Habitat by Hades

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July 23, 2010

By Hades

  Listening at doors is a terrible habit. But it is only one among many: reading other people’s mail, picking locks, making prank calls. I learned this at age seven. At that point, however, they were not habits, but ways of life.

  Some people are forgiving. Forgive and forget, I think that’s the phrase. I am not forgiving or forgetful. I do not lose track of past injuries. Eventually, all scores will be settled, and when this life ends, I’ll being going out square.

  That is my idea of fair play.

  Perhaps it has gotten a little out of control. I am no longer so sure every small injustice must be righted. Is this a path I should be treading? Perhaps not. I have heard that an eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.

   But that is of little or no consequence. It is the equivalent of Odysseus wondering, seven years into his long journey home, if he should not have deserted the Trojan War. It is too late for doubts.

  I have heard many wise men and women speak on the subject of revenge. Many seem to disapprove of it; others treat it with ironic amusement. I do not. Would they have acted the way I did, I do? No. I am not like them, not one for lofty quotes and high minded word-foolery.

 It is useful to reflect on beginnings. It started out very small, you see. I couldn’t have been more than three years old; scarcely able to talk. My mother was denying me a second cookie after lunch. I wouldn’t have had such a problem with that except for the fact that I saw her sneak an extra one to my elder sister. At that time, I didn’t think it may have been possible my sister got it because she was older, and had a bigger appetite. It could have been a reward for a chore. I do not know.

  I was furious. I never showed it, though. But I couldn’t let it rest. Cookie! Cookie! Cookie! Mother gave her another cookie! It wasn’t fair! There was a sudden imbalance in my universe that irked me. It was like a moustache scrawled on an otherwise perfect painting.

  And the only way scales can be righted is redistributing the weights.

  Mother was Out one afternoon, and I was supposed to be napping. I took one of her earrings and put it in Father’s wallet. That would show her what it was like to have something rightfully hers taken, and given to another!

  Of course, this revenge never came to fruition. Father found the lone earring, wondered how it had ended up in his wallet, and returned it to Mother the very next day. I was crushed, and that terrible, frustrating, impossible inequity hung there, taunting me. COOKIE! COOKIE! COOKIE! It was maddening!

   In the end, I settled that score. Sister and I were helping Mother bake more COOKIES, peanut butter chocolate chip. A family favorite. After the batter had been tasted and approved of by all, Mother went to the bathroom. I snuck a tablespoon of salt into the mix. Sister had her backed turned. I snuck another, then two more, stirred very gently, and carefully replaced the spoon and salt shaker. Mother came back. The COOKIES went in the oven. I smiled.

  Later, I complained of an upset stomach. Mother cooed and fussed, blaming it on the quantity of chocolate chips I had eaten earlier. She said she was sorry dear, but she couldn’t possibly let me have any COOKIES. I went tearfully to bed. As soon as I heard Mother’s footsteps receding down the hall, I lowered myself gingerly to the floor. The sounds of dinner commenced. Then the table was cleared. I heard Mother’s shoes clacking on the kitchen floor. COOKIES! COOKIES! COOKIES! She was bringing in the COOKIES!

  In my footie pajamas, I scampered down the hall, and peered out from around the corner. I could see them! The COOKIES were on the table! It was all I could do to stop myself dancing with delight. COOKIES! COOKIES! They were eating the COOKIES!

  Of course, I was never blamed. But I got them all! The inequity now righted, I was truly happy. Mother’s cookie faux pas: check. Father’s return of the stolen earring: repaid. Sister pulling my hair the night before: returned in full.

  And so it began.

  My rules were simple:

1) Each punishment must be equal to the crime

2) All crimes must be punished, eventually

3)  No punishment is administered in simple cases of dislike; there must be actual crime that can be punished

  I was a quiet child. Quiet children are often over-looked. I didn’t mind. I liked to be left alone. The other children weren’t exceptionally kind or cruel to me, and so I let them alone. Except for Jason Brown.

  Jason Brown was a bully. He picked on the small, weak, young, and defenseless. He apparently had decided I belonged to all four categories. Graduating to first grade meant leaving the safety of Preschool for the large, dangerous world of Primary School. During my years in preschool, there had been little need for complicated vengeances. The youngsters around me were simple-minded creatures. They played, fought, ate, tumbled about, and found sticky, disgusting things to pick up and rub on themselves. I avoided them, they me.

  Primary school was different. There were more rules, spoken and unspoken. The unspoken were, by far the most vital. And the foremost unspoken rule was never, ever to befriend a marked man.

  I was marked from day one.

  During my very first recess of first grade, Jason sought me out. He was a broad, squat boy with curly brown hair. His flat nose and squinty eyes were deep set in his fat face. Occasionally three dull children, Brandt Thomas, Mason Marks and Walter Kruger helped him, but more often than not, Jason operated alone.

  I was sitting on the teeter-totter quietly drawing in my composition book when I heard a thick, unfriendly voice grunt, hey kid. I looked up, knowing this could not bode well. There stood Jason, grinning a wicked grin. He wore his ball cap sideways. I shuddered inwardly. This kid was obviously trouble.

  Kid, he said. I’m talking to you. I said nothing. What reply did he expect? You’re alone, kid. Why are you alone? Doncha have any friends. I shrugged. You’re a weirdy, that’s why you’re alone. You’re a weirdy, and nobody likes weirdies. Are you a weirdy, kid? Hesitantly, I shook my head. Are you saying I’m lying? Are you saying you’re not a weirdy? I shook my head again. How can you be a weirdy and not a weirdy at the same time? I’ll ask you again, kid. Are you a weirdy?

  I couldn’t agree or disagree without getting an inevitable pounding. What’s that kid? His ugly face was right up close to mine. I could see he hadn’t yet figured out what tissues were for. He smelled like tuna sandwich. I couldn’t here you. Say something, kid.

  I stood up and walked swiftly away. I heard the heavy plod of Jason’s feet, and speed up, not quite running. I spent the rest of recess playing hopscotch. The hopscotch kids hadn’t seen my confrontation with Jason, so they didn’t shun me as a social leper.

  In class, Jason tripped me as I walked down the aisle. He swiped a slice of apple off my plate at snack, and “accidentally” jogged my elbow and made me wreck an almost finished picture. That was three things. Would I do three small punishments or one large one? The small ones often hurt more, so I decided on that.

  The next day, I came to school with some extra material in my lunch pail. I got on the bus and sat in the front, near the driver. I went to class. At lunch time, I hid under a beanbag chair and didn’t go to the cafeteria. The teacher had twenty busy six-year olds on her hands: she didn’t notice. I don’t blame her. As soon as the door swung shut, I forsook my hiding place and crept across the darkened classroom to Jason’s desk.

  I went to work.

  Jason lumbered through the door, earlier than the rest of the class. I could almost see the cogs turning in his cunning, if dull, mind. He was wondering where his victim, that weird kid, had gone. He was a stupid boy, so the idea that I was planning a trap never occurred to him.

  He fell, landing on hands and knees, and cracking his elbow on the leg of a desk. I had counted on Jason arriving first; he was not the sort of boy to allow others to line up in front of him. Stretching across the aisle, loosely attached with masking tape, was a piece of fishing line. The floor was slightly slippery with soap. Jason scratched his head, wondering what had happened.

  The rest of the class arrived, and I wriggled out from my hiding place and joined them. A few of them giggled at Jason who was still sitting on the floor looking dazed. No doubt wondering what just happened.

  Jason slunk shame-facedly to his seat, rubbing his elbow. The teacher read a story about a family of rabbits going for a picnic. Jason got bored and started flicking bits of eraser at the wall. I, on the other hand, was the model of attentiveness.

  We wrote in our composition books. We did a messy, gluey craft. We did a subtraction worksheet.

  Snack time.

  The teacher was an orderly woman. Each student had a cup and plate, lovingly labeled in colorful marker. She set out snack at the beginning of the day. It was kept on a table at the back of the room. Today, we had grape juice, and crackers with peanut butter. Jason took a sip of his juice and coughed. It spewed all over his desk. The class laughed. Jason scowled. I kindly fetched some paper towels from the bathroom. Grape juice tended to be somewhat less delicious when spiked with “Grape Flavored” cold medicine. Oh well. At least it’s good for you.

  At the end of the day, we always had “Choice Time.” Jason and his cronies, Brandt, Mason, and Walter, sat at the back table drawing rude pictures. Or, at least trying to. The trouble was, each pencil was capped with a small blob of clear glue. Watching them press harder and harder until paper ripped and pencils broke was a heavenly experience.

  Jason soon realized it did not pay to mess with me. He was not a clever boy, but he soon reached a vague conclusion: bullying me meant future misfortune. By second grade, I was once again, just a random kid. Albeit, one safe from bullies.

  My grades were good, but not outstanding. I was quiet, but had a few friendly acquaintances. I dressed plainly, looked ordinary, and seemed average in every way throughout school. Those that harassed me never figured out how I was involved in their accidents, but were, none the less, convinced I was guilty. And, of course, I was.

  I graduated elementary school, middle school, and then, high school. I had an unremarkable college career marred by only three…regrettable incidents. A bullying professor retired at the end of my second year, complaining of constant illness and discomfort as his age. Food poisoning? Perhaps. A lazy boy that cheated off my paper was arrested for drunk driving. Who turned him in? I wonder. A landlord who ignored my please for a working refrigerator found his apartment broken into and some money stolen. The amount to buy a new refrigerator? Who knows?

  I graduated college with grades that were, as per usual, good, but not incredible. I was hired as an accountant. I worked, got money, bought a small house. I married, had children. I retired.

  But all that while, my inclination, nay my need for justice drove me. Justice, revenge, are they not one? All that divides them is a gavel and robe. One acts from behind a pulpit, the other from behind an ordinary face, and ordinary life, and an extraordinary mind.

“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.”

-Samuel Johnson

Categories: Short Stories.

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0

July 21, 2010

From the Artist

Always paint the sky first-

otherwise it will cause trouble later on.

It can be pale or bright,

depending on your fancy.

Clouds are a few robust, strong strokes-

stars are harder with their fussy

halos.

The horizon must be stoic, supporting the weight

of the sky

and grounding the image.

Grasses come in clumps,

starting at the ground and stretching, never the other way around.

 If my eyes were brighter,

my hands steadier,

my fingers nimbler,

I would tackle greater things:

the little rustlings made

by shadows,

the ladder of darkness that spans

 stars, the sweet

green veins of leaves,

and the circles

raindrops make on dry sand.

 But I would need cleverer paints for those.

the ones I have now are clumsy,

fir only for apples

and pears., the brushes

too thick for even spider threads.

 But there are other things one must consider

to balance the composition.

It isn’t all dawns and dew drops.

One must never paint out the deep shadows,

and the parts humanity would rather

ignore

must be personified by the artist.

It is our duty; our calling.

For this reason, mud

must be part of the pallet
and coarser brushes may be

required.

 Most importantly of all,

you must follow the rule of water color and use a wash for sky

or risk a blotchy backdrop.

Signed, the Artist

By Hades

Categories: Poetry.

Tags: , ,

The Immortal Ralph Sty by Hades

3

July 14, 2010

  Ralph shuffled around his small kitchen in a pair of worn-out carpet slippers. It was past midnight according to the clock above the mantel, but Ralph wasn’t tired. He set about fixing himself a pot of tea and sat down in an armchair in front of the television to wait.

“In other news, Sen. P. Anderson of Texas died at Sacred Heart Hospital of pancreatic cancer.” The news caster looked blandly upset. Ralph snorted. Another one down. People died all the time, every day. Senators, garbage collectors, movie stars, clerks. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Or so most thought.

  He flipped the channel to something about a celebrity divorce case. The kettle shrieked shrilly. Ralph rose and limped back to the kitchenette, cursing his bad leg. His eyes wandered, as they so often did these days, to the framed photographs on the shelf above the sink. All six were carefully arranged, their frames and glasses wiped daily with a cloth.

  The first was of him, an old picture in black and white. If you looked closely, Ralph liked to think that one could still see that strong, handsome face show in the photo beneath his wrinkles and liver spots. He was in his navy uniform, his arm around the waste of a pretty dark haired girl. They were both laughing. The next showed him, looking older and thinner than before, but radiantly happy. He wore a suit and tie, the girl, now a woman, was in a white dress and train.

  The third, a color photograph, showed her looking tired but proud in a hospital bed, a small bundle in her arms. There was another of a dark-haired boy, about six years old, on a small, three-wheeler. He had her eyes, Ralph thought wistfully.  Then, there was the same boy, in a cap and gown.

  The final picture was of Ralph and the woman, both grey-haired, at a parade. Ralph wore his old uniform. He remembered that parade. Pam had been insistent that he marched in it. Afterward, they went for ice cream at the tiny parlor they visited as teenagers. That was twenty-five years ago.

  He poured his tea into a slightly-chipped china cup, stirred in a packet of sugar and opened the fridge. Damn. Out of cream again.

  He settled into his chair, the cup warm between his arthritic hands. A report came on about a hurricane in some country he had never heard of. Ralph flipped through the channels, stopping at an old movie he and Pam once saw together in the theatres. Movies were still in black and white then, and you could see one for a dime. None of this business where you emptied your wallet for popcorn and a show.

  The lead was smoking a cigar, and talking to a glamorous actress. She had been very popular in her time, considered a great beauty with her hooded eyes, husky voice, and full figure. Nothing like the twig-women on screen nowadays.

  Ralph woke to blinding sunlight streaming through the window. He had forgotten, once again, to draw the curtains. Damn.

  Grumbling, Ralph rose, fixed himself some eggs and coffee. He ate, washed the dishes, and lovingly polished his photographs. The morning newspaper had been delivered to his flat already. Skimming the first few headlines, he flipped to the obituaries.

“Ha! Eddy Cole! Always told ‘im I’d out live ‘im. And Florence Storm. Stupid woman. Oh, and there’s old Harry. Ticker gave out at last. Too bad about that. Don’t know the rest of ‘em.” Carefully, Ralph clipped the obituaries out and shuffled over to an old-fashioned cabinet. He pulled out a black leather scrap book with the embossed title “Friends,” and filed the clippings and filled in day’s date.

“I’ve outlived ‘em all.” Ralph smiled to himself, turning the book’s heavy pages. There were few pages without an obituary or two. “All! Nobody’s gonna outlive Ralph Sty!” he paused on a well-thumbed page: June 21. There was a single clipping: Justin Sty, born December 3rd, 1959, died June 21st, 1978.  Justin was the son of Ralph and Pamela Sty. He was a model student, and gifted athlete. However, his true passion was for playing chess. He participated in numerous regional and state championships, and, at age thirteen, qualified for nationals. He went on to Stanford University, hoping for a career in teaching high level mathematics. He was on the chess team, and wrote for the school paper. His future was looking brighter than ever when he became engaged to long-time girlfriend, Sophia Plum.  Tragically, he died in a car accident on highway 132 while driving home to begin preparations for his wedding. He is survived by his parents and fiancée. Justin will be greatly missed in the community. Services will be held at the Friendly Street Catholic Church on Saturday.

