Letters On An Elysian Field


A short piece I was using to test a new method of story writing… So far I’m still experimenting but I loved the outcome. It was too short, though. What do you think?


Dear Melanie,

The ice covered fields seldom glimmer in white crystalline splendor, nor does the white atop the wonderful yellow hibiscus you adorned our garden with, last spring. The awakening of the warm spring season falls upon us like a soothing breath of fresh air. Winter slumbers deep within its frozen peaks and shattered, glassy rivers; I still long to see you again. The roars of the flowing waters have forced themselves into the silence of the passing December Blues. Do you remember why they call it December Blues?

With great love,



Dear Rudolf,

Yes, I recall the December Blues; a tranquil moment when the cold caresses the cage of your soul, rattling the confines of one’s sorrow and loneliness. It’s warm over here, ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit, a soft breeze coming down from the mountains, the scent of freshly cut grass and dew; these lands have never been kissed by winter, yet, why am I always surrounded by white? The yellow hibiscuses still linger within the crevices of my mind, swirling around like a whirlwind of emotions and affection. The cold lingered on but the warmth was beating faster and faster. Does the snow still flee at the sight of rain?

Lovingly yours,



Dear Melanie,

The rain that falls upon fluffy white soil now dissipates its glorious crystalline kingdom. No longer under the cold’s beck and call, it falls limply, as if it was a cry from the heavens. The sun peeks from over the mountain tops; warmth is just over the horizon. The foxes scamper away at the sight of our beloved little friend, whose eyes search the snow for its gentle queen. He keeps me warm when the days are too cold for life, too grey for hope and too silent for joy. It is very strange how, as time goes by, we remember the little thing we over-look. How a shy smile shines brighter than sun-bathe honey, or how a soft wink means more to me than a script. The flowers will soon sprout; can you see them, the violet haven of the Morning Glories?

Hoping for the best,



Dear Rudolf,

I can see them, the Morning Glories, all inside my memories. Vast fields of purple bliss, running through them, toppling and holding what which was most precious to me, in my arms. I can hear the barks of our lovely furry brother, the laughter that escapes my lips, and warmth that the sun never did surpass. Constantly, I am flooded by the desire to run away and hide from the strings that wrap us around the heavenly clock’s arms. The pain that sears through the white canvas that has become my home is too much for these silent lips to speak. I am lonely, no fact can refute that. No music can pierce the veil of silence, no rainbow can shatter the portrait of white, and no taste lingers at the tip of my tongue. They say the sun rises on the east only to meet its fate on the west; life and rebirth, I wonder if its mightily golden chariot has room for one more. If you ever see the mirror of the moon, touch it gently with your kindest words; it is a land were dreams reflect upon our tired souls.

I am tired, sleepy, and hungry but never with regret. Even for an artist, masterpieces never stop with life. Rest assured that I shall try my best at painting the Elysian Fields, for my lover sits holding on to his harp, playing while I rest.

Gently, I rest my brush,



Dear Melanie,

Knowing full well, that this piece of paper shall never rise unto the heavens or fall into the underworld, I take my boulder and roll it to the edge of the darkness; falling with it till I see your face again. Never will I look back, for losing you is the greatest tragedy that would befall a man. Twelve roses rest upon that pillar of stone; the hands of the clock have never stopped. What gives the right, for the gods to toss their dice, blindly, playing with fate? The strings they sever as well as the ties they create, random acts hidden within a purposeful façade; we all run into that fate. A dream is not a dream without a taste of reality, I now know that. Rest, I shall see you soon. A camping we will go, to the fields of red and rivers of milk and honey.

With a heavy heart and a heavy pen,

Forever yours,


Character Concept: Anastasia

Okay, this is part 1 of the Character Concept series I’ve been planning. This is for those who have no idea where to start by giving you a piece of information, or a format of sort, so you can start your own character all the more efficiently. I’m not giving a step by step explanation of how it is done but rather I’ll provide an example of my though process and a character for any of my stories (any of the three novels in progress).

*All images were taken from google as I have little to no skills at drawing. Credit goes to those awesome people who can manage to create these beautiful works of art which I’ve taken as inspiration for my characters.

