Not sure how to word this…

I’ve had issues with this single moment. The moment of writing beyond my experience in so many fields that I can’t even begin to imagine what the issue with how it’s being written is.

The issue I’m having is a song (I can’t do music well, but I do love listening to music so much that I’ve tried to at least write lyrics.) and of course I have to chose a song that can have double meanings based on who sings it (and triple meanings based on a later context within the story…hahahahaha.) If a man sings the song, it sounds as if he were suffering from depression, or in bondage or suffering from some other form of torture, then saved and experiencing love for the first time in forever/a long time. On the other hand, when a woman sings the song it’s meant to be a song about child bearing/child birth and the fears and passions felt during the process.

Ha! I’ll safely say that I’ve never, nor ever plan to push a child out. I’ll leave that up to my future wife.

I can usually get the wording down pretty good, but I can’t seem to evoke the emotions I desire when sung/read aloud. Actually… I usually feel like even my most emotional pieces are dry and don’t have an ounce of emotion in them.


Here’s the version of the song I’ve written recently (the original was lost in the fire);

“In the beginning there was darkness, nothing between us

yet when I gazed upon you I felt alive.

The void within me, created by the scars of my past was

filled with thoughts of you and your eyes.

Yet when I think of you all I can see is the murk

that had plagued me before, and I wish;

If you ever must suffer as I had, that I burn in dark

and suffer a thousand fold, yes this wish

Is what strikes. It burns and marks our future

with the light of our destiny shining clear.”


To me it doesn’t sound right for either, but when I try to re-write it it ends up being focused more on one of the others. What do you guys think?


I swear it’s such a pain; trying to write perfectly when all I can do is make my mistakes look pretty.

Part 1: End

So Part 1 is complete. It took me a heck of a lot longer than I thought it would, but I finished it, so I’ll be starting on part 2, and hopefully I’ll finish it before school starts so that I can start writing part 3 when I get the chance to do so. Now that I’ve passed the hill of depression that was preventing me from writing as often as I wanted to, I’ll likely try to finish Part 2 in about a week. The notes will lack my personal artwork for the story due to the loss of the notebook that had everything.

I’ll also be re-reading and editing Part 1 in an attempt to make it more similar to the original OR more fluid…It feels oddly chunky and reliant on “then” and “and” for transitions… “After” is also something I do too much in it…


Part 1: A Dance Among Blood-Stained Leaves.




Part 2: War’s Mud Covered Reprise





As always, enjoy reading and feel free to comment on anything!

-F.Aria Gawain.

Twisted Fate

Listen to our tale of those ruled by Fate.

In the world they live, plague and war

Siege their lives, all fueled by a single lie.

Death, suffering, hate, and pain is created

Through this never ending cycle of birth

And war. These two were born, one cursed

By her Father’s name, the other scorned by

Those he left to pursue her. Their meeting

Destined, occurred under the guise of

Blood raining around them on the field

Of death. Their fear of death led them to

the War. War led them to hate and suffering.

Yet when they met, on opposite sides

Of the field, their hearts raced. Their

Love led to fleeing the battlefield. Treachery,

Betrayal and Rage followed them to their

Escape, tracking them through the world.

Pinning them down in the tower of the sky.

Their families hunted and slayed their own children.

Only to find that an heir was left behind. Cursed with

Their parents genes, but innocent of all crimes.

He too molded the world around him, changing

The hate into peace. His heir led to more and his

Children all retained his cursed fate, and innocent

Strength. This First Child cursed with the name of

His traitorous Father, led to the Birth of the Last

Child. Born in the world of War and Plagues.

Only to lead yet again, to more War, Hate,

And Blood spilling over the land. The name

Plagued by silver blood leaves its mark on history.

Regardless of the age. Power flows in their veins, yet

Their cursed blood destroys those they need

And spares those they care not for. Love

Is a cruel thing. Bringing darkness and hate

Through the loss of a single soul.


Water of my eyes. Flow, I plead with you.

Let these tears flow like falls, and birth

Life again. Let the pain that has befallen

the previous be a lesson to the current.

Rivers of sorrow, Ye who torment me

In a torrent of suffering. Bleed into

The ports of creation, and drop drips

Of inspiration into this grieving mouth.

Let the shadow that sinks into the marshes

Of my brain soon meet the sludge of the

Fen, all consuming. Let this imagination never

Cease to crash on the shores of lips and pages

They sail from shore to shore, cleaving gouges

Out of the land. Creating more paths for this

River called creativity to expand and explore.