  Ralph wiped his nose on his sleeve and hurriedly turned the page. He stopped again to read the third obituary on a page marked January 5.  

  Pamela Sty, born April 12th 1919, died January 5th, 2001. Pamela Sty, born Pamela Dove, passed away at Memorial Hospital in the early hours of the morning. Pam, as she was known to friends lived a long, full life. Born at Memorial Hospital, she was the eldest of three sisters. She graduated Nightingale Nursing Academy, and served as a nurse during the Second World War. At age nineteen, she met marine Ralph Sty. They were married 1945, days after Germany surrendered to the Allied forces.  In 1960, the Stys adopted a child, an infant boy named Justin. Pam and Ralph were devastated when he died in a car accident in 1978, at age 19. This refueled Pam’s wish to help save lives, and she started working as a nurse at Memorial Hospital. She retired in 12981 at age 62. However, Pam remained active in the community through her church. She did charity work, and much volunteering. In her spare moments, she enjoyed reading mystery novels, gardening, and playing chess with her husband. She passed away after a long struggle with lung cancer. Pam is survived by her husband Ralph, and two sisters, Lucy and Mina. Services will be held Friday at the Friendly Street Catholic Church.

  Ralph slammed the book shut. “No! No! No! They’re all gone! And you can bet that Ralph Sty isn’t going to be next!”

  In many ways, Ralph reflected, he was like other men. Death he feared above all else. He had seen too much of it, perhaps. The war, his parents, his son, and then Pam. He longed for comfort; the comfort of knowing he was safe from the void. He longed for those he loved, and for a quiet, pleasant existence. But in one very important way, he was different.

  Ralph went into his flat’s tiny bathroom to summon Death. He looked into the mirror and said, ‘Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes.” Lord Death looked back at him. His face was more than skull-like; there was not a scrap of flesh left on it. He wore a crown of yellowed bones, and a robe the color of thunderclouds. His eyes were nothing more than sightless holes.

“Don’t we even get a ‘Nice to see you’? Mortals are so impolite, aren’t they Dee? Oh! It’s you! Dee, it’s that Ralph character, again. Ralph, you interrupted our show. We were watching reruns of that very interesting plague in Europe, weren’t we Dee?” Lady Death scowled at Ralph. Half her body was that of a beautiful woman with milky skin and raven hair, the other that of a decaying corpse. She wore a black velvet dress, and an obsidian tiara.

“Yes dear.” Death didn’t seem to be listening. “Ralph. How unexpected. You’re scheduled for next month. Do you want to come early?”

  Ralph shook his head vigorously. “Mr. D, I was hoping to…um…ask a small favor.”

  Mrs. Death held up her shriveled hand. “You know the rules.”

“Yes, but-“

“-not buts!”

“Please!” Ralph looked beseechingly at Death. “Please, we’re friends! I’ve known you for years!”

“All men know me from birth.”

“Yes, but-“

“-no buts!” Mrs. Death reiterated.   

“But I talk to you. Who else does that?”

“More people than you would expect.”

“Please! Give me a chance! Mr. D, there’s got to be some way!”

  Death sighed. “Alright, alright. There is one way. But you can’t go around telling everyone; otherwise they’ll start thinking I’ve gone soft.”

  Ralph looked ten years younger. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.” Death chuckled mirthlessly. “What do I need to do?”

“Certain people throughout history have been able to…contact me, in a fashion similar to you. Many have asked for favors of the type you are about to ask.”

“How do you-“

“-Mortals are incredibly predictable. They all want to live forever, and have their loved ones back. Of course I can’t just give everyone eternal life, and let their friends out of the Dead Land. So the deal is, you can challenge me to whatever you want. If you win, I grant your wish.”

“And if I lose?”

“You die.”

“Has anybody won?”

“Nope.”

“Well then.”

  There was an awkward pause.

“Let’s get on with it, then. I don’t want to miss the best bit of the plague!” Lady Death scowled at Ralph.

“Yes, yes. Right away dear.” Death clicked his fingers and Ralph felt himself being dragged forward. The glass of the mirror parted like water, and Ralph was falling, falling, falling…

“You can open your eyes.” Ralph was sitting in a squishy old armchair. He was in a sitting room, of sorts. There was a television showing a scene of people in tunics writhing and retching. Tarnished silver frames held photographs of famous cemeteries, and shots of the Deaths in Disneyland. Little tourist-y nick-knacks littered the shelves. There were vases of dried flowers, magazines, and an old copy of Dante’s Inferno, on the coffee table, and at least a dozen black cats seated on a large, brown couch.

“Nice place.” Ralph gave Lady Death a weak smile that she did not return.

“Now, what do you want to challenge me to?” Death was reclining in a leather chair. On the table beside him were a very new laptop and a drink.

“Get a coaster for that!” Lady Death snapped. “I don’t want stains on the tables! We got that one in Italy!”

“So sorry dear. Now, to business.”

 Ralph wiped his forehead with a large, dirty handkerchief. He was not feeling at all confident. He wiped his forehead again. It had seemed like a much better idea back in his bathroom.

“Any game, sport, or puzzle will do. Board games, card games, dice games, ball games, races, riddles, jokes, dance-offs, karaoke tournaments; anything you want.”

  Ralph could feel a bead of sweat gliding down the length of his nose.

“Wipe-out bug-house chess.”

“What?”

“Wipe-out bug-house chess.”

   Death was not used to being confused. Exactly 1,632,578 people had challenged him since life, and death, had begun. He had played everything from spear throwing with cavemen to Senet in ancient Egypt; ullamaliztli with the Aztecs to chariot racing with Romans, not to mention a host of others. This was an unwelcome set-back.

“What is this game you wish to play?”

  Ralph nervously explained the rules, hoping against hope that Death wouldn’t spot what he thought he might spot. He didn’t.

“And all you have to do is capture all your opponent’s pieces?”

“Yes.”

“This game needs four players?”

“Yes. My son can play on your team, my wife on mine.”

“But how do I know they won’t cheat? They are only souls, after all.”

“They won’t. I promise.”

  Death looked skeptical, but he agreed. He blew on a small silver whistle on a chain around his neck. Like two absurd flowers, Pam and Justin blossomed from the ugly tan carpet. Ralph released a tiny gasp. They looked exactly as they had in life: Pam was even wearing her favorite pearl earrings, and wedding band.

Dad! Justin’s voice was faint, but joyful. You’re here! But you aren’t…

“No, Justin, I’m not dead. How have you been, son? What’s it like being…um…deceased?”

Not bad. They’ve got loads of things to do here, and there are so many interesting people…

“That’s great.” He replied, but he was looking at Pam. She smiled that slow, gentle smile of hers.

Ralph, you’re early.

“I know, dear.”

“Can we get on with it? I don’t want to miss the evening rerun of the Crusades!” Lady Death held a TV remote in her living hand and a martini in her dead one. She seemed completely unfazed by the scene before her.

  Death rose from his seat and clicked his fingers. Two chess boards appeared on the crowded coffee table, sending a stack of magazines flying. The cats on the sofa languidly rose and stalked away. Death sat on the recently occupied couch, Pam perched uncomfortably next to him. Ralph faced Death, a board between them. Justin was across from Pam.

  Ralph gingerly nudged a white pawn forward two spaces. Death fingered a black one, and mirrored his moved. Soon, Death had captured six of Ralph’s players, and Ralph had taken only two of his. Pam passed Ralph a rook, two pawns and a knight she had captured from Justin. She winked at him. Ralph gave her a small smile.

  Seconds stretched into hours, hours into days, and, perhaps, days into weeks. Ralph couldn’t tell. Lady Death complained the match was getting too long. You don’t know how long it’s going to be, Ralph thought grimly. Then he smiled.

  If you looked into Death’s drawing room today, you would find a peculiar scene: A robbed skull and a slightly faded-looking elderly woman sitting side-by-side on a couch with a man and a pale boy opposite them. They are playing a version of chess. Each time one player takes their opponent’s piece, the pass it to their teammate. The piece is then placed on the board. The game may go, briefly, one way or another, but in the end, it doesn’t change much. The man looks very happy. This is a quiet life, one he had always wanted. Death is absorbed in the game, so absorbed he doesn’t notice eternities have gone by.  Occasionally, a very strange-looking woman enters. She appears to be half corpse, has living person. She inquires, loudly and rudely, whether or not the game is over.

  It isn’t. It never will be.

“When I was still a rather precocious young man, I already realized most vividly the futility of the hopes and aspirations that most men pursue throughout their lives.”-Albert Einstein

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Short Stories.

Tags: , , ,

Chapter Three (Anna Willowford)

1

July 6, 2010

heads up for any of y’all that read “The Story of Anna Willowford” back when i was posting it more – this needs SOME work . . . but i just wanted to post it coz i haven’t posted any  in years. so here you go. enjoy! :) -Myth

Delmont climbed out of the carriage and went to the door of Ralph’s house, his knock being quickly answered by a young man with flaming red hair. “Delmont!” I heard the young man exclaim happily.
Delmont said something then, something I couldn’t catch, and Ralph looked toward the carriage, a certain look of interest on his face.
I didn’t have much time to ponder it, however, because a young woman with long, curly black hair came out of the house then, fluttering her dark, thick eyelashes at Delmont as she did so.
Trying not to be sick, I looked away then, wishing for the millionth time that I could simply turn invisible.
Before I knew it, though, Delmont and his two friends had come to the carriage. Delmont, ever the “gentleman”, held the door open for the girl (that must be Edith) as she climbed in. “Do sit next to Anna,” he said, giving me a little smile.
She did so, her disappointment clear on her face. Obviously she wanted to be as close to Delmont as possible.
Ralph and Delmont climbed in then, closing the door behind themselves. Once James and Catherine arrived this was going to be a completely full carriage (there was space for exactly six people inside). I sighed inwardly at the thought.
“Edith, meet Anna Willowford, the woman I am courting. Anna, meet Edith Foster,” Delmont said as soon as the carriage was in motion.
Edith looked at me with spiteful dark eyes. If one could shoot flames of rage from their eyes, I would be quite roasted by now.
“Nice to meet you,” she said in the most plastic voice I’d ever heard in my life.
“Likewise,” I said, with just as much listlessness in my voice as she’d had in hers.
Delmont smiled, as if glad to see we were “getting along” – but that was just it. We clearly both hated each other, and any normal, un-twitterpated person would be able to see that!
“Oh, and Anna, meet Ralph Foster, Edith’s older brother,” Delmont said then.
They have the same last name? Extraordinary! And I completely forgot he was the elder sibling – you only told me about twenty minutes ago! I thought sarcastically. “Pleasure to meet you,” I said, giving a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
“Pleasure,” he said, pausing as he stared at me, “to meet you as well. I know we’re going to have a wonderful time today.” He smiled secretively.
I squirmed inwardly under his gaze (and because of his sappy speech) and felt sick again, seriously considering jumping out of the carriage even though it was moving.
At last we came to James’ house. Once more Delmont got out and went to the door, returning to the carriage with two more passengers.
Edith looked at me. “Scoot down, Anna – I want Catherine by me,” she said in an annoyed tone, like I was a child, or a dog.
“Gladly,” I muttered, moving down to the seat by the window and wondering why I hadn’t sat there before.
Catherine and James got in, and more introductions were made. Thankfully James didn’t stare at me as Ralph had – he obviously had eyes only for his wife-to-be, a rather promising quality.
“So, Anna, do tell us what your hobbies are,” Edith purred. She must know I was going to say something that would be considered apalling.
“Well, I love to be outdoors exploring things, getting my hands dirty – the outdoors are truly beautiful, and it’s hard for me to understand why everyone insists on staying inside so much,” I said. Indeed, compared to Edith’s and Catherine’s milky skin, mine was quite golden. “I also love music and art.”
“Not a total failure,” Edith whispered to Catherine, though I knew she wanted me to hear it. Catherine laughed with a high, tinkly laugh.
Still, I almost relished the shocked looks on the party’s faces. Let them loathe me. Let them think me different. I really did not care. In fact, it made me glad to think I was different; to think I actually used my brain.
The others continued to talk as the carriage went along, but I let myself drift away on my thoughts as I stared out the window. Would this day ever be over? It certainly didn’t feel like it . . .
All too soon the carriage was stopping at the park and we were getting out. Everyone climbed out before me, and while Edith and Catherine were helped down from the carriage I expected to be forgotten.
I wasn’t, I soon found, as I came to the door of the carriage to find Delmont waiting to help me down, his face pleasant.
Just leave me be! I thought. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
And yet it was almost . . . touching . . . to know I hadn’t been entirely forgotten.
We all went into the art gallery hall then (oooor did they have museums . . . uuuuuuh . . . someone wanna help this idiot out . . . :D ), quickly breaking off into groups.
Unfortunately for me, one of the two groups was composed only of Ralph and I.
We stopped for a moment to admire one of the paintings. It was a simple yet beautiful picture of a wooden bridge that went over a sparkling creek, on the bank of which grew beautiful wild flowers. It was a peaceful picture, and I wished I could jump in and sit on that bank, warmed by the sun . . .
But I was sharply brought back to reality by Ralph making a sound of disgust. “That’s a terrible painting,” he said. “Done by an amateur, quite clearly.”
“What’s so terrible about it?” I said, annoyed.
“Well, for one thing, it was clearly an amateur that painted it,” he said haughtily. “Look at the way these flowers are all but smudges. Not enough detail at all.”
“Not all paintings need to have so much detail,” I said. I can’t believe I’m getting this annoyed over a painting, I thought. It must just be because I’m discussing the painting with an empty-headed moron.
“Still,” he said.
I’d like to see you paint better! I thought angrily. “Well, I like it,” I said, before spinning on my heel and walking away, wanting to wring someone’s neck. I couldn’t believe my day had so quickly gone from bad to terrible – and the irony of it was that, to anyone else, my day would appear perfectly fine with possibly a few minor annoyances. But they were much more than that.
I thought again of how I actually had to court Delmont and probably one day marry him. The reality of it still hadn’t sunken in. I just couldn’t grasp the fact that I would eventually be married to him. The thought of it disgusted me.
I would forever be Delmont’s prize” that he showed off to everyone. I would never be allowed to speak my mind or live my own life. I’d have to be a subdued, sweet little housewife and live for going to balls and parties.
“Anna?”
As if summoned by my thoughts, I looked up to see Delmont staring down at me. Inwardly sighing, I replied, “Yes?”
“Are you all right? You were staring at this painting and not moving – it was like you’d transformed into a statue like the ones around us,” he said, gesturing to some nearby statues of marble.
Goodness, but for such a self-centered man that was very observant of him, I thought, surprised. “Yes . . . I’m fine,” I said at last. “Just tired. We were up late because of the ball, of course.”
“Of course,” Delmont said. But I could tell he didn’t quite believe me. Still, he offered his arm (and I forced myself to take it) and led me to look at another painting he told me he absolutely loved.
And that was how the rest of the afternoon passed. Everyone oohed and aahed over paintings that were, in my opinion, for the most part quite ugly. Then Edith suggested we all go for a walk in the park. I joyfully agreed, and we all went and had a lovely time.
At least, that’s how it appeared to Delmont. That I was having a wonderful time.
But in truth I only barely kept from shouting, “No! I don’t want to stroll anywhere with any of you!” and then turning and running out to the carriage and demanding I be taken home.
Of course, though, I couldn’t do that, so I found myself shortly after in a park that had too many people in it for my taste, walking with people that weren’t to my taste.
Edith stayed as close to Delmont as she could, chattering on and on about things that didn’t matter. James and Catherine kept to themselves, discussing wedding plans, and that left me with Ralph.
Ralph, who was perhaps about ten times more empty-headed than even Delmont.
Ralph, who was so stuck on himself that he thought a good conversation was when he, so important, did all the talking. About himself.
And the awful thing was that almost everyone in Delmont’s, Ralph’s, Edith’s, James’, and Catherine’s circles was like this.
So really I was getting a taste of what the rest of my life would be like.
I didn’t think I’d be able to survive.

