Thank you!
I don't mind translating. Actually, I prefer to leave the translated text on a public forum, rather than the original. It'll just take me some time, as the short story it 3,900 words long, I can only work on it in the evening, and I put much more effort into translating my own prose than I would do for a random press article.

By the way, I forgot to write that the title is Iconicide.

Here is the first flashback.
Parental advisory: explicit lyrics.

Now I'm left wondering if Suzanne is the androgynous knife wielder... crime stories are the best.

Translating precise equine vocabulary is a pain.

I'm an on again/off again amateur author during my free time, but I've never actually gone through and finished anything I've started on, which disappoints me, (I'm easily distracted). Still, my current project I do hope to finish one day, and I've been working on it for a few years now from time to time. Since I'm not shy about sharing it, I'll post the prolog and first chapter below. It's going to be a novel series when I finally finish it, but since I've been working on it for a couple of years, and I'm currently only on CH 10, it may be a while. The way I can best classify it is as a modern-fiction. Let me know what you think......

Journal of the Forgotten: Book 1

Prologue

What would you do to save someone you loved? Would you be willing to make a deal with the Devil? Because that was exactly what I was about to do. Now when I say “devil” I don’t mean some big business tycoon who wants to buy the family home so he can build a supercenter. I mean the actual Devil, with horns, fire, and minions, the whole nine yards. It had come down to this. I had tried all I could, and I was out of time. This was the last hope I had. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here otherwise.
“So much for your morals, Forgotten,” the Devil growled out as evil glee dancing across his face.
“Shut up,” was my witty retort. I didn’t have time to play his game. I had less than an hour to wrap this up and get to the third plane.
“I see you’re in no mood to talk then, Forgotten,” Satan sighed. I got the feeling he didn’t get many visitors other than the damned. “Very well, sign on the line.”
A pedestal, with a piece of paper and an old fashion feather pen on it, arose from the ground. I picked up the pen…

