El-Duego's News

Everything Fades (Lyrics)

2009-06-22 19:00:51 by El-Duego

The strongest moutain,
As he climbs high,
Will be torn down,
Out of the sky.

Everything dies,
Nothing can last,
Everything's fading,
And fading fast.

Even the rivers,
throughout the land,
Will forever be lost,
In time's sand.

The trees so green,
With leaves so strong,
Will all start to rot,
And not before long.

Everything dies,
Nothing can last,
Everything's fading,
And fading fast.

Only a soul,
Time cannot kill,
For there's nothing stronger,
Than a loving mans will.

Everything dies,
Nothing can last,
Everything's fading,
And fading fast.


Addicted To Love

2009-04-20 15:54:46 by El-Duego

Every single day,
She's my reason to go on,
My last thought before dusk,
And my first after dawn.

She holds a place in my heart,
A place in my soul,
Without her in my life,
I'd never feel whole.

I long for her touch,
Every minute of every hour,
In the driest desert,
She's my glowing flower.

I don't need an answer,
From anyone up above,
I admit to myself,
I'm addicted to love.


Appreciate

2009-04-14 07:40:16 by El-Duego

"Hey, get outta my way!" yelled John, bustling past another, equally busy commuter.
He was walking as fast as he could without breaking into a run, pushing past people carelessly. He heard a man scream as John knocked his coffee out of his hands but he was in too much of a rush to care. He had an important meeting starting at 11:00 AM sharp, and a glance at his watch told him he only had 15 minutes to get there.
He veered sharply to his right, gliding to a stop in a Starbucks.
"Bob, the usual please" he gasped, out of breath.
"Already on the counter." John frequented this coffee shop so often, that the staff had prepared his coffee in advance for him. Some might think this was a sad event, but John was just glad that it saved him time.
He took off again, newly aquired coffee steaming in his right hand, official-looking briefcase swinging idly in his left. He took a sip of his latte, the roasting hot coffee searing his tongue as he elegantly dodged several passerby.
He darted out onto the street and heard a fierce honk to his right. John whirled around, almost dropping his coffee, to see a taxi with a large, greasy and fuming driver behind the wheel. He was gesturing wildly in John's direction, waving him off the road.
John continued to walk, glaring at the driver, when he felt another person knock into him.
John was taken aback, his coffee flew up out of his hand and the was sent sprawling onto the ground. He looked up, to see a dirty, dishevelled homeless man. He was wearing a green sweatshirt with numerous holes in it, and had matching fingerless gloves. His cheeks and chin were covered in an unsightly grey stubble. His face was a harsh red colour, probably from the cold of having nowhere to sleep and, judging by his stench, extensive alcohol consumption. He was covered head to toe in filth, and had a a glazed look passing through his vacant, brown eyes.
John stood up, and grabbed the homeless man by the collar.
"You watch where you're going! I'd make ya pay for that coffee if I didn't have no doubt it would leave ya bankrupt!"
The man was blank for a few seconds, before openly laughing right in John's face. John was overcome with a warm, sickly stench of an unclean mouth and the stale scent of vodka.
"I should watch where I'm going?!" he growled in a deep, gravelly voice. "I think you should, Sonny. You should watch what's passing ya by while you're going?"
"What are you talking about....?"
"Life. When you rush through here, passing all of these people by here every morning on the way to work, you're not just passing people by, you're passinh life by."
He pushed himself away from John, and began to walk away, slowly.
John dismissed the homeless man's drunken ramblings, and reached down for his suitcase. Next to it, there was a small, crumpled up piece of paper. It must have fallen out of the homeless man's pocket. John looked up, the paper in hand, just as the man turned a corner.
"Excuse me sir! You forgot yo-"
John turned the corner. The man had vansihed. He turned wildly, looking from side to side, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished into thin air.
John gazed down into his hand at the piece of paper. He slowly unfolded it. On it, was one word, scrawled in untidy pencil.
"Appreciate"
John felt as if he had been punched. His breath flew out of his lungs, and he clutched his chest, nearly falling over. His eyes winced with pain. And then, as quickly as the sensation had started, it ended.
John opened his eyes.
He was astonished.
Everything was new and fresh. A taxi passed him by, but the taxi wasn't yellow. It was a vibrant, living and shining canary yellow. He took a deep breath, but air didn't enter his lungs. Fresh, cool, crisp and vitalising air, that felt like pure elixir, flooded into his lungs, and filled his being.
He turned and bent down to pick up his dull, grey briefcase, but stopped, his hand hovering inches from the handle. This was not him. Not anymore. He had left the cold, boring corperate world behind. He was free now.
He left the briefcase lying there on the ground, and set off in the opposite direction. He wasn't going to the meeting anymore, he was going to the park down the street.
People passed him by, and a feeling of immense pride came over him. These people were rushing, they were wasting. None of them were appreciating like he was. He felt nothing but pity for them, and hoped that they too would bump into a homeless man and lose $4 worth of perfectly good coffee.
He was crossing the street towards the park gates, when he heard the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Birds were singing.
He had heard this many times before, but he had never truly experienced it. He stood there, feeling each delicate note strike his heart, and fill it with warmth and comfort. Before, he had thought birds to be annoying with their incessent singing, but now he understood. He wanted to sing too, for he was free as a bird now, truly experiencing what it meant to be alive.
Just then, he felt a heavy force plough into his left side, and he was flung several feet down the street, before grinding to a halt on his back. He looked to his left, to see the front bumper of a car. He saw a man emerge from the driver's seat. He was screaming something, but John couldn't hear him. He felt a strange sensation on his arm, and looked down to see a gentle stream of deep crimson blood flowing down from his head. He noticed he was getting a rather tight feeling in his chest, and that people around him had started to move rather slowly. The colour from his surroundings began to fade, and as John drew his last ever breath, he knew he was dying. But he didn't care. for he had lived more in those past few minutes than most people do in their entire lives...