Like jungles of rain that fall in a circle of

Seeping swamp. I pray to thee, to let this

majesty, this beauty, this ephemeral

Light fleet and scour the Earth in my name

Let it scar the land in rivulets of blood and

Honor. Mark it so that even the furthest

Reaches will know of this name… Of this

Seething passion gone stagnant in the

ponds of depression. Like Waves from a Lake

You strike more and more, pushing this

Stillness into life, and breaking the never-

Ending darkness that had taken hold.

Fire Fire Burning this Heart

Passion, Passion that seeks for its burning

Desire. Fire, Fire that burns through my love.

Ash, Ash crush this soul, smother it in pain.

Pain, Pain that withers our petals and pierces

Even the strongest wills with regret.

Should I have finished thee?

Should I have protected thee?

Yet that which has yet to be finished

Is now, burnt to ash by this passion, desire,

And wistful flame. As the petals of my love

Flake and fall, as if drops of raging blood.






These are that which have afflicted my

Child, as she was torn from my loving

Arms, and passionate embrace. Yet,

She lives on. My lingering memories

Flit, and remind me of the hours and

Moments that she and I had spent.

No regret for time past, only regret

For time that can no longer exist.


I attempt to craft another, in her likeness,

Only fearing failure. What child can be

recreated? What child wishes to be replaced?

Yet those who have been rejected by my

hateful gaze are no longer in this world. How

Can I continue to live, with all my children

Lying dead around me, turning to ash.

Ashes, Ashes, they all pile up. Changed from

Their appearance at birth, and I the parent

Can no longer recognize their features, nor

The gifts and grace they have granted my

soul, now plagued by nightmares. Cold

Hands grip the hot remains,  and as the river of

The eye flows, tears flood the plains. Child,

O Child of mine. Who I have not loved as I

should. Can thee forgive this disgusting human

You once called Father?


Child, Child who aided my sleep. Child,

Child who soothed my dreams. Child, Child

who lies in my arms. Child, Child I love you.

Child, O’ Child who can no longer sing to me.







May your eternal sleep bring you peace and tranquility

Push thy pains onto your Father, let him be tormented

By that which he believed to be pointless. Child, O’ Child

Of mine. I wish thee the happiest. In my heart I shall keep

The memories of our life together.

I love thee.

And in love I shall never forget you who can no longer

Smile, cry, love, laugh, and grieve.

Child, O’ my Child

How I wish to see thee.


Recent Events

So yeah, my apartment was hit by a fire (possibly arson) and that destroyed all my research (for upcoming writing projects), my poetry, and all my physical writing. Which happens to include For the Tower Pierces it All, which has been really depressing for me. I mean…to me my writing is like my children, so someone pretty much just killed all my children…It hurts.

I’ve memorized FTPA, but I didn’t want to have to re-write it because I loved how the style worked out…Also I spent like two years or so actively writing what I have (mostly because I only write between classes.) I’m not sure how it’ll work out from now on.


Don’t worry though I’ll keep updating FTPA, but I have to write from memory and not from my notebook. A little sad since I was planning on doing Part 3 over the summer, and update every two weeks. I’m probably gonna update every two weeks like I planned, but I’ll need a ton of time for Part 3, since I’m still in the planning process for it, and having to remember and rewrite everything I’ve written since I was 12 is going to give me nightmares.

It’s very likely that my posts are going to be a couple thousand words, and that I’ll continually edit them as well. I originally planned to edit the story itself so that I can utilize more of the story, but now that I’ve lost all of it, I’ll have to remember each part and if I planned anything different.

I swear…I’m beyond depressed. Like more than when people important to me died, depressed. I never thought it’d hurt this much to lose something that isn’t human…


Looking forward to writing for you guys.

-Franz Aria Gawain

Show me…

So as the school year begins to stutter and die, I’ll be able to post more and more. Though honestly my postings are going to be updates to ForTPA, which I finished up to part 2, which is something like 50,000 words or so…alone…Part one is about 30,000. Part 3 is supposed to be the majority of the story though…So it’ll probably end up capping out at around 135k-175k words.

Gosh, I write a lot in the few 5 minute breaks I get during school. Then again, thats probably why my students make fun of me so much. Oh well, I like it and they like listening to what I read out to them.