Chapter 1

“Welcome to Hell, or at least the upper level of it,” a man with a long black robe said, with an implied smile in his voice. “Due to a set of unforeseen circumstances you have died, and all records of your existence have been erased. So to get you started I want to ask you a few questions. First of all, the obvious one. What is your name?”
“Yagarashi,” I replied, saying the first thing that came to mind. Is that really my name?
“Well, that’s a mouthful. Mind if I call you Rashi?”
“Well…” Where am I?
“Good, Rashi it is. You know, you’re quicker than most. Usually the new ones just give me a dumbfounded look when I start asking questions.”
“I…”
“Anyhow, next question. What do you remember about being alive?”
“Being alive?” Is he trying to tell me I’m dead?
“Yea, you know, before you died…”
“What is going on here?” I yelled as I started to come out of the daze I had been in since I woke up to the robed man yelling at me.
“Right, I forgot this might all be a little confusing to you. I’ll try to explain. You died through a set of unforeseen circumstances that were out of the natural order of reality. Because of this, you died before your time was up, so in order to correct this wrong reality itself erased all proof you ever existed. Kind of like when a kid breaks something he might hide it and pretend that he never even saw it in the first place. The only problem is that reality is a little more thorough than a kid. That means that everything is erased, memories people had of you, changes you made to the world, it even erased your image from photos and videos. The one thing it couldn’t erase was your soul. That’s not to say it didn’t try, but since it couldn’t erase your soul itself it did the next best thing and erased your identity. Then with nowhere to go your soul came here to the fourth plane of realty, which is basically limbo.”
I just sat down on the ground. When had I stood up in the first place? As my mind tried to digest all the information I had just heard, I wanted to believe this was all just a cruel joke someone was trying to pull on me. That was when I realized that I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who would do something like this. I didn’t know anyone. I couldn’t think of the name of a single person I had ever met. For that matter I couldn’t remember if I had ever met anyone before. I couldn’t remember a single event from my life either. So, either I had a severe case of amnesia, or the robed man was telling the truth. I wasn’t sure which thought scared me more…
“Listen, I like you Rashi and it’s been a while since we got a new Forgotten, so I’ll go easy on you and try to explain things a little, but while I would like to stand here and watch you stare blankly into space I really need to get back to the office. We’ll talk on the way.”
As the robed man said this I started to take in my surroundings. I was in a room made of some stone that resembled black marble. I can’t even remember who I am. How do I know what black marble looks like? The walls, floor, and ceiling were all covered in glowing runes of some sort that were growing dimmer by the second. It was then that I noticed a burning sensation on my left palm. As I looked at it I could feel my eyes widening with shock. In the center of my palm there was a glowing red symbol. It was the same as the symbol I had sat down on.
“So that’s your source huh?”
“My source?” I asked, staring as the symbol on my palm faded to black.
“A source is the symbol of a Forgotten. It’s what allows the Forgotten to have such immense power. Look, Atler will explain it all later. We need to get going. I left the office so I could come here, and if I don’t get back soon some idiot might let someone have a few extra years.” He held out his hand to help me up but as soon as I saw it I fell back in shock. “Ugh. I really thought you would have figured it out by now. Before you ask, yes I am Death, no I’m not here to escort your soul to the afterlife, as according to the records you never had a before-life, and no I can’t kill you by touching you, since technically you’re already dead. I know you can’t remember anything, but surely you could have figured this out by now. Now can we please hurry?”
I numbly let Death help me up, and followed him outside. Though now that I think back on it I have no idea how we left, considering the room had no doors or windows. As we got outside I heard the fear of every old person tell me, “Get in.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled. In front of me was a solid black hearse with blacked out windows. The hood ornament was a stylized flaming skull. As I got in the passenger seat I was beginning to think I was just stuck in some weird dream as “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult was playing through the radio. As I was about to give up hope of ever understanding what was going on Death began to speak.
“Okay, I’m not going to be able to explain everything, but here are the basics. You are a Forgotten, a person who exists, but shouldn’t. Every record of who you were before you became a Forgotten ceased to exist, so technically you shouldn’t either. You’re an anomaly, and the only reason we know you even existed as a human before is due to some nearly imperceptible discrepancies in the records. We can’t even be sure which country you were from when you were alive, and in fact the only thing we can be sure of is that there is a blank spot in our death records where your date of death should have been listed. I can tell you that in all the years since time began there have only been six members of the Forgotten. You are the seventh, as well as the first one in nearly three hundred years. Congratulations on that by the way.”
“What exactly is a ‘Forgotten’?”
“I just told you, it’s someone who shouldn’t exist but does. If you mean in more detail, then think of them as the keepers of balance in all of reality. The Forgotten wield great power, have extraordinary regenerative abilities, are immune to almost all forms of disease natural or magical, and never age on top of a few other tricks.”
“And I’m supposed to believe I’m one of these great, all powerful beings?”
“Believe what you want kid, I’m only telling you the facts. Other than the basics I can’t really tell you that much about the Forgotten. Atler will have to fill you in on that. Anyhow, I’m guessing you want to know where you are. This area is known as the fourth plane of reality. In all there are seven planes. The first plane is known as the Greater Heaven. It’s the domain of the most powerful deity. For the past several thousand years that deity has been the one known as God, center of the Hebrew, Christian, and Islamic religions. The second plain of reality is known as the Lesser Heaven, home of every other deity that has ever existed. If some higher power has ever been worshiped, then you can bet he, she, or it has a section of the Lesser Heaven to call their own.
The third plane is known as the Living Realm. It’s home to the most populous race in all of reality, humans. There are more humans in that one plane than there are of every other race in all of reality combined. They breed like wildfire compared to the magical races, and that’s why I have an office now instead of going out and doing the work myself. Used to I could go out, collect a few souls, and be back home a few hours later and have some tea, but as the human race expanded I had to hire out new reapers to collect souls for me. Eventually it got to where I’m stuck behind a desk all day doing paperwork.”
After this he glanced over at me, and noticing the look on my face quickly turned back towards the front window. How does he see out of it? It’s solid black…
“Anyhow,” he continued, “This area is the fourth plane, or more commonly known as Limbo. It’s also sometimes referred to as the bottom level of hell, but that’s actually dead wrong.” Somehow I could sense he was smirking under his hood. “If something doesn’t belong anywhere else, it comes here. This plane of existence also houses all the guilds and organizations that make sure everything runs smoothly. Every race has a guild on this plane and they all work together to ensure that petty disputes don’t end in a war between the planes. The fifth plane is known as Lower Hell. It’s the realm where all the beings known as monsters, by the humans, live. Demons, goblins, zombies, vampires, trolls, etcetera, all live in Lower Hell. Then there’s Higher Hell. Higher Hell is where Satan himself lives, along with his minions that serve him of course. There’s not much to tell you about that place other than that if you ever have to go there don’t trust anything Satan may tell you. It’s not that he’s pure evil and does nastiness for the sheer pleasure of it; it’s just that he only looks out for number one. Everything he does is to his benefit, and there are no exceptions. It’s also where souls judged to live in hell reside. Before you go making any snide remarks, no not all lawyers live there, but Satan does have a nice legal team, so try not to get into any legal trouble with him.”
“Wait, didn’t you say that there are seven planes of reality?” I asked when it seemed he was done talking.
“Yea. The seventh plane is simply known as The Void. No one knows what it is, and no one that has ever gone there has ever returned. It’s rumored that deities’ souls go there when they finally die, or that maybe the Forgotten do. Either way it doesn’t matter, since all passages to The Void were sealed off thousands of years ago.”
After that I just sat there quietly as Death explained all this and more. I attempted to look out the windows at the surroundings, but all the windows were the same impenetrable black. This is probably why, some time later and after I had long gotten bored of hearing about the politics of the guilds, it came as a shock to me when Death announced, “We’re here,” in a voice I could have sworn was laced with dread.
I got out of the hearse expecting to see some gothic castle. Instead I was greeted by an ordinary, normal looking, average as dirt, skyscraper office building…