"The unexamined life is not worth living"
- Socrates

The End


It's All A Game

2009-04-10 18:15:51 by El-Duego
Updated

Comment please! :D

It's All A Game

Why are we here?
What's the point in life?
To relish the blessings?
And struggle through strife?

It was then that I thought,
Life's really just a game,
With no real rules,
And no real aim.

But how do we win?
The question remains,
And courses through me,
Like fire in my veins.

Couldn't find an answer,
No matter how hard I tried,
So I decided to sit back,
And just enjoy the ride...


Mirror - Part 2

2009-02-13 11:47:45 by El-Duego

Sorry about the delay! I had exams :(
All done now! Till June anyways...
Also sorry nothing action-packed has happened yet, its to build up the scene, ya know?
If ya like it comment please! Comments REALLY do encourage me to write more of it.

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I was sitting in the cabin, rain splattered on the windows outside, creating a peaceful, rhythmic beat. I swayed back on my chair, puffing the cigar between my lips. These things were like gold out here. For cigars, a man could trade anything. Money, rum, heck, I heard a guy even traded his rifle for some. "Amazing what addiction can do to people nowadays," I thought to myself.
The door swung open, and a soldier pulling a poncho down over his head stumbled into the room, coughing at the smoke.
"Jesus, Johnny! Put that thing out before ya give us all cancer!"
"Sorry, Carl..." I mumbled, throwing the cigar down. I had almost finished it anyways. A few millimetres of tobacco were not worth angering Carl's fierce temper.
He dropped down into the chair across from me, and put his rifle on the ground. He pulled off his wet poncho, tossing it into the corner to dry, and pulled a deck of cards out from inside his jacket.
"Ya wanna play some poker, Johnny?"
"Nah... not really."
"Ah come on Johnny, I gots some cigs to bet, I sure as hell aint gonna smoke em."
"No, Carl. I just ain't in the mood."
He tilted his head, and looked at me quizzically.
"What's eatin' ya Johnny?"
"Nothin."
"Come on man, I been out with you for damn near months now, and I know you. And I can tell when you're lying man! If I had told anyone out here that old Jonathan Torrence was turnin' down a game a poker with cigs on the line, they'd put me away! Now what's wrong?"
"Nothin! I told ya!"
He sat back in his chair defeated.
Carl was right. Something was bothering me. It was my mirror.
The man was not supposed to wave at me! He was supposed to sit there and be ready, at any moment, to put a bullet between my eyes. I was to do the same. You don't wave to people like that!
I felt confused, angry, and a little scared. What if this was some new German ploy? They were to make me feel compassion before they charged, so that I wouldn't be able to shoot the man.
Most of all though, I felt guilty. In that moment, when I should have felt nothing but hatred, I felt brotherhood, and understanding.
I had waved back.