Anyways, the beginning of May will probably have a flood of writing (probably upwards of 30,000 words) then I’ll slow down to around 5,000 words words every two weeks (maybe every week.) The issue is that once I get too far into the story I’ll have to break to write on part 3. The break could be an entire school year (Part 3 will probably be finished by then…hopefully.) or I could try my best to write for bi-weekly postings.


A student asked me if they could draw some art (or make music) for my story, and I said yes. I can’t post their art on the internet, because they didn’t want it to be seen by people outside my class. So I’m extending the offer to people on the web. If you feel like it, go ahead and make anything for what I write (I like fan-ficitons of my fan-fiction too.) post it on some sort of viewable site, then comment/send me a message with a link, (only one…and make the site recognizeable like photobucket, reddit, or Youtube (post title of the image/story/song next to link) I’ll make a post with it, and try to find a way to post it on the same page that the art/music/fan-fic was made from. I tend to respect anyone who can do something I can’t (art, music, and generally sexy scenes in writing [T~T]) so don’t feel bad about what you might post or show me. I’ll most likely like it, and I’m not a heartless person who would ignore someones hard work.

Ya’ll can be as imaginative as possible… show me thy passion.

-F. Aria Gawain

P.S: If robots take over the little system I’m trying out, I’ll come up with another way to do this…I think.

What? D:

Heaven almighty. I swear that sometimes I must question the skies above,

yet I also must question the land below.

Why am I supported by this dark dirt whilst the blue sky crushes me?

Why does it seem that when snow floats through this sky

that I only then realize how chained down we are to this planet.

It’s only through darkness that we can see limitlessly,

So why do we cling to the ever burning and seething light?


Since when was it that the planet sang for us humans?

Why is it that we can no longer hears its mournful dirge?

Can we truly crush our lives like we do cans,

Or is that we cannot resist our destructive urge?

We see our planet floating by, scarred by our remains,

But it never once complained. Instead we struck deeper,

Tearing through our one shared mother. As if we

Were vipers eating away at our bornflesh to become whole.

We only learn to slay as we age, yet we speak of peace

And tranquility.

As if we were but parasites leeching life from others

Claiming that what we attend to is not evil.

Devouring the living things surrounding us

Only then can we live.

Hence  the reason why the Earth sings of our folly

Singing loudly in a clear tone of pain and suffering.

We ignore it’s pained voice, and step on it further as

If we were stepping over the remains of one that we had

Slain. O Heaven, save this planet from its noble dirge

Keep it safe from our human carresses and brushes.

Like women who use skinship for pay, we only spread

Our detestable disease.



Is now focused on the story I am writing. Check the page “For The Tower Pierces it All”. Part One is up, but I suggest you read the intro, since I reference it abstractly and directly a lot later on.

Although I’m focusing on the story for ForT P.A. (<- Short Acronym…I’m lazy), I will have some other short stories that I’ll probably post for you all. As of now I’m experimenting with Horror while correcting and going over my professional works. My hope is that the Horror will be posted and I might even have a you-tube Video of me reading it….Uhm I hate my voice though, so maybe I won’t put it on YouTube…. I think people would classify it as a “Creepy-Pasta” Though I’m just taking the lack of story to SlenderMan (The game where you walk around (apparently as a female) in a forest looking for notes while SlenderMan chases you.) Even if people call it a Creepy-Pasta, it’s pretty much considered horror, and I’m writing for my high-school students.

-As always, thanks to all and enjoy reading!

-F. Aria Gawain.

A Tale of Solitude

Another short story from a long time ago. This was an imagination probe, and we were supposed to tell a good story in less than 2 pages. I’m terrible at maximum pages T~T

I’ve always liked having a minimum page limit, like 10 pages with a maximum of “not too much since I have to read 90 copies of these…” …Now that I think back on that, I feel bad for my teachers since I’d be the person who tripled the page minimum.

Uwah, sorry past-teachers!

Have fun reading everyone!

-F. Aria Gawain


Aoi’s Tale



Two  of the things I love, those two and reading.  But I need light to read… so I use a small book light and I’m alone. It’s quiet. Being alone is perfectly fine. There aren’t any idiots who get in my way or prevent me from doing my best.

While everyone in the world wore a mask…I exposed my raw instinct to them.

I’m “different” because I didn’t block my true self from the world.

So as I grew up I began to create a mask over one emotion; love. I love her, but she probably doesn’t know I exist, if I say something to her she’ll probably hate me. We were childhood friends, and I’ve loved her ever since.