I love to write. It's just amazing. I have wanted to write since I was 7 (which means over half of my life - I'm 16). Hopefully I'll go somewhere with it, like writing a book.

Writing is my way to explain myself to the world.
As a person who have hard times to express himself, i use music and writing. Writing became passion, and passion colors everything.

Here's the beginning of my short story based on "Someone Special"

A sound. It feels so much sweeter than it ever felt before. Perhaps everything in a waking dream appears gentle, since they touch us smoothly and lightly like gossamer. Beneath my eyelids my reason falls back upon me, and I hear the tender taps of rain upon my sill. I see that they were the sweet sound smoothly guiding me out of my slumber.

But peace is fragile and a mental awakening follows the physical. An incident from yesterday shattered my thrill, my love, my life, my yearning, into pieces. A small mistake, or perhaps a misunderstanding, can break bonds with a mere breath. I know this is true, for I have experienced it.

Hope reminds me that the breakpoints of a broken bond do not lie far apart when recently separated. He also tells me that there is nothing love cannot mend. I know he's right. The scars, the cracks - they simply confirm how we got where we are, and remind us of our strength. With this knowledge, I pick up the pieces of my life, and seek to reassemble them. But how? I don't have every piece.

Mark, post the whole piece here - your writing is quite mysterious, I like it!:wink:

Ok, maybe I'll regret this... again
This is the prologue from the third novel of the set I'm working on. The novel is called "Dancing City: Balancer".
I'm the novelist myself. So, here it is...

"The Burning Symbol"