Mirror : Part 1

2008-12-20 15:43:32 by El-Duego

Mirror: The first in a series of short war stories:

The wind whipped around me, as I sat there, gazing across the barren land towards the enemy trench. I clutched my rifle close, and put my chin to my chest in a desperate attempt to conserve some warmth. I heard the splats of rain on the tin roof of the tower, and prayed they would stay splats, rather than become one of the torrential waves of rain that had plagued the previous few nights.
I pushed my helmet down onto my head and slouched in my chair, feeling pins and needles surge through my left leg from sitting in the same position for too long. I pressed my binoculars to my eyes and looked out.
Several hundred yards away, standing in a tower similar to mine, was my mirror. He was leaning against one of the poles at his tower, holding what appeared to be some sort of journal. He was writing something in it, and his rifle leaned idly against his chair.
I had been instructed that if my mirror were to open fire on any of our men, or in the direction of our trench, I was to take him out. He had probably been told much the same. I knew nothing about the man, not his name, where he came from, not even the colour of his hair. And yet, for the past few days, he had been the most important person in my life.
My mirror snapped his journal shut, slid both it and his pencil into a pouch he had around his waist, and sat back down on his chair.
I put my binoculars down, and stood up, walking over to the side of my tower. Peering over the edge, I saw several of our men sitting in a small shack in our trench, playing cards, laughing, joking, and smoking. I longed to be down there with them, longed to be part of the group, but instead I was stuck up here, watching the same man for days on end, watching the same man do nothing day in, day out.
Sometimes, I wished he would open fire. Just to give me a purpose, a target. A goal I could achieve, rather than this perpetual sense of meaninglessness. I would pick up my rifle, aim down the sights, take a deep breath, and take another mans life. It would be over, my goal achieved, my nemesis vanquished.
Although, sometimes, I doubted if I could do it. This was a man, with a family and frie-
No. I had been trained to fight this. This was not a man. This was a sack of lungs, a heart, a spine, and other vital components. He was a walking, talking target. I had been trained to detach myself, and so had he, he was blank, emotionless. He was a machine.
I sat down again, put my rifle on the floor, and picked up my binoculars. I saw my mirror sitting there, binoculars in hand, gazing right back at me.
There was silence for a few seconds. We both simply stared at each other, analysing one another, before he did something extraordinary.
He lowered his binoculars, smiled, raised his hand and waved.


Rayne Revised!

2008-04-11 10:59:04 by El-Duego

Some of you may have noticed I deleted Rayne from my profile.
This is because (drumroll) Im re-writing it!
Not a huge difference, same characters, plot-line etc.
I just want to make it more detailed, fight sequencses longer, and all round more polished off!
The first chapter should be re-released soon!
Im also making the chapters longer, so there will be less of them.

And queries cand be PMed to me



I intend on writing what I hope to get published as a series of novels.
They are to be called Supersoldiers, or something to that effect.
The series consists of stories set in the late staged of World War II. A group of 10 Allied soldiers are captured in Remangen, and detained by the Axis forces. Various experiments are undertaken on them, in an effort by the Axis to creat a superior race of soldiers.
The Allied Supersoldiers escape, and are returned to their camp. It is here that they discover that they each of super-human abilities, ranging from inhumanly fast reflexes (slow motion), to immensely sensetive hearing, or sonar. (leading to X-ray vision)
Some of them die from the expieriments that were performed on them, or perhaps turn on their allies.
Ultimately, the soldiers are formed into a unit, knows as Omegas. They are sent on a series of missions against the Axis, including assassinations and espionage.

So far, I have the plans for the following soldiers:

Johnny Nightsheen - able to blend in with dark backgrounds using optical deception, perhaps bending light around himself.
Brendan Lurets - Super reflexes: when he is pumped with adrenaline, everything around him seems to move in slow motion, aside from himself.
Boyd Favers - Super-sensetive hearing (sonar), this allows him to effectively see through walls
Andrew Heel - Able to regenerate entire parts of his body, due to his metabolic rate being far higher than average. This also means he has to eat and excercise more than others.

I have ideas, but no finalised ones, for other soldiers. I just wanted to see what you guys thought of the idea.

Any comments or queries are welcome.



If you can, please vote Ragnarok - Chapter 1 as your number #1 for the monthly awards!


Ragnarok Process Update

2007-11-25 11:22:48 by El-Duego

Ragnarok is going great.
The aniamtion is about 85% done!!
A website is in the making, and the actual movie could be hitting NG as early as mid December.

In the mean time, here is a screenshot of Sarai:
Higher Quality picture

Ragnarok Process Update