if i can take your hand, Page-walker,
 and show you something truly amazing;

~That for me would be true happiness.

The Irony behind discovering the true intricate wonders of the cosmos:

~is the immediate understanding that follows as to why you can never tell anyone else~

(and knowing the world wouldn't believe you anyway)

~Touche universe~
DISCLAIMER:

I DO NOT OWN NOR DID I CREATE ANY OF THE IMAGES I USE HERE.