How the hell I got here? Holy Dance, I don’t even remember much. And it’s not only because I’m trying to forget. But what had happened back then, why I’m sitting here – behind the bar, filled up with booze? Some guys tried to pick me up, but got a straight strict “no” from me – despite being drunk like hell, I wasn’t some kind of a slut – and never wanted to be. The smells of fry food, alcohol and men sweat were pricking my noise, making me sick, but I didn’t care – I wanted to drink myself to death. I felt like I don’t deserve to live anymore.
And yet – someone’s presence was disturbing me since I got here. I looked on the left – a young girl, nearly in her twenties, dressed like a hip-hop dancer, carrying a small backpack, and with red hair and iced-green eyes was eating her classical cheeseburger.
- Hard to find a good cheeseburger here. Not like in the City, - she said, looking at me.
I answered nothing, looked straight in front of me and made a big sip of the crystal clear poison. When my glass got empty, I slammed it on the table, screaming: - Another round, man!
A young bartender, carrying a bottle, approached me, opened the wooden lid and obeyed my request, but not good enough – the glass was half-filled up.
- A full one, damn it! – I screamed out loud at him.
- You’ve had enough for a lady, - he answered, staying calm.
Instead calming down, I took the bottle from him.
- Listen to me, pal – you’re here to serve drinks and flirt with the girls, so shut your freaking mouth! – I got very angry, so I helped myself.
But the bartender got his own guts – and in a second I got a fresh stream of alcohol into my face.
- Maybe you will get the hell out of my bar!!! – He screamed back at me.
- I have nowhere to go, pal; - I answered, took the bottle with me, and stood up, ready to leave.
But again I got stopped – it was some bully looking guy, dressed in the sport suit.
- Hey, leave on your will, girl! – He said.
I didn’t react, so he tried to get bully on me again.
- I said that you need to leave!
For sure he shouldn’t mess with me – suddenly, finding some inner strength, I pushed him in the chest, turned him around and keeping his hands tied, slammed him on the table and got a bottle ready to break on his head. But when I was about to perform a hit – someone stopped me for the third time. I looked above and a little bit on the right – it was that hip-hop girl. This time she was looking on me with a sight of vigor and judgment.
- Never thought that I’ll find Erica Estacado wasting her energy in the dumb hole like this! – She said. Her voice sounded clear and a bit rough.
I relived myself from her grip and trying not to fall on the floor, went to the nearest chair and fell down on it.
- Who, in the name of Dance, are you?! – I screamed roughly at her.
Looks like, my words haven’t offended the girl, so she just sat next to me.
- Caisy, - she said, - Caisy Corn.
- Never heard about you.
Again – the girl doesn’t sound offended. Instead that she took her communicator and started to press the buttons like in a random combination.
- Ok. Then how about this – do you know about this? – She said and turned the communicator screen face to face to me.
I could see a picture of a strange battle scene, which was taking place somewhere in the distance.
- What the hell is that? – I mumbled.
- You don’t remember anything; do you – the Dark Era?
- The Dark…
I mumbled again, and something had started to happen – scenes and pictures like from someone’s past came up – battles, people panicking and a group of people trying to hold the shelter in the city. I tried to send all of this away – it wasn’t me. Not me.
But the girl was about to torture me again.
- You can’t runway from your own self, Moon. No matter where you hide or what you do!
- Who are you? Why you’re doing this?!
I understood that I’m losing control again.
- All right. You don’t remember me, but how about them? – She asked after another communicator combination.
For this time I could see the list – the list of people, whom I needed to remember. Really I need to remember? I tried to hide my glance away, but the strange girl was stubborn.
- Look! – Her voice rose up.
I didn’t obey – and for this time she was like attacking me directly.
- I said – LOOK!!! Those were your fighters! Fighters, whom you led for that mission! You owe to them to remember, Moon! If you give up now – then it means that we fought for nothing!
- ENOUGH!!!
I really snapped out this time and, suddenly, I pushed her away from me, but she kept her balance and stepped a bit aside.
- Damn it! – She said, - Almost a year we’ve been searching for you – and that’s all what we’ve found?!
I said nothing, but something caught my attention – it was a colored patch, that has been sewed to her jacket’s sleeve – a black moth, glowing on the moon’s image.
- Moon Squad, - my voice fell to whisper.
Hearing my words, Caisy leaned forward.
- Yes – the Squad that you created. Others are waiting.
- Others?
Caisy nodded and looked aside – and several people approached her – same symbols, faces, that started to look well known for me.
- We’re taking you back on the lead, Moon. If you want us to do it or not, - again Caisy sounded strict and confident.
And surrounded by these people, looking in their faces I started to feel something, that I haven’t felt in almost a year – my past found me again. And I cannot run from it this time.

This is the continuation of my "Someone Special" short story. It's not finished yet, and I'll edit it once I'm finished, but feedback is appreciated.