Categories: Historical Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

Sky City: Chapter the First

1

July 5, 2010

Unlike Myth’s story below, this one isn’t in the future, but just futuristic. It’s happening right now. Also unlike Myth’s story below, in this world existing above us, women rule. Very sexist. But don’t worry, it will be fixed, and everyone will have equal rights by the end. Hopefully. Also, despite how advanced they are in technology, they’re practically in the Dark Ages because of the hierarchy. I’m not sure if I’ve ever said that before, so there you go! :)

Prologue before this: http://theworstending.com/?p=4150

*

Sky City

-Chapter the First-

*

“Silver Era, 1200 to 1301. Gray Era, 1320 to 1492. The Light Era, 1500 to 1542,” I chanted on autopilot, tapping my airpen in tempo on the open palm of my left hand as I gazed at the clouds out one of our many windows. “Silver Lining Era, 1552 to 1565. Noctilucent Era, 1572 to – “ I faltered a moment. “ – 1592.”

***I closed my eyes, my tapping ceasing, knowing what was coming.

***“Princess Aureola,” my governess Mrs. Ivan’s voice snapped out sharply from in front of me, whip like. Her impatience was clear, her anger understandably growing. “Do you really wish to be the most obtuse, unschooled, spoiled – “

***“ – ruler Sky City has ever had? No, I don’t,” I said, dully. This scolding was familiar to me. I’d heard it so many times that I could probably say it in my sleep.

***“Then why don’t you – “

***“ – learn it? I’ve tried. What do you think I’ve been doing this past week? Even if it is completely pointless. How could the dates and names of past rulers come up during my rulership of Sky City? Even if it did, by chance, come up, one could always look it up in the Record Hall and – “

***“ – get the information there? I know. The main reason is that you can learn from the past, but also a ruler must know her city well and her people even better,” Mrs. Ivan said calmly. She’d heard my argument many times as well, and her impatience leaked away.

***“Okay. Be that as it may, why do I have to know this all now? I can learn it later. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be ruler tomorrow – “

***“Better late then never.”

***“What does that have to do with – “

***“Just because you finished all your other, normal school for a seventeen year old, does not mean you shouldn’t start learning how to be ruler now.”

***What, no break? School then straight into adulthood?

***“Why should I train to be ruler when Nimbus most likely will be?” I challenged. I couldn’t believe I’d only thought of that obviously infallible logic last night.

***And then my logic was blown to smithereens. “Have you not listened to me at all these past weeks?” Mrs. Ivan said tiredly.

***“Yes. Of course, I did – “

***“Well, then, think about it. What do most, almost all Sky City rulers, past and present, have in common?” She stood up calmly behind her desk, and waited for my answer.

***My breath came out slowly and my shoulders slumped. My logic disappeared with a poof. “They were all female,” I said softly.

***“Exactly.” Mrs. Ivan hesitated briefly, before leaning towards me, palms flat on her desk, and talking quietly and seriously. “But not all of the rulers were female, Princess.”

***“What? All the records show a female!”

***“All the other rulers who were male brought us back to the Dark Ages, or were brutal and tyrannical. All males who reigned brought nothing but trouble, which is why it is the law states explicitly that only a female must be Crown Ruler of Sky City. We’re learned from our mistakes, Princess.“

***“But Nimbus wouldn’t do that! He’s different! Sure, he’s an idiot sometimes – “ Not helping your case, Aureola. ” – but he’s actually, you know, smart.” Oh, gag me.

***“It is the law, Princess. You must be ruler.”

***“At least I won’t be for a while,” I murmured, thinking of Mama, the present ruler of Sky City.

***“Yes. But you never know. Caligo City might attack, there might be casualties and she might be one of them – “

***“No!” I cried, taking a step away without thinking. “That’s not going to happen!”

***Not Mama! Never Mama!

***“Princess, I’m not saying this to try and hurt you. I’m saying this because, even though it might hurt, the truth is better then ignorance. I’m trying to raise a good and honest leader for the people of Sky City,” Mrs. Ivan said, gently, probably realizing (a bit late) that it hurt that there’d be a time without my parents.

***“Aureola, I apologize if my words were a bit more coarse then need be.“ Mrs. Ivan’s eyes widened at her mistake. Using my first name was punishable by death if you were lower in hierarchy then I. But I didn’t hate Mrs. Ivan, and said nothing. “Princess, you’re free the rest the day. Class is over.” She gathered her papers and began ordering them, not looking at me. Clearly I was dismissed. But I really was the future ruler, didn’t I do the dismissing?

***I spun on my heal, shoving my airpen into the pocket of my skirt, and disappeared out the silver-white sliding door. The door slide silently closed behind me and I ran down the hallway, knee length white skirt flaring around me. My soft knee high white boots pounded steadily on the hard, silver-white, smooth floor, belying my heart’s beating. What a joke. Mama wouldn’t die.

***I run around the corner so fast that my waist length, straight, white hair flew in front of me, and I couldn’t see for a moment.

***I barely hesitated as I climbed up the ladder to the upper deck, but I braced myself on the banister running up and down the wall next because of the floors buckling. My body unconsciously slipped into the rhythm and movement of the air currents surrounding Sky City as I climbed.

***I slowed to a stop at the heavy door that lead to the upper deck, not breathing too hard. Huh, looks like Master Wind’s training paid off.

***Taking a deep, shaky breath, I pushed hard against the heavy metal door. No one had upgraded this door, yet, to one that opened on command. Why, I wasn’t sure. Till then, I was stuck body slamming it to get it open.

***Almost immediately, ice cold wind whipped in, sending goose bumps up and down my arms and legs, even though I wore a white, long sleeved hoodie. The wind streamed by me, screaming, almost driving the door closed on my fingers. I barely got a an arm through to keep the door open. I paused, tugging down my sleeves over my fingers, fumbling, already turning clumsy with cold,

***And plunged into the wind.

*

Normally, it wasn’t this cold or windy. But the Skywatchers (our version of the weatherman) reported that they’d seen a storm, a big whopper (my words, not theirs), coming in full steam from the north. And most storms – correction, all storms – from the north are dangerous for us, always with a kiss of arctic ice that could steal your breath and sometimes your fingers or toes.

***Those storms are terrible. Thankfully, we don’t get them too much because of our Skywatcher’s advanced equipment. But when we do -

***Well, at least our shields don’t need charging. They’re ready to go.

***I felt like such an idiot for not bringing my clock and/or thicker hoodie. I knew this morning about the northern storm, but dismissed it before going Mrs. Ivan’s house. I’d be a great ruler of Sky City, that’s for sure.

***The storm was sweeping in even as I watched, clouds of mist blowing in across the courtyard’s green grass like foam on the tip of a green wave. Wind cut through my hoodie and swept my hair and skirt violently left and right, and sometimes up.

***I had 20/20 vision but didn’t want to risk getting lost in the thickening storm, so I hurried.

***I hoped the Skywatchers would set the storm shield up soon. Even though it was rare for someone to be swept off because of an incoming storm’s gale force winds, it did happen. Rarely, sometimes, by a slim chance, but not impossibly.

***The wind picked up suddenly and, by the time I reached the some unknown side of the courtyard wall, I could hardly breathe because of the wind.

***Have you ever stuck your head out a speeding car’s window? Your breath is snatched away and, despite deep breaths, you can’t get enough oxygen. When in a car you, at least, can pull your head in when out of breath, whereas I was incapable of doing anything like that. I couldn’t get enough air in my lunges so that one could say I was “breathing.” Although, maybe one could call it suffocating…

***Normally, I can breathe pretty well in conditions like this, since I’ve lived in thin air and through storms, sometimes worse then this, all my life.

***In other great news, had no idea where I was in relation to the door I was trying to get too.

***So this was a pretty bad gale blowing in, trust me.

***Maybe I’m overreacting. After all, I’ve seen much worse storms then this one.

***And there’s the problem. Seen. But never actually been in one before the storm shields were up.

***Living up in the clouds on a floating city and all, we’ve probably seen worse storms then you down on earth.

***Still, floating city or no, I was running a risk of being thrown off the side and, you know, dying.

Categories: Futuristic Fiction, Science Fiction.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Ghost Touched

2

July 5, 2010

The Elm Jackson Club held its 36,542nd meeting on an unseasonably wet August evening.  All nine members were in attendance: Festering Wound, Bloody Murder, Sanguinary Death, Drowning Accident, Reckless Driver, Caution Wet Floor, Heart Failure, Amoebic Dysentery, and Life Guard Not On Duty. They were indistinguishable from one another with their semi-translucent robes the color of sea mist, white, moon-shaped faces, huge, blank eyes, and tiny mouths and noses. Indeed, it would have been impossible for even the most practiced observer to tell them apart if it weren’t for the conspicuous name tags attached to the upper right-hand corners of their cloak. The thin, pitiful drizzle of rain didn’t seem to affect them any more than the solitary cars that passed straight through their insubstantial bodies.     
  The cluster of dim figures at the center of the intersection of Elm and Jackson were grouped in a ragged semi-circle, facing Festering. Their voices, normally no louder than the rustling of dead leaves, were drown by the light patter of rain. But they did not seem inconvenienced. Festering gestured animatedly with his stumpy limbs, and the others gave occasionally gave a polite nod or added a brief affirmative. As dusk fell, and street lamps flickered on across the city, the figures grew more distinct, their voices louder, their conversation more lively. They even seemed to grow slightly; from small hunched figures barely a half meter tall, until they were pushing sixty centimeters.  As per usual, Reckless was giving trouble. Festering regarded him disapprovingly. “Reckless, these pranks are getting ridiculous. This is the third time this month we’ve had a visit from the Office of Spirit Regulations. First there was that set of traffic lights on 44th  street, next the incident at New Line Cinema, and just last night that youngish officer dropped by. Do you know what she said to me? She told me you Touched one of those little electric scooters. It crashed into a stop sign up on Washington Street. That young man was hospitalized! Reckless, this sort of behavior has got to stop! You could have seriously injured him. You can’t be so…well…reckless! when I was First Dead, these sorts of things never happened.  We all know the importance of-“
“-‘improving relationships with body-bound souls.’ Yeah, yeah. You’ve only said that like a billion times.” Reckless sounded sulky, resentful, and more than a little defensive. He crossed his short arms, and looked away from Festering. There was a pause broken only by the drum roll of softly falling rain.
“Festering’s right.”Caution managed to sound reproving and thoroughly librarian-ish even in her high, whispery voice. Although many didn’t remember of their Before-deaths, Caution was quite sure she had worked at the Springfield Library before that unfortunate incident involving a slick patch of floor, some steep stairs, and a careless janitor. “Antagonizing the Not-deads can be…appealing, to certain types of people (how many of us haven’t moaned in a cellar, or rapped on a few bedroom walls), but it must be discouraged. After all, we don’t want to promote the medieval view that spirits are strictly malign!” She gave the distinct impression that she was looking at Reckless over the rim of a pair of spectacles, though, of course, she had none. 
Heart, Murder, Sanguinary, and Amy nodded, and made sounds of indistinct agreement. Accident, and Duty, however, looked unconvinced. Reckless shrugged and moodily glared at the asphalt. The dim, red glow of the traffic lights gave the scene a bloody tinge.
“But it’s so funny to watch those Not-deads slamming their fists on the machine! Their faces go all red, and they start yelling.” Accident offered eventually. He looked slightly sheepish, but defiant too.
“That’s terrible Accident! you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Amy looked appalled. ‘Don’t you remember…”  The argument stretched on into the night, neither side yielding. They hardly noticed when a rusty, grey-ish pickup drove straight through Murder and Duty.
Around midnight, the clouds cleared, so the sun rose, un-obscured by the time six o’clock rolled around. The street lamps’ yellow glow faded, and the roads were, once again, the domain of cars. The night world; that of quiet, furtive scurryings, deep, inky shadows, and empty shops seemed exotic; a world away.  
The hot summer sun drew the moisture from skin, air and earth. Puddles  that had, hours ago, dampened the streets, were little more than quickly evaporating memories. Men and women in long-sleeved business suits wiped sweaty foreheads  with sweaty hands, and thought longingly of the public swimming pool and shorts. Sticky children pressed their cheeks against any cool surface, seeking relief from the permeating heat. Even the ratty little dogs at the end of their leads couldn’t muster the bravado to hurl yapping obscenities at passersby.      
The spirits wilted. Festering lead the members of the Elm Jackson Club into the lukewarm shade of  a dumpster. They drifted through it, then rose until they were level with the roof tops. Spirits were not welcome on the streets with their pale, inhuman faces, whispery voices, and, most of all, Ghost Hands.
The blue hands of spirits caused disruptions in the workings of electronics. If they laid their cold, blue fingers on any piece of machinery, or technology, it went haywire. Items that had been Ghost Touched were impossible to repair or recycle.  And that was why Reckless was such an issue.
“Festering’s too old to be considered a true Fresh Soul. He died nearly a hundred years ago. He should go hang out with the other Maturings in Mark’s Hill Cemetery, or at Oak and Wall.” Reckless muttered to Accident and Duty. “He talks like a bleeding Ancestor, for crying out loud!” 
The pair made noises of nervous agreement. They never openly opposed Festering, if they could help it.“Well? Don’t you agree? Shouldn’t that old spook move to a graveyard?” Reckless scowled at his friends. Accident shrugged noncommittally. Duty glanced around shiftily. When she was sure the rest of the group was out of earshot, she spoke.
“I don’t know Reckless. Festering is always…well, anyways, I…um, I dnthuneshuldgotoagowstbocks…”
“For God’s sake, Duty! Don’t be so wishy-washy! Speak up!”
“I guess I don’t think he should go to a graveyard.” she muttered sheepishly. “I mean-”she added hastily, catching Reckless’s look, “-I don’t agree with him on everything. But he’s been…very…um…” She trailed off into an awkward silence. 
 They arrived at Warehouse #32, Park Lane just as the business people of Springfield were settling at their desks. Day was not a time spirits relished. They were paler, smaller, thinner, and more lethargic under the merciless eye of the sun. Warehouse #32 was one of the buildings that had been modified by the government into a Ghost House. It was cool, dark and comfortable. The spirits descended to street level and, scrupulously avoiding any Not-deads, crossed the street. They passed through the front door of the #32. 
It was dark. The city had gone to an effort to make the spirits comfortable. The windows were blocked up with thick layers of cardboard and duct tape. Rags were stuffed in the cracks around the door. The room was bare and dusty, but the spirits did not mind. They took little notice of their surroundings. 
Heart smiled. As was his wont, he composed a short limerick:
“There once was a spirit named Reckless.
His attempts to behave were quite feckless.
He messed up cell phones.
Although all his bonesAre moldered, his soul is restless.”
“Shut up! What were you, some type of English teacher?”
“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to decay.” Sanguinary sighed vaguely.
“No need to be so sanguine, Sanguinary.” Heart chuckled at his own joke. 
Murder looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What does ‘sanguine’ mean?” 

