The Future

The Future by Samantha Landon

It’s undecided,
so hazy,
so divided,
and dim for the lazy.

It lures the successful in,
and keeps the lovers of the past out,
as stable as a tin,
as delicate as a flower.

Twisted in delicate patterns like a spider’s web,
so many dead-ends,
often, it’s what we ponder on as we lay in our beds,
tiny knots and bends.

Changeable to those who will not accept defeat,
irreversible to those who surrender to the hands of destiny,
there are moments where our hearts will skip a beat,
and others where we will sink peacefully.

Bittersweet fate,
unsure and ever changing with every move we make,
filled with love and hate,
as we peer into the muddled future, we are enchanted and overtaken with fear.

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La Douleur Exquise

La Douleur Exquise by Samantha Landon

It’s that burning pain when you give her the same look I give you,
It clenches on my heart, like iron bonds, and doesn’t let go.
I am happy for you,
But I don’t know if my heart will ever love again.

Her smile is bright and lights up the room,
Her hair is silky and flows gracefully in the wind,
She can turn a room merry, that was once gloom,
Her hands are clean, like an angel, she has not sinned as I have.

Is that why you love her?
I’m sorry I will never be good enough to make you happy,
But please know, no matter how much you love another,
I will always go those extra billion miles to make smile.

J’taime…

Why I write and My Journey (So Far)

There is at least one moment in a writer’s life where they ask themselves, ‘What in the world drove me to be this insane? Why in the world did this happen?’ When they look inside themselves, they all find different answers, just as we all have different colors. No answer is exactly the same.

When I look inside to why I started to write, there is never just one answer. There are tons and they are constantly changing (Why does this always happen to me?).

When I started, I was six years old and I thought that authors were paid a lot of money just by putting words on paper (Good Lord, how wrong I was!), but after my first story, a two-page remake of the fairy tale, The Princess and the Frog, I felt three things: Exhaustion (From only two pages, can you believe it?), Admiration for the people who had actually managed to write novels and Exhilaration. 

Exhilaration, like a whole new world was revealed to me (And in a way, one was). It was scary and exciting and I loved it.

I continued writing, slowly learning ‘their, they’re and there’, the different parts of speech and others. I have written three novels, so far (Though, they are not published yet) and when I got the idea for my books, it didn’t leap a me like a comet, sadly.

It was gradual. Every time I read any kind of book, whether it was good or bad, I wanted, no, craved to be out there, along with the rest of the greats, to be in the Writer’s Hall of Fame. It drove me mad every single day.

But then, one day, it hit me while I was reading Mark of Athena by Rick Riordan (A huge idol in my life). ‘What’s stopping me?’ I thought, ‘There are plenty of authors out there who started young.’ (I started my first book at 11 years-old and finished just before I turned 12).

And as soon as I had that mindset, every single thing became details for a story.

The way my brother ate, my grandmother’s silly, opinionated rants, the feel of the breeze in summer, the way chills ran through my body if I ate ice-cream with my back teeth (My teeth are sensitive to cold things) etc.

It didn’t scare me, I mean, sure it made my head spin with all the sudden ideas, but adrenaline was constantly pumping through my veins and writing became a drug to me. Never had I felt so…free. I could be whatever I wanted and that was the second reason why I chose to write.

But, now, I write for my people. My characters who, all together, make me. Every little detail is a part of me, but they are their own person. When I think of my characters, I think of them as my best friends, not as my puppets to stitch a story together with (Though, there are times where I must act like that).

I write for my people, my best friends. I write for them, I live for them.

The Faerie Queen

The Faerie Queen by Samantha Landon (My poet pen-name)

Her silky ebony hair follows as she spins gracefully,
diamond clear tears stream from her honey brown eyes,
the twinkling faeries singing their hymns,
as soft snow falls from the white sky.

She dances to the sorrow of her mother’s passing,
the silver crown mounted upon her head,
and as tradition calls, the new queen is dancing,
the rubies embedded in her crown flash.

A traveler creeps forth, clad in furs and leather,
hidden behind a thicket of trees, he remains unseen to the faeries and their queen,
his face is worn and his hair as white as the weather,
but his eyes are not old enough to not see the translucent sheen of the dancing faerie’s wings.

He watches in awe as the queen’s sapphire gown billows as she dances,
her creamy white limbs spread out as she prances sorrowfully and he is reminded of an elegant swan,
the faeries sing their mournful song in a language unknown,
slowly, the traveler shifts on his feet and when the queen turns at the sound of a snapping twig, his heart skips a beat.

And for a split second, their eyes meet.

A Very Unexpected Journey (OC x Thorin Oakenshield) Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“You didn’t say anything about that!” Will hissed in Harlow’s ear.

“I didn’t know!” Harlow defended herself, keeping her eyes trained ahead, but at no one particular. 

“You didn’t tell them?” Thorin had overheard the conversation, his anger growing at the wizard with every word.

“If I had, they would not have come.” Gandalf answered calmly. Avoiding the question that was hanging in the air, the wizard turned to Bilbo. “Come now, Master Baggins,” He turned around and headed farther into the house, Bilbo trailing behind him.

“C’mon, this involves us, too.” Will nudged Harlow.

                                                                                   *Magical Time-skip!*

After an exciting story on the invention of golf, Bilbo turned his attention on the two Ironhearts’. “Can you promise that I will come back?”

The two cousins exchanged looks. They would be crossing Middle-Earth to face a dragon, Smaug, no less. “No, we can’t promise that.” Will answered, watching the Hobbit in front of him. He was scared, that much was obvious, but Will could still see it. That little spark that craved adventure, something to brighten up his dreary life.

“But we can promise that we will do everything we can to protect you.” Harlow gave Bilbo a reassuring smile. “We would risk our lives for your safety.” The Ironhearts would have died if it wasn’t for Bilbo’s sudden need of hire.

“Let me think about it.” Mr. Baggins’s rubbed his temples with a sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

                                                                         *Another Magical Time-skip!*

“Do you think he’ll sign it?” Will asked as the two plopped down against the wall.

“You saw that spark.” Harlow answered plainly. “He will.”

There was a certainty that would have edged anyone off in her voice. “I don’t know, I don’t think it’s strong enough.” Will responded, ignoring her tone. He had known Harlow long enough to know that she could easily disguise her emotions.

“You should know that the tiniest spark can start an inferno.” Harlow shot back, instantly regretting it when she saw Will’s face. They kept silent until they started to hear low singing coming from the living room.

“Far over the misty mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,”

Harlow and Will froze, chills running up their spines.