So, without further ado, here we go!



Anastasia is the typical shy girl you’d love to date but you know she is way out of your league.

Basic Information

Name: Anastasia Beatrice Mary-Elizabeth Chantal

Date of Birth: September 10th 2015

Age: 17

Ethnic Heritage: Britannium (alternate world England)

Religion: Royal & Absolute Anglican Church

Political Party: None

Favorite Colors: Blue and Yellow

Pets: Orion (a white German Shepherd dog)

Zodiac: Leo (in this reality, Ophiuchus is taken into account)

Story: Adagio for Canon

Character Overview


She’s all about looking good, even if she doesn’t like socializing that much.


For the most part, she’s said to be as lovely as the morning sun, with platinum blonde hair running all the way down to her waist, often held together by scrunchies or ornaments that her brother gives her. Her fair skin tone is easily envied by many but that only complements her big ocean blue eyes and rosy cheeks (which she tends to dislike). Her long slender legs and thin waist, though the envy of her friends, is the greatest frustration in her life. Beyond her cute celestial nose and her small pink lips, her biggest pride is her height; at approximately 1.7 meters, she’s her brother’s bully. The gentle and relaxed smile that forms on her lips is easily mistaken for that of naivety; she is much clever than she initially lets other’s believe. Her thin eyebrows and long eyes lashes convey a sense of divinity, she’s closer to a royal beauty than many who indulge in that social status.


Normally she is soft spoken, easily shy around people and becomes intimidated with strangers. Very clingy and needy of her brother’s attention, she’s almost akin to a puppy dog. Though, the puppy dog facade hides her true personality; she is a clever tactician and has everything planned out, from back doors to alternative strategies and last minute resources, she’s a genius in disguise. She’s easily annoyed by stubborn people or anybody that questions her ideas, her pride makes her blind to the reality of life. Prone to becoming possessive of others, she falls into jealousy, sporting her typical icy personality to those who befriend her brother. Preferring solitude than the ruckus of everyday life, she’s a clear example of your typical apartment cat whose idea of fun is staying home and sleeping all day long though that does not mean she can’t ‘act’. Her elegance is easily envied by many, as her etiquette skills are on a par with any royal figure you can find, if not beyond them as-well.

Original Character Concept 


Her original concept was that of a happy -go-lucky girl caressed with innocence’s beauty.

I created her character a few years ago, about six to seven years. She was supposed to be named: Mary-Elizabeth and was to become the main character of the story. Being the protagonist’s  love interest, she’d be tough, independent, but still needinh emotional support and prone to selfish tantrums. The idea was that she’d be the strong female character but not the perfect female character (like the characters most stories try to sell in an attempt to mimic a Disney tactic). After careful thinking, and planning, I grew concerned that maybe the plot, as it was growing in complexity, needed a strong female character but not essentially the love interest of the main protagonist; something along the lines of a best friend, or a family member. Anastasia was  born, utilizing Mary-Elizabeth as a mold, refined and re-invented, Anastasia was the best of both world while becoming Alexander’s (Main Protagonist) emotional support and giving him someone to care about. As the story progressed, she’d become something of a mother figure to my main character – an idea I grew to detest. Scrapping this thought, all together, I turned her into a character whose confusion and conflicting interests turn her into a sort of an Anti-hero, borderline-villain.



Elsa is the closest popular figure, I can think of, that is surprisingly similar, in look and personalty, to Anastasia.

This is a fairly short overview, there was plenty of writing and sticky-note pasting involved. In the end, she became a sort of a dark version of Else (Disney’s Frozen) with a hint of crazy and awesome. The most important factors, when creating her character, were: Age, Physique and Blood Ties – these variables define her development and role in the story.

So, what process do you go through when creating your character? Though this is just a sample, I need to provide every single detail before I even think of starting something. Are your characters planned before writing something or do you conceive a general idea and develop them as you write?

Cara Mia Addio – 03 – Jade, Like Stagnant Water.


Okay, it’s been really quiet around here. The reason for the lack of activity is due to school (damn pre-calculus) but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this place. Here we have part 3 of the short horror story.