  Officer Meredith Cliff took sip of ice tea. Lunch break would be over in less than half an hour. Then, it was back to filing accident reports at the Office of Spirit Regulations. Before the craze about ‘improving relations with Departed Souls’ she had, at least been monitoring traffic along the freeway. When she had signed up for the force, she hadn’t bargained for sorting endless stacks of papers, filling out forms, and working in a cubicle.
On top of all that, she had to deal with the spirits themselves. They were creepy! Their flat, disc-like faces, huge, expressionless alien eyes, and misty, half-see-through bodies sent shivers of distaste running down her spine. And then there were those hands! Dark blue and thorny-looking with long, sharp fingers and bony knuckles. Everything about them: their disproportionately large heads and small, blunt limbs, the way they never had to blink, their high, reedy voices that were drown out by the air conditioning, was…weird.  
Worst of all, there was nothing that could be done about them, should they choose to break the law. Up until a hundred years ago, people had feared ghosts, shunning them as creations of the devil, or the souls of people trapped in limbo. Now, they understood better. They were, as official pamphlets described them, ‘Souls Detached from their Bodies.’ Meredith had never found this description particularly helpful. As her boss had explained it, “When you die, you’re soul comes out of your body. If you die peacefully, you’re souls peaceful. We don’t have to worry about them. They typically leave town and go out into the wilds. It’s the other ones we need to worry about. The ones that died unexpectedly or violently stick around. And some of them like to cause trouble for the living…” 
If only she could do something about that devil Reckless Driver! She had actually, been one of the officers present when his Mustang hit that semi. It had been his fault completely. What had his name been? Charles something. Maybe Brown or Bowing. It had been three or four years ago. Just after that, she had been sucked into the Office of Spirit Regulation, or, as her colleagues called it, the Slow Lane. Hadn’t she been the one to register his spirit? Ghosts had their own curious customs, such as naming themselves after the way they had died. Office Runskii had become, what was it? Something like I Didn’t Know It Was Loaded. It certainly simplified murder investigations, although spirits made difficult witnesses.  
With a sigh, she finished the last of her tea, and popped an ice cube into her mouth.   

Dusk settled like sediment in a wine bottle. It was a hot, muggy night, and the people of Springfield shunned the confines of their homes. Nights like these were unusual. Spirits roamed the streets, feeding off the darkness, but Not-deads were equally restless. People dined at the rickety little tables outside restaurants, sipping cool drinks through thin plastic straws. Ladies’ makeup ran, striping their faces dramatically, and no amount of deodorant, cologne or perfume could hide the smell of sweaty humans. This was the sort of night on which Things Happened.  

The Elm Jackson club forsook their usual intersection. There were too many cars, and the smell of petrol was distasteful to them. They congregated on the roof of the Springfield Public Library.
“Festering, this once, can we please do something different?” Heart implored.
“Different? What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” Heart looked at the others for support. They gave little nods and smiles of encouragement. “we were hoping to go to a nightclub or something.”
“A night club?”
“You know, we were just thinking that, well, even though we aren’t alive, we can still enjoy our death! I think I used to go to bars, and restaurants and such when I was alive, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t now. There aren’t any rules against it, I think.”  Festering was silent for a long moment.
“When I first died, we never did such things. It was simply unheard of. We didn’t go to..to..”
“Night clubs?” Amy supplied.
“Yes. We did ghosty things. Night clubs. Hmph.”
“Please Festering, please!” Amy stared at him beseechingly. “We all want to do it! It would really show the Not-deads that we are…um…still a lot like them. Even though we’re dead. It would be very modern and politically correct.”
“Reckless.” Festering was looking reflectively at the cars passing on the street below. “I need your word, you’re solemn word that you will not Touch anything, cause any trouble or make me regret my decision in any way. Swear on your grave.” 
Reckless complied. Looking suspicious, as though he thought he had been tricked in some way, Festering announced, “Tonight we are going to ‘have fun’. I want all of you to be respectful and polite. Where do we want to go?”
“I think I remember a place I used to go with my friends…” Duty had the pained look of one attempting to remember the answer to a trick question on a quiz. “it was called…the…the Xenon I think.”
“Alright, shall we go with Duty?” the spirits nodded, and they set out with Duty in the lead. She descended to street level. Pedestrians gasped and stared as they watched the odd procession of small, grey clad figures gliding along the sidewalk. Spirits did not go on the sidewalks, politely stepping -or floating- aside for old ladies, when there were hundreds of people about. It simply wasn’t done. The members of the Elm Jackson Club were ecstatic.“Look at them all! I can’t believe I used to be so solid! And they’re all different shapes and sizes! It’s so disorderly!”  Amy whispered to Murder.
“They’re all wearing different things! And look! They’ve got those funny things that stick out the sides of they’re heads. Sort of flat with weird squiggly ridges on them…ears, I think they’re called.”  

The Xenon Bar and Restaurant was nearly overflowing. A band of white jacketed musicians played Blues music and looked uncomfortably hot on a raised platform. Waiters bearing heavy platters of food wove between the tight-packed tables. The atmosphere was light and happy, despite the humidity.  Nine robed figures with round, white faces floated through the door. A shocked silence fell.
“We’d like a table.” Caution looked up at a waiter. She barely reached his waist. “That is what’s customary at a restaurant, isn’t it?”  
 The waiter nodded dumbly. After a moment of awkward silence, he said, “I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.”  Within fifteen minutes, for the first time ever, a party of ghosts were sitting at a long table at the Xenon. 
The patrons of the illustrious establishment spoke stiltedly, every now and then sneaking covert glances at the spirits in their midst. It was as if some unspoken social taboo had been breached.
“I don’t like it.” Caution sniffed. “They’re staring at us like we’re going to leap up and attack them. We’ve got every right to be here!”
“Oh calm down, Caution. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened since Reckless wrecked that car last year!” Heart scrutinized a salt shaker. “It’s been…well, I don’t even know how long. Decades probably, since I went to a restaurant.” 
A waitress appeared. She looked distinctly nervous, but her voice was calm when she spoke. “Would you care for some appetizers?”
“No thank you dear, I think we’ll just order.” Caution smiled. The waitress looked, if anything more frightened. “W-what would you like? Our menu-”
“Nine bowls of blood. It doesn’t matter the type. If you don’t have that, we’ll take nine raw steaks.” As the waitress scurried away, Caution turned to Heart. “What? What did I say?”  

Officer Cliff stared at table thirteen, grinding her teeth. It was infuriating! There he was, Reckless Driver, right there in front of her! Had he been any common criminal, she would have arrested him on the spot. That ghost was a public menace, and yet there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do! It was infuriating! Scientists had been attempting to find a way to capture and restrain law breaking spirits. However, there had been no joy so far.
“Your order, miss?” 
Meredith clenched her fists. Only she would run into a bunch of ghosts and one of them a known criminal, on a Friday night at Xenon’s.
“You’re order?” 
It was simply maddening-
“Miss? Are you alright?”
“Oh, yes. Yes of course. I’ll just have some of your Summer Salad to start with. No tomatoes.” 

The waitress returned to table thirteen, her tray laden with dishes of steak. They were very red, the color interrupted only by fingers of white fat. One was placed in front of each spirit. They gleamed wetly in the flicking candle light.

Meredith watch with disgusted fascination as the ghosts lapped up the blood oozing from the meat. Their tongues were pale blue, the blue of thin, spring ice.
“Your salad, Miss. What would you like for dinner tonight?”  Meredith tore her eyes away from table thirteen.
“I’ll have um the savory vegetarian soup, thank you.” 
  The waiter trotted away, looking for all the world like a human penguin.

“That was delicious!” Murder said enthusiastically.“Yeah! I haven’t had blood since…since…I can’t even remember.” Amy concurred.
“Would you like to see our desert menu?” The waitress looked a little green.
“No thank you. We give our compliments to the chef, though. And to the cow.” Festering patted his stomach with satisfaction. “You fellows were right. Modern ghosts ought to go to restaurants.”
“Um…your check.”
“Check?”
“Yes. Your check.” The waitress placed it on the linen table cloth. The ghosts stared at it curiously.
“Oh yes!” Caution clapped a blue hand to her forehead. “A check! You pay with them. It charges to your…what is it? Bank account? You sign it.”
“But Caution, none of us have bank accounts any more. Remember. We’re dead. You need a name, a Not-dead name to charge to an account.” Heart cut in. “And none of us can remember our names from before.” 
Caution considered this for a moment. A feeling stirred inside her; a living feeling. It was indignation. “That’s not fair. Supposing one of us wanted to buy something, go to a movie, whatever, we couldn’t. We can’t earn money, and even if we could, we couldn’t touch it without, well, Touching it.”
“But before this, spirits haven’t ever needed to pay for anything.”
“Well, now we do.”  The waitress returned. Festering explained their conundrum. “Oh! Let me check with me manager.” 
The manager was, subsequently checked with, and the waitress returned. “He says the usual way is to assume you will return to pay sometime this month. If you don’t, you will not be allowed to return.”
“Thank-you. We’ll go now.”  The ghosts floated away, through the door, and out into the now less-crowded streets.
“What are we going to do? We need jobs to get money, or we need to find out who we were, and ask our previous families for help!” Murder seemed on the verge of panic.
“Relax! It’s simple. We don’t go back. There are other restaurants. And besides, do they really expect a bunch of ghosts to pay for a meal? Of course not!”
“But that’s just the point, Reckless!” Caution’s voice was filled with righteous fury. “They expect nothing of us! Spirits just float around, looking eerie and talking about useless things that make a difference to no one! They don’t eat at restaurants, go to movies, work! We’re useless to society! The only ones that get any attention are the bad ones that like to Touch things and cause trouble. Apparently, once you’re dead, you’re expected not to do anything interesting.”
“But what can we do to change it? No one will hire us. I mean, come on. We drink blood. It’s hopeless.” Murder said.
“Hopeless!” Caution shrieked. “Hopeless! No it isn’t! Tomorrow morning, we’re going down to the employment office. It may not mean anything to you, that we didn’t pay a bill at a restaurant. It might not seem worth it. But it’s about more than that. This is a truth we’ve been ignoring for…for…”
“…centuries.” Heart looked straight into Caution’s enormous eyes.
  Festering appeared confused. “Do you mean to say that we spirits are going to seek employment? But it isn’t done! It isn’t proper! In my time, we did proper ghosty things. See where this ‘eating at restaurants’ business lead us? And now you want us to do even more distinctly living activities!”
 “With all due respect, Festering,” Heart didn’t sound very respectful “that is an old fashioned, out dated view. We are…or were people too. We deserve better than this. Okay. The restaurant thing didn’t work out. But it was fun, exciting! I want more! I want to live!”
“Old fashioned, is it?’ Festering seemed to swell. “Old fashioned? You want to live do you? You’re dead! I let you go to a restaurant! And see where that led? No! No! No! NO! I believe we should treat Not-deads with respect, but the fact remains. We are dead. They are alive.”
“I’m sorry, Festering, but this can’t go on. All this floating about and doing nothing. This is wrong. I feel it, well, not in my bones, but in my soul. I’m with Heart. The world is here for us to enjoy, not ignore.”
“I’m in.” Sanguinary said unexpectedly.
“Anybody else?” Nobody moved.“Fine.” Caution turned and departed, Sanguinary and Heart floating in her wake. After a moment’s hesitation, Festering and the others went in the opposite direction.  

Officer Cliff wearily loaded more paper into the printer tray. It was odd. The Elm Jackson ghosts were certainly unusual. First, there was that infuriating Reckless, and now this. Eating in restaurants! What would be next? Ghosts at the movies? Ghosts at the super market? Ghosts in the police force? 

“That could have gone better.” Caution couldn’t help but agree. The man at the employment office hadn’t been at all helpful. First of all, they we too short to see over the counter top. Secondly, the office fan had all but drowned them out. When asked about their skills, Sanguinary had promptly replied ‘Walking through walls, disrupting electronic activity, and near invisibility.’ It could have gone better.
“Perhaps we should go personally to businesses. We could look in the paper.”
“Yes, but Caution, we’d need someone to turn the pages for us. If we Touch the paper, it gets all frosty and cold and hard to read.”
“We’ll go to the Office of Spirit Regulations, then.” Caution announced. “It’s their job to help us.”

 “Excuse me!” Officer Meredith Cliff looked up from a report on ghost-related accidents. “Excuse me! down here!” The pale, circular face, huge staring eyes, and misty robes fitted with a small name tag. A ghost. And not just any ghost. It was Caution Wet Floor, one of those blasted Elm Jackson-ers!
“Oh. Hello. How can I help you?”
“My compatriots and I are seeking employment.”
  Meredith suppressed a groan with difficulty. “Why do you need a job?”
“We have to pay the restaurant. And leaving checks unpaid is socially unacceptable. We ghosts don’t want to just sit around. It’s time to act, time to-”
“Yes, yes. Very good. What exactly did you have in mind?”  At that moment, her boss walked in. “Officer Cliff! Good morning! Did you read that- oh! Spirits! What are you fine souls here for?”
“They’re looking for jobs, Chief.”
“Looking for jobs? You’re looking for jobs? What sort of- wait a minute!” The maniacal gleam of zealotry shone in the Chief’s eye. He was a ghost nut. He was fascinated by them, obsessed with them. “I’ve just had-“ 
A brilliant idea, Meredith thought.
“-a brilliant idea! You could join the squad! After all, ghosts can touch other ghosts, can’t they? Well, can’t they?” 
Caution nodded cautiously.
“So you could stop the ones that are breaking the law! And you could stop criminals in their get-away vehicles just by Touching their cars! You could spy on mobsters and drug dealers, investigate deaths, recruit more ghosts! You’d be un-killable, indestructible; the perfect officers!” 
Meredith sighed. Her worst fears had been realized at last.
“…guns, tasers, smoke bombs! Ha ha ha! It’s perfect! Perfect! What do you think, Cliff?”
“Great idea.” Meredith mumbled.  