She isn’t the prettiest, she doesn’t have the biggest boobs, and she isn’t skilled at anything other than cooking and taking care of others. She acts more like an 8 year old boy than a 17 year old girl. She loves kittens and cats; she’d prefer to stand in a cold rain than in a warm one. She loves the cold, but hates the wind. When she laughs…she snorts, and my heart melts. She keeps her hair short, and she avoids letting people look into her eyes.

I love her, but I’m afraid to show it. I don’t want to ruin her life to make mine better. I’m going to be an author and a librarian; she’s going to be a teacher overseas.

That’s how it is…and that’s how it’s going to be.

I can’t remember what it was like…before I wore it all the time.

At school I simulate what it would be like if we were together. Then all the severed fragments of my being piece together, give my life meaning. But whenever I dream of her with me, she always looks sad…unaccomplished. It’s all a dream…a simulation.

I’m sick of it; I may look alive, but I feel bad inside, and my heart has holes and I feel so damn empty, I feel as if I were an unused trash can.

My parents worry about me because I hate groups of people, because I don’t need friends. A friend is a person who forces their failures on you, and your failures on themselves. My parents worry because I’m 17 and not interested in women, though I am, but it’s only one woman. They think I should have interests in women in bikinis at the beach…that I should find them attractive, but I don’t. Maybe if she wore a bikini…Wait…I’m getting a nosebleed.

My parents bother me when I write and read, so I’m going to run away. I’ll go live in the mountains, where it’s silent and peaceful. It may get cold there, but the only thing that’ll bother me are the hunters. Good thing my parents own a ranch house isolated in the mountains… I can just live there and come to town for provisions. I’ll write books and make money that way.

I told my parents and they bought me a laptop, and gave me some starting money, with only the requirement of visiting them once a month.

I called her and only said what I had too. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but we were friends a long time ago. I just called because I wanted to talk to you one…last…time.” The other side was silent. “Well then…Good-bye…” she began to speak, and I whispered quietly “I love you.”

The other side of the line went deadly silent, and then she stammered out; “W—W—What? Y—Y—You Lo—Love me? I mea—”

“Yeah…so much, but I could never work up the courage to say it, ‘till now. I hope I see you… sometime before I die.”

She said something but I hung up before she could finish. Before her words would tear me apart…Before she said something I longed for.

I put on some shorts and began the thirty-mile trek to the mountains. Good thing it was Spring, if it was Winter, I’d have died before I could get close to the mountains. Running helped me calm myself down, the pain distracted me from what I left behind. It was quiet, dark, and no one was around to bother me. Eventually I reached the foot of the mountain, and began to climb into the mountain’s forest to find our ranch home.

After the first light came and passed, I arrived at the ranch house. Wishing I had been able to rest for longer than an hour, I began dusting and cleaning the house, which took a good deal of four hours. I believe what I was doing was setting up a cove so I could write in comfort and ambience, when I heard a knock on the door, though it didn’t sound like it came from the front door.

When I opened the door, no one was there. I called out, but no response sounded back. Must’ve been my imagination wanting something. I then closed the door and went off to the kitchen to make myself some lunch. Some chicken noodle soup was on the stove boiling before long, and then steaming in a small bowl. I ate in silence, listening to the birds chirp and a wolf howl in the distance.

Alone, dark; except for the light from the windows, t’was all silent like too. My dream place exists only away from humanity. Ah, a strange old hermit I’ll be.

Nearly eight hours had passed since I had arrived at the ranch house. I spent another three hours organizing everything to match me, and then another hour to set up the internet for my research needs. The birds on the feeder above me, on top of the sky light watched me warily as I worked.

Something behind me clocked quietly and one of the birds sounded off. Then they all flew, their feathers floated slowly onto the sky-light window.

I turned and noticed the back window open.

I smelled some perfume.

“You can come out. I know you’re here” I said tenderly.

She stepped out from behind the pillar that leads to my cove. “I—I wanted to see you.” she said.

“I did too,” I said. Then she stepped forward, and stopped within arm’s length. She blushed and kept touching her cheeks.

“Y—You know I—I want to live here with you…”

“Why” I asked, “it’s not like we can’t, but I’m still a dude…alone with a beauty like you.”

“Exactly! Th—There are only two things a man and a woman can do together.”

“Ehh… WAI—”

She hugged me, and my legs gave out. I fell to my knees and so did she. “Hugs ‘n’ kisses.” she whispered into my ear.

She looked into my eyes, “Aoi, till death doeth us part!” Her lips touched mine and my body throbbed as I felt her heart beat against my chest.

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