“It’ll be okay.” The nurse grabbed a bottle and gave him a tiny pink pill. “Drink this; it’ll make you feel better.” Squinting to see what he held in his hand, she grabbed the cellphone. “You shouldn’t be carrying this inside the school compound.”

Pietro had heard those words so many times in the past year. Life had suddenly stopped; Earth’s rotation became as subtle as his very own life. “I promise I won’t do it again. Don’t take the cellphone.”

The nurse paused for a second, rolling her eyes she sighed. “All right, but don’t let me catch you with it again, kay’?”

He smiled, “Yes ma’am!”

Pietro had collapsed a few hours ago, in class. His face was tarnished with a stain of worry and fear. Who was she? Heidy is dead, that’s a fact as clear as the day. No sooner had the nurse left the room than the ‘ghost’ phone vibrated. It was a message:

…The heart that bleeds,

Nests amongst its branches.

Let night fall,

And awaken the sleeping beauty {Incomplete Message}.

Cold sweat fell down his cheeks; a message, no, a poem coming from a dead phone. Things did not only take a turn for the worse but he had no way out, no excuse to leave this issue behind. Looking outside through a small window, he wondered what would happen next. A poem huh? This is pretty easy, it’s actually my poem; that’s the scary part.

He knew the location all too well; it was a very special place. No sooner had he won his biggest gamble than he lost it all – such a cheesy way to fall. Could he tell Markus or Henri about it? No, he wouldn’t want to hear their skepticism or be the object of their pranks. Tonight would be the night, strange… It was partially cloudy today; maybe it’ll rain.


He sat beneath the old almond tree; Pietro knew what this was about. A few years ago, he had confessed his feelings to the person he had a crush on. It didn’t go well the first time around but after some careful planning, she fell for him. Now, as he gazed into its branches, he could see the bleeding hearts. They were a species of pigeons, and at the base of the trunk, vines wrapped around revealing their small golden-white nocturnal flowers. It was a truly majestic place, sadly enough; it was very lonely and cold.

The phone rang; he knew it was time.

“H-H-Hello?” He answered in a shaky tone of voice.

He could hear someone breathing on the other side of the call.

“Hello? I don’t know how you do it, or why you’re doing this, but I’m here… Wwwhat’s going on?”

“P… P… Pietro…” The signal was breaking up. “Hel… Help me…”

That voice, he knew who that person was. “Who are you? It can’t be you! I saw you… You’re not…”

“Please… Help… Me…” The static was subsiding, the voice was clearer.

“I want to admit it… I want to give in to your voice, but I don’t want it to be a cruel joke. Tell me something; prove to me that you’re who I think you are.”

“Abracadabra… Hocus-pocus…” The call was as clear as it could possibly be; they were the names of the roses he gave her on their first date.

“Heidy? Where are you? You’re dead!” Thunder roared as a lightening bolt zigzagged across the sky, lighting up the night. “I buried you.”

The first drops of rain pierced the thin veil of leaves.

“Please, help me go back to sleep…”

“How so? Are you still with us?”

“I am not at peace…” The night was enveloped in a loud downpour, mimicking the static in the call. “I want you to complete me, once more.”

The ensuing silence was hanging by a tread of doubt. “What do you want me to fetch?”

“Find my heart.”

“Find them? As macabre as the situation may be, that thing is inside someone…”

“Find it… My heart.”

Pietro bit his lower lip. “And how will I go about obtaining the heart?”

“We will know when we get there…”

“I’ll have to thin—”

“You’re the only one who can save me… Grab a red rose and bite one of its petals beneath this tree whenever you’re ready.” The call faded as the signal disappeared and the phone’s screen became darker than the night.

Biting a petal: an old and utterly childish afterimage of a promise; she has got to be kidding me if she thinks I can steal a heart. A leaf gave way as a cold shower fell upon him. Soaked in icy water, he shivered as his worries faded. Just how in the world could a person find a heart? That’s the idea that ran through is mind as he walked home in the middle of the night. He’d have to go to the scene of the crime and trace the killer’s steps to where the heart was… or he would find recent available heart donations online…