 The headline of the Evening Post read: Ghostly Busters Nab Dead Vandal. So it began. Caution and Heart with minimal assistance from Sanguinary apprehended Reckless in the act of Touching a BMW parked in the back lot of Friendly’s Foods.
“What’re you doing? Are you crazy? Where are you taking me? Help!” Reckless spluttered.
“Reckless Driver, you are under arrest.”
“Come on Caution! We’ve known each other all our deaths! Let me go!” 
With a steely determination that was almost frightening to behold, the three newly appointed Spectral Officers brought Reckless down town, as it were. Who would have guessed three ghosts, one of them an ex-librarian, would take so naturally to crime-stopping? 
  With pathetic bravado, Reckless yelled “You can’t keep me here! I can walk through walls! Look! Look!” He tried to demonstrate, but the walls remained adamantly solid. Heart laughed nastily.
“These walls are imbued with soil from a grave. Your grave. It’s the latest scientific development.”
“Please, Heart! Don’t be so heartless.” The prisoner smiled feebly. “I’m not such a bad guy. You know me.”
“That’s the trouble, Reck. We do.” 

The prosecution had no trouble at all in securing Reckless’ continued confinement. The police had no trouble hiring ten more spirits for the force. Other things took more effort. The spirits soon began demanding proper housing in the city. Officer Meredith Cliff and her coworkers had to be moved, much to their delight, to other parts of the force. Festering and Caution had to make peace with each other.   

On a warm August evening, nearly a year later, Caution and Heart were dictating a report to a Not-dead junior officer.
“-damage to property: $342.75.  Caution, I have a question for you.”
“Damage to persons: $634.93. I’m listening.”
“Victim may suffer lasting injuries including permanent damage to left arm.
Your beautiful soul,
Your grace, has made me love you.
Will you marry me?”
“That’s not a very good haiku.”
“I know. I made it up on the spot.”
“Of course I will. I think we’ll be the first spirits ever to marry. How exciting.” 
They looked at each other for a long moment. “Damage to real-estate: $12,546.25”  

Life, and death, continued. It was not a ‘happily ever after’. There were many unpleasant, and unfortunate incidents that heightened the already tense relationship between the living and the dead. But it was much like any other uncomfortable situation: daily existence flowed on, ignoring it until the collided head on. Did ghosts have to pay taxes? What was the solution for crimes spirits committed against each other. Should they be informed of who they were in life? When criminals died, what would become of their ghosts?   In short, people acted as one would expect: as people. Living and dead, they did things that were petty, stupid, cruel, and reckless. They had misunderstandings, arguments, and feuds. Things were different, but not significantly so.

  “He who despairs of the human condition is a coward, but he who has hope for it is a fool”-Albert Camus 

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Chapter One (Hover)

2

July 5, 2010

a. n. : story i started awhile back. enjoy! :) -myth

I leaned against the balcony railing. This was my favorite time of day . . . sunset. It was so magical.
“Princess Valentia! You were not excused!” a shrill voice called. “You still have not finished your embroidery!”
“Curse embroidery!” I called back, not taking my eyes from the glorious sight before me. “This is the 45th century, Emeri – I shouldn’t have to learn embroidery!”
“Regardless of what you think, Princess, that is one of the many things I have been hired to teach you,” the voice replied wearily.
“Well, since my disgusting embroidery – which isn’t fit for human eyes anyway; I know it makes mine burn – isn’t going anywhere, I should be allowed to finish watching this sunset,” I said. “Besides, I’m restricted enough as it is. At least allow me the one freedom of seeing a sunset, Em.”
I heard a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine,” the voice said at last. “I’m going to get fired for this,” it muttered then.
“Oh, Emeri,” I said, rolling my eyes. I must have heard that statement at least a billion times thus far in my life. Still, I quickly turned my full attention back to the sunset.
The glorious golds, oranges, purples and pinks stretched out across the sky like a beautiful painting . . . one so beautiful it took your breath away. I couldn’t tear my gaze from it no matter what I did.
But all too soon it was over, and my short time of freedom was done.
Time to go play princess again.
Oh, joy.

~

“The war that broke out on Xanthe in the 25th century was called . . . ?” There was a pause. “Princess Valentia?”
I was pulled from my thoughts by the voice of Emeri once more. “XWIV,” I replied quickly. ‘XWIV’ stood for ‘Xanthian War 4’. I sighed. “Emeri, I know all about the wars. I could tell you all the information on them backwards – so why do my parents insist on it all being endlessly drummed into my head? I can’t re-learn it . . . I’ve already learned it once. Once is enough. I certainly won’t forget it, so why?”
“I don’t know, Princess,” Emeri said wearily. “Some of the things your parents do simply often don’t make sense.”
I looked at her, shocked. That had to be one of the first time I’d ever heard her say something negative about my parents.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d just done. “L-let’s get on with the lesson,” she stammered.
“Thank you, Emeri,” I said, smiling triumphantly. “Now I know that someone agrees with me. What a refreshing knowledge.”
“Hush, Princess!” Emeri said . . . but I could see a smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

~

I sat down at the long table where my family and I ate dinner every night. Steaming plates of food were brought in, emptied, and refilled so quickly you wondered if you’d imagined it . . . and it was all done by robots. Here on Xanthe we were growing more and more advanced, and I secretly wondered if there would be a day when the robots would somehow grow as smart as humans – or smarter – and overpower us . . . destroy the human race. It was a bone-chilling thought, but sometimes I wondered about the robots as they looked at me . . . what they were thinking as they did so.
“Roast . . . beef?” a robot said slowly, holding the platter toward me.
Shuddering – robots usually made me do that these days (I seemed to be the only one that felt that way) – I took some, finding out right then that I was actually quite hungry. “Er . . . thank you,” I said.
It turned out I was also the only one to ever thank robots, judging by the looks my family gave me.
“So, how were your lessons today?” Mom asked me then. She had a cool, uncaring voice that I despised. I didn’t think I’d ever heard any real emotion in her voice other than anger.
“Fine,” I said, taking a bite of the roast beef and chewing. One thing I had to say about robots was that they could cook.
“Fine? That’s all?” she asked, ceasing to eat for a moment.
“Well, Mom,” I said slowly, looking up at her and trying to shiver as I met her icy blue gaze. “I actually meant to ask you about something that pertains to my lessons.”
“Oh?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, slipping my hands under the table and rubbing my sweaty palms on my pant legs. “Ah . . . well, I was going to ask . . . why exactly do I have to keep learning about Xanthe’s wars and things like that if I already know the information well enough to say it in my sleep? I don’t see what this incessant drumming of it into my head is accomplishing.”
My older brothers, mischievous twins, Veridian and Vermillion, gaped at me. No one ever dared ask our mother a question that cast something she had ordered in a bad light.
Ever.
“Well, Valentia, firstly I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, her eyes practically daggers of anger. “Secondly, you continue to learn these things because it’s good for you. It’s done in case you happen to forget, and it will help you later in life to acquire a better husband. After all, no one wants to marry a stupid princess.”
Thank you, Mom, I thought bitterly. “But, Mom, I’m not going to forget. What will it take for you to believe me? Honestly, I can think of so many better ways I could be spending my time, one of them being getting outside more often – getting some fresh air – or going throughout the city looking for any poor people that might need assistance. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be about as the royal family – helping both the rich and poor of Xanthe?” I said, shocking even myself with my words.
My mother’s eye daggers had changed to flames, and I almost expected them to come shooting across the table at me and roast me to ash unexpectedly. “Valentia Emery Saffron,” she said coldly. “You will learn what you are told to learn because I have told you. There is no highway option. You will only do exactly as I say, and if I say that you are to keep learning about the wars of Xanthe or things similar to that, you will. Do you understand?” Her voice was low and angry.
“Y-yes,” I said weakly. Then, “Excuse me.” I quickly got up and fled the room, tears of indignation already welling up in my eyes.

~

“Valentia?” a voice said behind me.
Whirling around, scared beyond reality, I relaxed only when I saw it was Flint, one of my best friends in the whole world.
“You shouldn’t be in alleys all by yourself you know,” he said protectively. “It’s not safe.”
“I know,” I snapped. “I brought a beamer, okay?” A beamer was a gun that shot out a beam of light that could burn through skin the instant it touched it . . . and I mean burn. It’s like those light saber things in ‘Star Wars’- it’ll cut through just about anything (or, in this case, shoot).
He looked a bit hurt, and guilt flooded me. I knew he was just trying to protect me. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
“My mom . . . that’s what’s wrong,” I said. I looked at the ground, kicking a little stone with my shoe. “She’s just . . . I don’t know. She’s making me do things that just seem totally nonsensical.”
“Oh,” was all he said back.
“I mean, there are just some things it seems like my mom really doesn’t . . . think out,” I said. “Like her law about no kids allowed on the streets after a certain point – I mean, the adults could get into just as much trouble as the kids!”
Flint rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah . . . I can see what you mean, but she’s trying to protect the kids. She’s probably just trying to do the best as ruler that she can. You gotta keep that in mind – and remember that her job is probably really hard.”
“But, Flint, sometimes I just can’t take it anymore. I wish I could go live somewhere where there were no rules other than ‘Don’t kill, don’t steal’ – you know, moral stuff. But other than that, I’d just love total freedom.”
“Tell me about it,” he said softly. “Well, you should get back home, Val. Your mom will probably freak if you, the princess of Xanthe, are actually out past the curfew.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I’ll see you later.”
“See you,” Flint said. “We gonna meet at our usual place tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I said, a small smile coming to my face. “Tell Saph and Axle to come too.”
“Okay,” he said. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I said. Then I was walking past him to head home, my mind swirling with so many different (and confusing) thoughts I felt dizzy.

~

I awoke in the middle of the night to hear BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!! . . . and then all the lights went out (I looked out my window and watched as the city turned pitch black).The noise seemed to shake the whole city, and it did it so violently that I tumbled out of my bed. Shouting in alarm, I leaped to my feet and fled from the room to go find my parents. What was going on!?
“Mom?” I called. “Dad? Rid? Verm?” It was so dark that I hit my toe on something. “Ouch!” I cried, trying not to put too much pressure on it. Then I put my hands on the wall to feel my way along.
Something big suddenly bumped into me. I screamed and leaped back, falling to the ground and hitting my head on something.
“It’s just me!” a deep voice said – a deep voice I recognized to belong to one of my older twin brothers, Vermillion. “Sorry – I was trying to find my way to Mom and Dad’s room too.”
“Well, couldn’t you give me a bit more warning?” I snapped, getting up. My head and toe throbbed simultaneously now.
“Sorry,” Vermillion said. “But I’m freaked out, okay? That big boom you heard that seemed to shake the whole island – because that has to be why you’re up right now – was what followed a huge flash of light . . . and the light hit the top of a building. Then everything went dark.”
“A flash of light?” I said. “What’s going on, Verm?”
“I don’t know. Why else would I get up to find Mom and Dad of my own accord?” he said bitterly.
A small sadness wormed its way into my heart. It was true. We didn’t go seeking out our parents. In fact, we almost didn’t think of them as our parents. They were just the adults we lived with that took care of us. That was it.
“Verm? Val? That’s you, isn’t it?” a voice said behind us.
Another boom sounded and another flash of light lit up the room, enabling me to see not only I but Verm jumped when we heard Veridian’s voice behind us – Veridian being my other older brother (Verm and Rid were twins).
“Sorry,” he said. “But what’s going on?!”
“We don’t know!” Verm and I said in unison.
“Why for the love of all things good and ordinary are the three of you not in bed?” a voice said behind us. Suddenly we realized there was finally a light in the room.
Turning as one, we saw Dad standing there, holding a flashlight of sorts (though way better than one). “Dad,” I said. “What is that?” I looked out the window to discover something falling from the sky . . . it looked like . . . water.
He looked as us for a minute as if he expected us to understand, but after we only stared at him sleepily and blankly he sighed, rubbed his face, and said, “It’s a thunderstorm, kids.”
“What’s a thunderstorm?” I asked.
Verm and Rid had different reactions, however. They, instead of asking what it was, paled and said, “Dad, you’re joking, right?”
“No,” Dad said. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to joke?!”
“But . . . but, Dad – these things, whatever they are, were said to cause huge damage to Xanthe in the past years!” Verm cried. “How can you be so calm right now?”
“Because he’s already accepted that we’re done for, Verm,” Rid said.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Verm spat.
“We’re not done for, Veridian,” Dad said in a strained tone. “But yes, though these things are dangerous – ”
“Oh, great!” Verm shouted. “And seeing as our city that supposedly hovers over the earth is hovering in the sky probably right in the middle of the storm – and if our hovering mechanism gets damaged, we’ll fall to this earth we’re over – then everything should be just hunky dory!”
“Will you be quiet?!” Rid shouted. “He’s trying to explain!”
“Excuse me!” I shouted then. “Can someone please tell me what is going on?!”
Everyone stopped arguing and looked at me. I sighed. “I have no idea what any of you are talking about, probably because I’m the youngest. Whatever. So will you please tell me WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!”
Dad sighed again. “Valentia,” he began slowly, as if I was stupid, “what is happening right now is called a thunderstorm.”

“I gathered that much,” I said sarcastically, so angry I wanted to break something . . . though I did feel a pang of guilt at my disrespectful tone. Though my parents weren’t the best parents in the world, I still felt it was my duty to be respectful.
He stared at me. “They’re called thunderstorms,” he went as if I hadn’t interrupted. “And, if you were on the land, which is below us, instead of in the sky, right now you would see big, black clouds in the sky, hear big, loud booms and see long flashes of lightning – it’s a kind of electricity. There would be rain, water that comes from the clouds, falling on you . . . and you would be experiencing a thunderstorm from the safety of your home or your basement – an . . . underground room, of sorts. The problem is, we’re not on or in the ground. We’re just a tiny city floating in the middle of a storm.”
“See? I told you!” Verm shouted. “We’re floating in the middle of it and we’re done for!”
“Yes, but he was trying to explain something when you wouldn’t shut up!” Rid shouted back.
“GUYS!” I shouted, silencing them again. I turned back to Dad. “So this . . . lightning . . . this electricity. It can hit stuff, right?”
“Right,” Dad said.
“And what happens when it hits things?” I asked.
“It can set things on fire, electrocute you just like sticking your fingers in a socket would . . . it does bad things,” he said.
“But if these . . . thunderstorms . . . are fairly common things, why don’t we know what they are?” I asked.
“Because there hasn’t been one for nearly thirty years now. They used to come very frequently, and then, though I’m not sure why, thirty years ago, they just . . . stopped,” he replied wearily.
“Just . . . stopped. Just like that,” I said. It was more of a statement than a question.
“That’s right,” Dad said. He sounded like he was talking to a businessman or something.
“Well, how did Xanthe surive them all those years ago?” Verm asked, finally having calmed down.
“I’m not sure,” Dad said. “The shields they had back then are nothing like the ones we have today. But anyway, Xanthe should be fine. It’s experienced many of these before, and our techs are more advanced now, so everything’s just a-okay. So go back to bed. The electricity should be back by tomorrow.” And with that he turned around, still carrying his flashlight, and went back to bed.
I gaped. He had left, just like that.
Not to mention he took the only light with him and left us to find our way back to our rooms in the dark.
I looked in the direction I remembered Verm and Rid being in before the light left. “Guys, I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I can get back to sleep in this.” I looked out the window at the pouring . . . rain, was it? . . . and suddenly thought of Flint. I hoped he was all right.
“We’re freaked out too,” Verm said, speaking for Rid. “Who’s up for sitting in the lounge for a bit? I’m pretty sure there are some flashlights in there, and we could . . . I don’t know . . . play a game or something.”
It might seem strange that we would just play a game in the middle of the night, but that was what we did.
And I’ve got to tell you, finding our way to the lounge in the dark, getting a flashlight and a game and then playing the game with my big bros was actually really nice . . .
Because just the three of us made a nicer family than the one that included Mom and Dad, sad as it was to admit that.