A sound. It feels so much sweeter than it ever felt before. Perhaps everything in a waking dream appears gentle, since they touch us smoothly and lightly like gossamer. Beneath my eyelids my reason falls back upon me, and I hear the tender taps of rain upon my sill. I see that they were the sweet sound smoothly guiding me out of my slumber.

But peace is fragile and a mental awakening follows the physical. An incident from yesterday shattered my thrill, my love, my life, my yearning, into pieces. A small mistake, or perhaps a misunderstanding, can break bonds with a mere breath. I know this is true, for I have experienced it.

Hope reminds me that the breakpoints of a broken bond do not lie far apart when recently separated. He also tells me that there is nothing love cannot mend. I know he's right. The scars, the cracks - they simply confirm how we got where we are, and remind us of our strength. With this knowledge, I pick up the pieces of my life, and seek to reassemble them. But how? I don't have every piece, nor the other breakpoint. She - my only one- she must do her part as well. But I fear she will not do this without help from me. I shiver, and think how I could lead her to gather her feelings. The task seems so impossible to me. Sorrow dries up the feeling of love and blinds her bright eyes. The world seems to have gone gray to me...but my desire, though almost all used up, still lingers. I can only hope that I will be able to deliver my message of yearning to her.

How could I fail? She is my life, my reason to live. Wherever my thoughts may wander, she always stays in the back of my mind. She is the main subject of my reflections. I'm always lost in a sea of thought, and she is ubiquitous as the sea. Oh, but I digress. I need not ramble about the obvious. After all, everyone with a heart has known what I speak of.

All I know is that I must do my part...and leave it up to fate to go by its own way. To create the highest chance of my fate and my dream coming together, I must concoct a plan. I just know that she still saves a spot in her mind for me to sit in...so I need to do something subliminal or subtle to cause her to pick up her pieces and fix what we had.

In her passions lies the key to her heart. What did she always like? I should know, but the answer is so much more difficult to find right now. Desire can cloud the mind and make us irrational.

But suddenly, I unearth the answer. The movies. She was always alive when the fantasy was in front of her eyes. So much that simply being in the dark room full of seats, even when the screen was blank, made her flawless character radiate throughout the room. Anyone could feel it while she was there.

Now I know what to do. I'll be waiting for her in the cinema, and her happiness will open her heart. She will be able to receive my message...I just know she will understand that I still love her.

But wait! There's a flaw. How will I know in which theater, in what movie, and when to find her? I only wish I had the answer to that crucial question.

* * *

It feels like I've waited forever for the clock to strike 4 o'clock P.M. I've showered and put on black pants and my favorite rose red button up shirt, being sure to look presentable if chance smiles upon me. There are four theaters around town that she would go to, and God knows how many movies and showtimes. I remember that she has a deep fondness for late afternoon, just before sunset. Breathing in the air after leaving the movie theater pleases her spirit. I'm proud to likely be the only one who knows this about her. We used to sit on the grass during the aforementioned time of day and just do whatever we could think of right then and there. Our destinies seemed intertwined. We knew each other in and out so much that words weren't always necessary for a conversation. Maybe all of those days on the grass looking at the sunset, or taking in the blue of the fading day if it was overcast, had a purpose.

I know from our days together that if I ever find her at a movie, she will be at one that will end at the perfect time for her (dare I say us) to walk out to see the setting sun.

I have already planned accordingly, and so I drive out to one of the four theaters to buy tickets to a movie whose genre and running time suit my plan.

Remember the story Marko told before Sleep at a gig in Hamburg last year? If not, check it out on youtube like right now We only heard the beginning... I was wondering how the story continues. He surely would do it better, but here's my try. It might not be the most original in terms of the story (Anne Rice inspiration is obvious, but it was Marko who started it ) but I tried to keep it… cinematic?

Sleep

All comments appreciated.

Wow, really great, serinde! I love it very much
I think it fits perfectly with the story Marko told us in Hamburg last November. I still look back at the evening of my very first Poets concert, feeling a bunch of butterflies in my stomach every time. Thank you for bringing those butterflies back once again.
I especially like the very last part a lot, extremely well written