Categories: Futuristic Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

Chapter One: I, Alim Kadin (The Journey With No End – Myth)

3

July 5, 2010

Author’s note: Some of y’all might remember this story, but anyway, I went and copied/pasted all the old posts into a doc (just in case I wanna use something from them) and then deleted them off WE, coz I pretty much started this story  again, changing stuff and adding new stuff :) Hopefully I’ll do better this time around ;) Enjoy! -Myth

Imagine that you were the child of a powerful sultan. As you are imagining this, imagine that there is a rival country who threatens to take over unless your father gives you up as a peace treaty – a payment. Then, imagine that your father agrees, sending you, his fifteen-year-old child, his flesh and blood, to a certain death just because he fears for his own skin.  Imagine how you would feel…what you would do. Then you will know how much turmoil I, Alim Kadin, feel at this moment. You will know why I must run away – far away.
It happened like this.
My father, at the young age of nineteen, and the son of a sultan (a prince – like I now was), had met a beautiful princess from another land. They had fallen in love, and had soon after been married. Ironically, there was a freedom of choice pertaining to whom you married as the sultan or his son. Now you were told who you would marry.
My father’s father, Samir the Great, had died – making my father the new sultan of the land, and his wife the queen. This queen, Talia – my mother – had conceived, and bore my father a son – me. But she had died giving birth to me, leaving my father grief-stricken (once, he had been human and actually loved someone) and a widower with a small baby to raise.
He had gotten me a nursemaid, and she had been my mother throughout the long, cold years. My father had all but abandoned me. Yes, he lived in the same palace as I, but other than that, he was inhuman to me, barely acknowledging my existence.
As I had gotten older, my life had been hard and restricted. I was forced to study much and play little. Therefore, I was now one of the most knowledgeable princes of the land – and also the prince most sick of being a prince. I hated every waking moment of it.
The country of Saria, my homeland, had many enemies and rivals. The country of Gara had by far been our biggest one, and strongest. They had threatened (when I was four years of age) to take over Saria. We would be destroyed, and those who survived would be their slaves.
They said unless my father gave me to them to kill when I turned fifteen (they didn’t want any heirs to the throne) or killed me himself, they would attack in the next three days. My father had quickly agreed. After all, I was only his son.
His son.
This word meant nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, I could have been dead already and he wouldn’t have noticed the slightest change in life.
I thought back to when I had turned eight. My father had sat me down and had a talk with me, going on in his, lifeless, cold voice.
“Alim, come here, boy,” he had called one day as I ran past, playing an imaginary game where I was an immortal boy who fought thousands of strong men and lived.
I turned to him and walked over.
“Yes, Father?” It seems ridiculous to me now that I even called him ‘Father’. He certainly wasn’t like one to me; he was so emotionless he was very similar to a dead man walking. Or at least a man who cared only for himself – who lived in his own little world that only he inhabited.
“Come with me,” he ordered calmly, walking into the library.
I obeyed wordlessly, wondering if I had done something wrong and was about to get in trouble. I reviewed the events of my day. I had gotten up, gotten dressed…I’d had breakfast – could I be getting in trouble for stealing a little bit of goat’s cheese from the kitchen a short time after breakfast? Had someone seen me?
I soon realized that it was not to discuss cheese that I had been called by my father. There was something much more pressing then the matter of a piece of food.
“Close the door,” my father said, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling over to the window. He stared absentmindedly out of it.
I obeyed yet again, still curious. Why on earth would he want to talk to me? He never did . . .
After what seemed an eternity of waiting for him to speak, and standing silently in front of the now closed door, he spoke. I had waited so long for him to do so that when I heard him I jumped, startled.
“Alim, you know of the country of Gara,” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. I was itching to go back out and play in the warm sun . . . climb trees . . . dig my toes into the squelchy mud caused by last night’s rain . . .
“Then you also know of its vast size and strength,” my father said.
“Yes, sir,” I replied yet again. Was this some sort of history lesson?
“When you were four, boy, they threatened to take over Saria and destroy us…unless we did something,” my father said with no emotion in his voice. I remained silent. “They said they would attack us—crush us—unless I promised to…” he hesitated here, as if unsure of how to word it for an eight-year-old, “to make you go…live…with them,” he finally got out.
“Live with them? Why?” I burst out. I didn’t want to go and live in Gara! What a foolish little boy I had been then.
“Because they don’t want you to become king when I am gone. They want to rule then. Your half cousin, Motaz, will come to the throne. He is half Garan, and will rule on their behalf,” my father said. My half cousin, Motaz, had been born from a Garan woman and my Sarian uncle (my father’s younger brother) – making him half of each. This greatly annoyed and delighted Gara – the country saw it as an opportunity to rule one day. After all, he did have Garan blood in him…
Motaz was cruel and merciless. His friends were the same. They leaped at the tiniest chances to bully me. Many times my best friend or nursemaid had had to rescue me. I despised my half cousin, and couldn’t see how anyone could possibly want him on the throne.
“Well, why can’t I stay and he just rule anyway?” I asked innocently.
“Because…because for them it just wouldn’t be the same. They don’t want you to live here. It will just – just be better this way,” my father said, coming back to sit behind a large desk.
“B-but Father! I don’t want to leave! Please don’t make me!” I cried.
“Enough!” he growled. “You will do as I say. When you will turn fifteen, you will leave. That is the end of it.” He then proceeded to open a book, and begin writing something in it with some ink and a quill pen, an indifferent expression on his face.
I had run out of the library, sobbing. How could my father be so incredibly heartless?
Ha.
How? What a good question. I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer to it – what makes my father so heartless.
Yes, indeed, what?

Categories: Fantasy Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

Greetings From the New Person

14

July 4, 2010

Hello. I am, for all intents and purposes, Hades. I am new to WE, as you probably can tell. In fact, I am unfamiliar with blogs in general, so I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing or if you guys can even read this. I should ask first and try latter, but, what the heck. A bit about me: I write poetry primarily, but also short stories. I’m working on a long-ishstory as well, but it is currently at a dead standstill. Okay…um…I guess that’s about all that’s important about me because the only other things I do are read, make pottery and draw. I am obsessed with mythology, particularly Greek.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Remember me?

1

June 30, 2010

Did you know the last thing I posted was on 3/29/10?

*

I missed you all! :( And I’m very sorry. I got on today and cleaned out my posts, too. No, I didn’t delete all of them, but I went to the tab labeled “my posts” and began sorting through it. In the end, I got a list of my posts that was seven pages long down to five pages by deleting some junk. So, now I have one [edited] post of Sky City up, two of Grayheart, two or three of Marian of the Hood, a few of The Nightmare and thirteen of DAMRVER: Desali. Not to mention a million and two poems I have up here….

+

So when I saw that I lasted posted something (a poem) on 3/29/10, I freaked out and went to post something – anything – but then drew a blank. I mean, seriously. I have a million stories and I draw on a blank? And all the stories above that I listed? Their chapters are half done, and I haven’t touched them in ages since mid school year. I kid you not.

*

Yes, I feel guilty. Yes, my characters are massing in my head, screaming murder now that school’s prim and proper voice has shut up because summer is finally here. And, yes, my brain is on strike (complete with picket lines). So, you see the problem?

*

Ok. Should I do more poetry with a chapter of a random story from time to time, delete all stories I have on here and start from scratch a new story no one’s read (and stick to that one story), or should I delete all stories I have on here and pick one story from above (that you help me pick) to start reposting?

*

Help? I missssssed you all!!!!! I’m not sure if I can ever catch up with all the posts that have been posted since I disappeared, so do you have any story in particular you want me to read?

*

ciao,

Emia

:)

Categories: Nonfiction.

Tags: ,

Stubborn (by Jules) (a silly one, for once) (well, more light-hearted than the others)

2

June 21, 2010

They say there’s always more fish in the sea
But I don’t want any of them
I don’t want a fish
I don’t like fish
I like cats
And I want that one.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

You Can Go (by Jules)

0

June 21, 2010

I can pretend
I can fool others
I can lie through my teeth
But I cannot fool myself
I can talk
I can tell them
I can make sure they know
But what they know isn’t the truth
You can stare
You can walk off
You can go wherever you want
But you will never be replaced
You can go
You can leave
You can check others out
But you will never stop making me wish
I can hope
I can pray
I can wish all I want
But I can’t count on them all to come true
You can take girls’ numbers
I can watch from afar
You can move on in life
But I cannot replace you.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

The Soft, Pink Petals of a Rose (by Jules)

0

June 21, 2010

The sunlight wrapped gently
Around the soft, pink petals
Curled the leaves upward
And therein the warmth settled
The warmth caressed the velvet
Made it shine in the light
Stayed all day
But left for the night

The next morning’s the same
Around six, it came back
Curled the smiles onto faces
And made the darkness contract
The soft, pink velvet petals
Made an A plus seem less than satisfactory
Stayed bothering me
But reminded me of glory

The times your arms were
Around me and mine were around you
Curled the smile onto my face
And helped me come through
The times you were there
Made me feel perfect, only yours
Stayed with me all this time
But you’ve walked out the door.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

It’s Taking Up My Life (by Jules)

0

June 19, 2010

Wake up.

Brush teeth.

Take a dump.

Get dressed.

Brush hair.

Ask Mom for a ride to the bus cause you’re late.

Forget breakfast.

Pack lunch.

Leave.

Get to school.

Go to class.

Remember there was homework.

Tell the teacher you don’t have it.

Repeat for next class.

Receive bad grade.

Go to next class.

Hand in homework.

Talk to seat partner.

Wish he still loved you.

Take notes.

Space out.

Miss something important.

Go to next class.

Take out violin.

Play.

Wonder how many times that kid has been kicked out of orchestra.

Be annoyed at how bad the orchestra is.

Realize you have a math test.

Go to next class.

Take test.

Sure you failed.

Go to lunch.

Do homework during lunch.

Go to next class.

Go to next class.

Get progress reports.

Receive more bad grades.

Feel awful.

Go home.

Feel awful.

Leave grades on the table.

Feel awful.

Wish he still loved you.

Go to your room.

Feel awful.

Lie on bed.

Wish he still loved you.

Torment self about bad grades.

Feel awful.

Wonder when to start homework.

Go downstairs.

Play piano.

Play violin.

Log onto Facebook.

Listen to music.

Hear a song that reminds you of him.

Cry.

Wish he still loved you.

Feel awful.

Play piano.

Do homework.

Go to room.

Feel awful.

Do homework.

Read.

Get sidetracked.

Read.

Feel awful.

Torment self about grades.

Feel awful.

Feel awful.

Feel awful…

It’s the same every day.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 8: Through the Woods

11

June 17, 2010

Mark followed the small dirt road until he came to a fork in it. It had recently rained, as it always seemed to, so the road was mostly mud, which benefited him. He looked, and found some wagon tracks leading to the left lane. He quickly turned to follow it. He tracked the wagon in this way for many more hours, but finally it became too dark to see much. He climbed a tree and woke early the next morning, wanting to gain some extra time. He was sure that they had stopped earlier for the night, and would start later than him. This would enable him to catch up much faster, he hoped. He had been tracking for three days when he discovered several fallen trees. Mark concluded that there must have been a storm over the previous night or two, and kept walking. Soon, he came to a sharp turn in the road, with tracks that indicated that the wagon had had a hard time negotiating the turn and lost control. In fact, he could see the crashed wagon further ahead in the woods. But before rushing up to it, he stopped to investigate the tracks more. He soon found footprints that showed someone had jumped from the wagon before it crashed and had run away. He looked closer and realized that the prints must belong to a woman, for they were smaller and lighter. He knew instantly they belonged to Grace.

 *      *      *

 

  Grace collapsed at the base of a tree trunk. She was so tired. When she had seen the bend in the road during the storm, Grace knew it was her chance to escape. She had quickly grabbed a dagger from the supplies that the soldiers all thought she knew nothing about – they were so bad at keeping secrets; they assumed that she wouldn’t dare to listen to their conversations even when they stood right by her. After Grace had grabbed the dagger, she jumped from the wagon, stealing the driver’s attention so that he promptly crashed the wagon – and everyone on it. Then she had run as fast as she could while they picked themselves out of the rubble. She was sure now that she had put more than a safe distance between her and the guards, but even if she hadn’t, she was too tired to go any farther.

To her dismay, she soon saw the figure of a man coming towards her from the direction of the crash. She wanted to cry. She had run nonstop for at least an hour, and they had still managed to catch up to her. She didn’t have enough energy to try to climb the tree, like her brother, Mark, would have done, plus that would only draw attention to herself. She finally decided it was best to stay as still as possible and pray that the man would pass by unknowingly. The man seemed very intrigued with something on the ground, and kept his head down as he walked to look at what-ever-it-was.

Oh, no! Grace realized. He’s following my footprints!

And indeed he was.

Can this day get any worse? 

And then the man turned towards her.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 7: Success

12

June 16, 2010

 

Dark clouds filled the sky as Mark fled quietly from the castle. Every moment he wanted to run at full speed, but he tensed every muscle in his body to stay under control – he could not afford to be caught. As he drew nearer, he began to feel more and more hopeful. Finally, when he was only about twenty yards away from the edge of the woods, he could take it no longer. He ran with all his might, and from behind him he could hear guards giving shouts of alarm.

They won’t be able to figure it out, he thought. Not in time to stop me, at least.

Nevertheless, he soon heard galloping far behind him. He strained his muscles even harder and looked back. He saw a small band of horses and their riders gaining on him. Only five more yards. He struggled to keep up his pace, but, as we all know, it is always harder to do anything and everything under pressure. He stumbled into the woods, just a few yards ahead of the group. He quickly scaled a tree, and began to climb from branch to branch, from tree to tree, something he had become quite good at when he was Alexander’s age. When he was far enough away, he looked back to see the soldiers’ confused and worried faces. Obviously, they’d be in huge trouble with Kzereck if they came back empty-handed, regardless of whether or not they knew it was he who had escaped. Mark smirked, serves them right. He quickly located the road on which Grace must have been taken and set off quickly to find his sister.

*      *     *

Michal watched as Mark quietly fled from the castle. It was slow going, but the slower he went, the less likely it was he’d be noticed. She could tell he desperately wanted to break out running as fast as possible, but she hoped he would not give in. Mark was so close, he could just make it if only he remained under control.

“Oh, no!” Michal whispered, as Mark broke into a run. She prayed he would not be noticed. “No, no, no!”

Michal heard shouts of alarm from the turrets. She prayed it was not him they were alarmed at. Michal watched as a band of guards on horseback left the gates and began to persue Mark. She prayed he could get away safely.

Michal watched in distress as the guards gained on her brother. Mark noticed too, she could see him trying to pick up the pace. They were only five (Ha! I spelled it out, happy now? ;D) yards behind him as he entered the woods.

Yes, Michal thought, odds are he’ll make it in the woods, he practically lived in them back home. But he hasn’t been in them for such a long time, what if he falls?

She watched as Mark sung himself up into a tree and climbed to the top. He had not lost his skill. He had done that in less than ten (Ha, again!) seconds. Now Michal saw the soldiers entering the woods, giving shouts of alarm and confusion. Then they seemed to spot something, and went farther into the woods.

Oh, no! He’s caught, that’s the end of it. Grace is lost to us forever, and Lex and I won’t get to see Mark much either, he’ll be kept under close watch.

Finally, the guards reappeared after about thirty minutes, looking forlorn. They had no captive with them.

“Yes!” Michal whispered. “Sweet success.”

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 6: The Escape

2

June 13, 2010

 

Everything was settled. Lex would start sleeping now, so that he would not get punished when it was discovered that his brother had escaped. Michal was to go to her room, and on the way she would stop to talk to the guard. After about ten minutes, she would convince the guard that Mark had gone to his room while they were talking. That way no one would notice for a while, thinking he was sulking because of what had happened to Grace. Then she would enter her room and tie blankets together. She would then sling them over to Alexander’s window, where Mark would catch them and climb to her room. Once there, he could better shimmy straight down the makeshift rope to the ground outside the wall. From there, he would run across a vast stretch of open field to where the woods started, about one hundred yards away. That would be the hard part. If he made it that far unnoticed, he would hike through on the edge of the woods, following the path his sister had taken. If he was noticed, he would run as fast as possible, ceasing to be quiet and careful. If caught, he would say that he was leaning out the window, to see if he could spot Grace again, and fell out. If questioned why he ran, he would say that he had panicked and wasn’t himself when he ran. If they were lucky, none of them would get in trouble. Fingers crossed.

“Here we go.” said Michal.

“Good luck.” said Mark.

“Same to you. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s go.” She entered the hallway. “Hello, guards.” She smiled sweetly.

“Hello?”

Michal talked to the guard, and although they didn’t seem at all interested, they acted like they weren’t paying attention to anything else. Luckily, she didn’t have to answer any tough questions, like why she was talking to them. Again, they weren’t at all interested, and just kept staring into space while she spoke. “All for the better,” she thought, “it’ll be easier to convince them that Mark went to his room if they aren’t paying attention.” Finally, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. A small banging noise came from within Alexander’s room, the signal.

“Oh, I do hope Mark’s alright, he already went to his room.” she said, faking innocence.

“He did?” asked one guard suspiciously, “I didn’t see him.”

“He came out of Alexander’s room when you were looking that way,” she gestured to the other end of the hall.

“But I didn’t hear him either,” another objected.

“Oh, but didn’t you hear that little banging noise?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the sound the other doors make.” said the first.

“Is this your first time guarding?” she asked critically. “Everyone knows his door is hard to close and open, and that force must be used on it!”

“But – ”

“You’ll obviously have to take my word for it, he might not be himself, because of what happened with Grace. He might attack you if you barge into his room.”

Now the guards were being more reasonable, apparently the guards had a healthy fear of Mark. Michal decided she’d remind herself to tell Mark so that he could use their fear to his advantage.

“Very well, but go to your room now.” a third ordered.

“Oh, alright.” she faked disappointment and trudged to her room. Once there, she wasted no time in tying the blankets together and slinging them to her brother. Once he had swung over to her window, she hurriedly told him about her discovery.

“Really?” he sounded pleased. “I’ll have to remember that, it might work to our advantage later.”

“Just what I was thinking.” she replied. “Now you must go, before Grace and her guards get too far away to track. Good luck, and tell Grace that Alexander and I send our love.”

“Will do, and don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. Good bye, I’ll miss you and Lex.”

“Good bye, and good luck again, we’ll miss you both.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let Grace be taken from us.” he promised.

After they had finished exchanging goodbyes, Michal held the rope as Mark shimmied down it and landed safely. He quickly untied the two extra blankets they had added, one for him and one for Grace, slung them over his shoulder, and proceeded to quietly slip away towards the woods.

Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 5: Taken

2

June 13, 2010

 

Mark watched helplessly from Alexander’s room as Grace was taken through the courtyard and through the gates. When she had been taken from the general’s room, they had been led, quite forcibly, to their rooms, where Michal pleaded with the guard, who was a softy, to let them sit together in Alexander’s room. He had concented, and now they all watched from the window, feeling helpless. As they watched their sister being taken from them, they began to remember themselves being taken to the Dark Castle for the first time, and the rest of their family.

                “Do you know what happened to our parents?” asked Mark.

“They were still at home when I was captured, but I don’t know if they’re there now.” said Michal.

“Would they be here if the Serenians got them?” asked Alexander.

“I think Kzereck would have them taken to a different place than us.” Michal reasoned.

“Or kill them.” Mark said grimly.

After a long pause, Michal said “What do you think ever happened to our other brother?”

                “I thought he disappeared before I was born.” Alexander put in.

                “Yes, he did. But now that you mention it, I wonder if the Serenians were involved too.” said Mark.

                “That’s what I was thinking,” began Michal, “but if so, wouldn’t he be here with us now?”

                “Unless they have him somewhere else like they’re doing to Grace.” sniffled Alexander.

                “We’ve got to do something.” determined Mark.

                “About our brother?” Michal asked, “Why, we wouldn’t know where to begin! We don’t know where he is, or if he’s even alive!”

                “No, about Grace.”

                “About Grace!” exclaimed Alexander.

                “What do you mean?” questioned Michal.

                “We can’t be separated,” began Mark. “we can’t leave Grace to survive among Serenians by herself!”

                “What can we do?” asked Alexander.

                “If I escape,” began Mark, “I can save her.”

                “But how will you get out? And where will she go once you have accomplished this? If you bring Grace back, Kzereck will just send her away again, and then put you under lock and key.” said Michal.

                “I don’t know. But I can’t just leave her there.”

                “Alright,” began Michal, “ then we’ll help.”

 *

 

                Cole silently followed his Aunt through the forest. Obviously, she wasn’t worried, he could hear her crashing through the forest ahead of him. But as they drew closer, he could hear her less and less. Evidentially, she didn’t want to be stopped before she could reach her daughter. Finally, he heard nothing more. Either she had halted completely or had become just as silent as Cole. Unfortunately, Cole thought the second, and kept walking. After a few minutes, he nearly toppled over a small hill concealed by undergrowth. Only it wasn’t a hill; it was his Aunt.

                “Uhh. . . Hi, Aunt Emma.”

                “Cole!” she whispered sharply. “I told you to stay with the little ones!”

                “I’m sorry, Aunt Emma. I was worried about Alexia, and they were sleeping, and you didn’t bring a weapon, so I figured I should come and help.”

                “You should do as you’re told.”

                “I’m sorry, and I will from now on.”

                “Alright, Cole. We’ll discuss this more later. Since you’re here you might as well stay.”

                “Thank you, Aunt Emma!” Cole exclaimed.

                “Alright, alright,” she smiled. “So, did you bring any weapons?”

                “I brought Alexia’s bow and arrows, she’s been teaching me.”

                “A girl teaching a boy!” she exclaimed, “how imp – ”

                “I know, Aunt Emma, I know. Can I explain it later, though please? We did have a good reason. But why are you sitting here?”

                She only pointed. They had been whispering the whole time, and Cole had just noticed then. He quietly turned to look and saw the reason.

                Down below them was a clear view of the west side of town. What he could see was more or less deserted, but not 10 yards from where they were seated, he could see a large concentration of  Serenians gathered around something. He looked closer and found that they were gathered around a Figure, a person, who was shooting arrows at them. Evidentially, they were trying to fight back, but the Figure was holding up extremely well, but it was obvious that wouldn’t last. The Figure was getting tired, and couldn’t hold up much longer. He looked even closer, and found that the Figure was his own Alexandria.

                “Oh, no.” Cole realized. Out loud, he said, “Aunt Emma, uh, that’s Alexandria.”

                “Oh, no, Alexandria!” now Aunt Emma realized the truth, too.

Alexandria would be taken away from them.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 4: Seperated

4

June 13, 2010

They continued to follow the guards towards the center of the castle, becoming gloomier and gloomier by the minute. Finally, they approached the chamber where the general awaited them. Lex reached for Michal’s hand, and all four of them drew closer together. When they walked in, they found the general standing across from them on the other side of the chamber.

                “Welcome.”

                “Yeah, that’s completely how we feel right now.” Mark muttered, only to have his foot stepped on by Michal, who didn’t necessarily disagree with him, but she was terrified of what the general would do if he overheard. “What do you want?” he asked, this time audible by the general, which only earned him another good stamp, this time on his other foot, by Grace.

                “Funny you would ask,”

                “What part of it is funny?” he mumbled, and then got elbowed by Lex. “I thought Kzereck was the bad guy, since he’s in charge of the Serenian army, not you guys!” he whispered to them.

                “Well, I thought Kzereck was the stupid one too, but I see differently now.” Grace retorted.

                In order to prevent an all-out argument from emerging in the chamber, Michal quickly asked, “Why do you say that?” as innocently as she could.

                “Well, you see, there’s been a little . . . room shortage,” he grinned evilly, “so we need to have a few people . . .leave.”

                “Good, we’ll be happy to leave, don’t bother to write.” Mark said, not noticing the evil grin.

                He began to leave, only to have his way blocked by a couple of guards.

                “Not quite.” Kzereck sneered.

                “O.k., fine you can write!” Mark said, trying to keep his cool, focusing on making jokes so that he wouldn’t start thinking about what Kzereck really had in mind.

                “We’ve decided that . . .”

                “By ‘we,’ you mean you, correct?” Grace guessed.

                “Yes, yes, anyway, I’ve decided, if you want to be particular, I’ve decided that we’ll send two of you away, and keep the other two of you here, under closer guard, just to discourage any plans.”

                Michal glared at the boys, he had mentioned plans, after all. Then she turned to Kzereck. You can’t do that,” she said, trying to deter his plan, “why would you even want to? You’ve nothing to gain.”

                “Simple,” said the general, “because I can, I don’t like you,” he said glancing at Mark, with whom the feeling was mutual, “and you,” he once again referred to Mark, “can’t do anything about it.” Kzereck explained with an evil grin.

                At that, Mark wanted to lunge at him. Kzereck knew exactly how to push his buttons. But he didn’t have a weapon, was outnumbered, and was at the disadvantage. Instead he clenched his fists and focused on what he’d like to do to Kzereck. But, as Kzereck continued, he found his self-control lacking, and finally did lunge. He was quickly restrained by a few of the guards standing by.

                “Okay, well we can certainly see who’s staying here.” Kzereck taunted.

                Mark tried to escape the grasp of the men, only to receive a swift punch on the ribs. Grace at once ran up, enraged, and slapped one of the guards in the face, to no avail. Then she quickly proceeded to get on to Kzereck.

                “You are just a big bully! Face it, you are afraid of him! If you weren’t, you’d be taking care of him yourself, not threatening or using stupid guards! You are a disgrace, and a big, fat baby! And I do mean fat, but not as in describing who you are, which is a baby, and both are true,” she proceeded to spit on him, “And another thing, . . .” she went on.

                Finally, Kzereck got fed up with her.

“GUARDS!!!!”

“See, look, the baby’s crying,” she taunted, “Guards, help the baby, I think he’s upset!” she continued, somehow becoming extremely brave.

The guards quickly came and stood next to Grace.

“Well, then we certainly can’t keep two trouble-makers together, now can we?” Kzereck asked as he struggled to regain his composure, “but I do believe that you, Miss, will need twice as many guards as one person, so on second thought, let’s send you away, and keep the other three, doesn’t that sound splendid?” Let’s just say Kzereck knew exactly how to get back at people, and he didn’t forgive readily either.

At this, Mark instantly elbowed his guards in the gut, planning to lunge at Kzereck again, this time not even considering the fact that he had no weapon. However, at the last second, he managed to remember and jerked the sword out of one of the soldier’s sheath.

As Mark charged Kzereck, 20 more guards seemed to appear out of nowhere. At Kzereck’s command, which came out sounding more or less like a wail, they practically dog-piled Mark. As he struggled to his feet, still held by the guards, Kzereck let out the most evil laugh even the guards had ever heard.

Alexander had been standing off to the side this whole time, timidly holding Michal’s hand. Now, he ran at Kzereck, however he wasn’t dog-piled. After all, he was only a kid. But, he was like a kid on a mission, he ran up to Kzereck, semi-fearless, and stomped on his toes, all while yelling, “Leave my brother alone!” Even Michal had trouble not laughing. All he received was a swift slap in the face, via Kzereck. Though at this, Michal ceased giggling. He reeled back, red in the face and bleeding from Kzereck’s ring. Michal rushed to him and helped him up from the ground, while Grace was dragged away and Mark held down.

Ohh, what are we going to do? she wondered.

 *

 

Cole followed Nathan amidst the chaos. He was glad to have Nathan, he was sure that he would have panicked otherwise. As Nathan led him onward, he looked back to where they had left Alexandria only moments before. He could just barely make out her form through the haze, as she began to shoot arrows at the invading Sereians. Now, as they fled through the streets of Refagade, he found himself scared out of his skin. He could not take his mind off of Alexandria’s position. He was sure she wouldn’t make it out saftely, maybe she wouldn’t come out at all.

Maybe she’ll be taken by the Sereians. Maybe she’ll be able to hide. Maybe she’d be injured and unable to find her way home. Maybe she’ll be killed and we won’t even know it. Maybe . . .

He worried all the way through the town, through the forest, and up the walk to the house, where Nathan left him to go help out at the battle scene. He knew he’d have to find Aunt Emma and tell her about the situation in town and he and Alexandria’s separation. But he didn’t want to. He knew it would worry her. And Aunt Emma didn’t even know Alexandria had been practicing. She thought it wasn’t proper. She’d be worried. Definitely. But he had to. He knew he had to.

“Aunt Emma!” he called. “Aunt Emma, where are you?”

He found her around the back of their home trying to keep an eye on the girls, who were evidently enjoying playing house with their little brother, while mending some clothes. The girls were shrieking with delight, but Andrew did not seem so thrilled – he had fallen asleep. As Cole approached, the girls decided to follow Andrew’s lead and announced it was night-time. As the girls settled down in the moss, Cole came into view.

                “Hello, Cole,” Aunt Emma greeted him. “Where’s Alexandria?”

“Well,” Cole began. “There was a problem in town. . .”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Well,” he began again. “These boys in town we were talking to said that there were Sereians nearby, and while we were listening a band of Sereians barged into town and then we were running with the boys and one of them, Nathan, came to take me home and he uhhh. . .” he broke off.

“He did what? Where’s Alexandria?” Aunt Emma was becoming more and more worried, but she managed to stay quiet so that she would not scare the girls, who actually had fallen asleep next to their brother.

“He handed Alexandria a . . . a . . . a bow and a quiver of arrows.”

“Arrows! She cant shoot arrows!” Aunt Emma exclaimed.

“Uh, she can, actually.”

“What!”

“She’s been practicing lately, she’s pretty good, actually.”

“But she’s a lady, its not proper! She should know I don’t approve – ”

“I know, Aunt Emma, but now she’s fighting the Serenians, and they’re raiding the town, so can you get on to her another time, like when she’s here!”

“I suppose you’re right, Cole, I’m going to go and get her.”

                “Aunt Emma!” Cole exclaimed.

                “I must, don’t worry. You stay here with the girls and Andrew.”

                “But Aunt Emma – ”

                “No buts, dear.”

                “But – ”

                “Cole,”

                “I know, I know, no buts. Aunt Emma, you don’t have a weapon or anything. If I run really fast, I can catch up to Nathan and he can bring Alexia home.” Cole pleaded, all the time struggling to not say “but.”

                “Cole, there’s no way you could run that fast, he’s been gone for over half an hour! Just stay here, and I’ll be back with Alexia sometime soon.”

                With that, his Aunt turned and headed for town, leaving Cole feeling helpless. Once she had gone, he turned and looked at his three sleeping cousins. After a few moments, he decided that they wouldn’t wake up for another hour or so, and headed off after his Aunt.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

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Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 3: The Dark Castle

4

June 13, 2010

 

It was a dark and dim day, as usual, at the castle. Mark sat in his small, also dark, room, listening to guards walking up and down the hall. He figured that it was almost noon. Good, I’ll get to see Lex, Grace, and Michal.

                About 10 minutes later, one of the guards came and announced noon-time. He quickly found his 9-year-old little brother, Alexander, and called out to him.

                “Lex!”

                “Hey, Mark!” Lex responded, resting at his usual spot on the grounds. Mark quickly joined him.

                “Any news?”

                “Nothing has changed since we got here at the start of the war, Mark, that’s what I tell you every time you ask.”

                “I know, it’s just the more I ask, the more likely it is I’ll get a desired answer.” He smiled.

                They had been there, in the Dark Castle, since the start of the war. Lex had been trapped here with them since he was very small, he didn’t even remember their old home, which Mark regretted, Lex had loved it there. They were being held captive by the Serenians, along with their sisters. There seemed to be no way out, but Mark kept telling himself there had to be. Still, he had had no luck so far, and was beginning to lose hope.

                Just then, as the boys were talking, the two girls emerged from inside the castle. One called out, and they both ran over to the boys.

                “Hi, guys.” Michal greeted, “What are you talking about?”

                “How much we want to leave.” Mark explained.

                Michal gave him a look, obviously disapproving him talking about his desire to escape so near the guards.

                “I said we were talking about how much we don’t like it here, not escape plans! I’ve been away from home for 7 years!”

                “5 months of which were your fault.” Grace reminded him.

                “Excuse me, I just ran away, in fact, I was on my way back!”

                “So you say.” Grace teased, knowing his soft spot.

                “Hey! You’re the one wh – ” he was interrupted by Michal trying to break it up before it came to yelling.

                “Guys, hello? We’re prisoners you know, it’s not the best time to fight amongst ourselves!” Michal pleaded with her siblings.

                “Alright, alright, just tell that to her.” Mark conceded. 

                “Me! He’s the one wh – ”

                “You’re doing it again!”

                “Alright, but still, it is at least partly his fault.”

                “We didn’t run away and they still kidnapped us, they would have gotten him eventually anyway. Nothing can be solved by arguing. Even if it is Mark’s fault, we can’t solve anything by proving that.” She made it clear she didn’t approve of them fighting – which was odd, since Mark was the eldest, at 16, and Grace the second, at 15. Michal was 14, and Lex came in last at 9. “Fighting obviously isn’t helping.”

                Just then, one of the guards came and told them that Kzereck, the general in charge of the castle, wanted them.

                “What does he want?” Lex complained, “Nothing good can come of it.”

                “It’s probably because of your escape plans.” Michal blamed the boys.

                “We were only complaining!” the boys objected in unison.

                They continued to argue good-naturedly until they reached the large doors of the castle. Then, they simply were led as their spirits plummeted, down the dim corridors of the Dark Castle.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

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Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 2: The Raid

4

June 13, 2010

 

They set off on horses to get the supplies, it was only a short ride, and they made good time. When they got there, they saw a large crowd in the square. Cole immediately wanted to see, but since they were on an errand Alexandria insisted that they get the supplies first. Due to Cole’s eagerness, they finished in record time, and he proceeded to persuade her.

                “Now can we go?” he asked.

                “Well . . .” she joked.

                “Please, Alexia!” Cole all but begged.

                “I’m just kidding, Cole, of course we can go now – but at the first sign of trouble, we leave.” She insisted.

                “Okay, fair enough.” Cole agreed, but was secretly disappointed.

                When they reached the square, they found a small band of boys her age, warning the bystanders of the enemy drawing near.

                ‘’ . . . seen at Atalell, up to no good.” One boy, who appeared to be the leader, was saying as they arrived.

                Atalell! Alexandria worried, That’s only two days journey, we’re all in danger! . . . if they have their facts straight. . .

                She clearly saw her fright displayed in her cousin’s eyes.

                They listened a little longer, till the boys finished. Then Alexandria ran up to them to find out if there was really a cause for alarm. She plowed through the crowd, straight toward the leader, Cole in tow.

                As she came up, he was talking with 4 other boys, one from the town, she supposed he wanted to join and the rest were already in the group, but she quickly fixed that.

                “Excuse me,” she interrupted, “are you sure you have your facts straight?” she launched her cross-examination.

                The boy, a little bewildered at her abruptness, but glad to have a new listener, replied, “Yes, in fact we just came from Atalell. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch yo – ”

                “Alexandria,” She interrupted, “and this is my cousin, Cole.”

                “Hi,” An also bewildered Cole mumbled.

                “Yes, well, and yours?” Alexandria continued.

                “I’m Kolton” said the leader, “and these are my friends Arthur, Nathan, and Jimmy. And this is Ryan, he lives in this town and he wanted t – ”

                “Yes, we’ve met. Anyway, what, exactly do the Serenians want?” she matter-of-factly asked.

                “Well, we aren’t sure, but it’s stran – ”

                “What’s strange?” she interrupted again.

                “Well, the way they’re working, it’s just stran – ”

                “Strange how?” Now it was Cole’s turn to interrupt.

                “They’re not exactly ‘waging war’ in every sense of the phrase.” The leader – Kolton – explained.

                “How so?” Alexandria questioned.

                “Well, they seem to be trying to scare people, they’re not fighting excessively hard, but they do seem to be raiding and, well, – ”  Kolton rambled.

                “What?!?” Alexandria practically exploded, “Don’t you think that would have been a good idea to tell everyone while you were making your little speech, no one thinks there’s any cause for alarm, but the Sereians are going to raid the town because, because, well why are they doing it in the first place?!?”

                “I don’t know, they didn’t exactly take care to tell us their evil plots as we fled the village!” Kolton was obviously getting annoyed with being interrupted and yelled at, and gladly took his turn to explode, “And in case you didn’t notice, the people that were standing there weren’t paying complete attention, and those that were, they were only looking for something exciting, they wouldn’t have listened even if we did tell them!”

                 “Well you could have tried! Now we’re all . . . in danger.” Her anger subsided, as it suddenly hit her. They had to do something, before the Sereians raided their own town of Ryngde, “What are we going to do?” she asked, now more cooperative.

                “Alexia,” Cole whispered. “Your arrows.”

                “What?” Kolton asked.

                “I’ve been learning to shoot arrows,” Alexandria explained. “Just to be safe,” she added hastily. “And it appears I’ll be needing that.”

                “Anyway, don’t worry, they’re not very in to it, or just not smart.” Arthur assured.

                “What do you mean?” Cole asked.

                “Well, they didn’t take the time to check the surrounding forests.” Nathan chipped in, “If you ran into the woods, they wouldn’t care, they don’t even look. If you can make it to the woods, you’ll be safe. They haven’t even been looking for homes or cottages in the woods!”

                That news brought at least some relief to Alexandria, the Sereians wouldn’t come anywhere near her mother, as long as she was at home during the raid. When they got home, she would be sure to tell her this. Cole soon echoed her thoughts.

                “That means our house, Elizabeth, Annabelle, Andrew, and Aunt Emma will be safe!”

                “And us too, if we get home and stay there,” she turned to the boys, “Thank you, but we must go if we don’t want to get caught during the raid. I just don’t understand what they could possi – ” she broke off, and it was now her turn to be interrupted.

                She screamed as a sharp dagger ripped through the air, inches from her face, and buried itself into Jimmy’s chest. Suddenly, a barrage of arrows hurtled from the sky, and, although they were only meant to scare, managed to strike a few bystanders – and Kolton’s arm. He swallowed a scream and called his band to battle. Just then,  another band, this one of men on horses instead of boys on foot, crashed into the town, leaving screaming villagers in their wake. Kolton and Arthur quickly ran through some of the Sereians with their swords, while Nathan shot a few arrows into the enemy.

                Alexandria immediately grasped Cole’s hand and fought her way through the crowd. But unfortunately, they were on the wrong side of town. The outskirts on their side of the town were only grassy fields, not woods. They’d have to make a dash to the west side in order to make it to the woods. And they did. As they ran they had to dodge townspeople, and the invading Sereians.  Every once and a while, they saw either Kolton, Arthur, or Nathan, but they disappeared again, dissolving into the crowd to fight again.

                As they continued to run, a Serenian on horse charged down upon them, scooping up Cole and trying to gallop away, but was discouraged by Cole clinging to his cousin’s arm.

                “Alexia!” he screamed.

                “Hold on! Yell for Kolton, Nathan, and Arth . . .” she broke off, trying desperately to keep her cousin with her.

                Just then, out of the dust, Kolton and Arthur ran up to help them. Kolton slashed at the man with his sword, while Arthur helped to pull Cole back to earth. Then Nathan appeared, also seemingly out of nowhere because of the dust. He handed Alexandria a quiver of arrows and a bow – luckily for her, her choice weapon – and promised to get Cole to safety. And then he and Cole disappeared amongst the haze.

                When she brought herself back to reality, she found a Serenian almost upon her. She reacted quickly and let an arrow fly – straight through the man’s heart. Although this was a raid, not a battle, it began to get more and more bloody by the minute. As more and more Sereians rained down upon them, the boys decided to retreat. They sounded it loud and clear, giving shouts of, “Retreat! Run for the woods!” And that was exactly what she did. She and Kolton’s band scattered, though all headed for the same destination. Before she was 10 yards from the edge of the wood, she found herself surrounded by Serenians. She at once began to batter arrows upon them, but it seemed as though she was trapped in an old tale – for every man she shot, it seemed 3 more appeared in his place. She knew she couldn’t successfully hold them off much longer, but she continued to fight, deciding that, considering she hadn’t shown them any mercy, they would do the same. But finally, it seemed she couldn’t do it any longer, and she screamed once more as she was engulfed by the Serenians.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

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Abby’s Story That Has No Name – Chapter 1: Hard Times.

20

June 13, 2010

 

Alexandria drew back her bow and shot. The arrow whizzed through the air, right on target.

                “Yes!”  - her aim was getting better. “There are only trees for targets,” she reminded herself, “But still getting better!” she smiled.

                Lately, she had taken to aiming at leaves or spots of moss, and her progress had increased dramatically. The reason she, of all people, was having target practice, she being a girl, was because of the war that had started in the country when she was young. She, now 15, was the only one left to defend her family, because her father and two other brothers had gone off to war, along with her uncle and other men in town. She was now the oldest in her household – not counting her mother, of course. Besides her and her mother were her infant brother Andrew, her 12-year-old cousin, Cole, and 7-and-8-year-old, little, and very active, sisters, Elizabeth and Annabelle. Even though Cole was 3 years younger than her, she really didn’t think of him as younger. He was one of her best friends, almost like a twin, or something. It was almost scary, they didn’t just get along, or act alike, they even looked alike. They were best friends, and almost inseparable, which was good in their small town. Alexandria’s mother had no time to settle squabbles, what with Andrew and all, so it worked out splendidly, the girls stuck together and so did Cole and Alexandria, which helped lessen their worries.

                Ever since the war had started, things had been bad for everyone – rich and poor. Even the royal family had troubles. They lost all of their children within 2 years before the war. The eldest prince was said to have run away, but some simply thought he was killed, or had an accident. Alexandria believed that he had gotten hurt, after all, he had only been around 10 at the time, plus, 5 months later, when his little brother fell ill, he did not come home, which everyone found strange. His brother became so sick that he died three months later, but the Prince still didn’t show himself, so everyone mostly forgot about him.

                The two princesses also disappeared, one a year before the war, and the younger the day before the war, although no one knew what happened to her, they knew that the eldest had gone to visit an old friend and never returned, after the home had been burned down in an accidental fire.

                Alexandria was pulled from her thoughts as she heard soft footsteps behind her. They were virtually silent. She waited until their owner was within reach, then whipped around at an alarming rate and grabbed the boy by his shoulders and said, “Are you trying to get an arrow put through your head? You know I don’t easily miss.”

                Startled, the boy replied, “Sorry, Alexia, Aunt Emma told me to get you, she wants us to pick up some things from the market.”

                “That’s okay, Cole, what did she want us to get?”

                “She said to get you while she checked to see.”

                “Okay, help me put this stuff away, will you?”

Categories: Fantasy Fiction, Must Reads.

Tags: , , ,

Super News!

4

June 13, 2010

I’m going to start a story now! Yes, I know, I’m finally posting! I’ve been meaning to write it for forever! I finally got Word on my laptop, so here it is, finally! It is an adventure/fantasy/action story! Yay!

Categories: Must Reads.

Tags: ,

These Words

1

June 10, 2010

My syllables were not measured,
And my words did not rhyme.
Yes, these words I had treasured
Vanished for a long time.

I could write a journal entry,
And I could write a song.
Yet these words called poetry
Didn’t seem to belong.

But things will be different tonight,
And I will change my ways.
Because these words which I write
Are ending the dark days.

by Sandy

Categories: Poetry.

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A Sad and Silent Day

8

June 9, 2010

“Hoo hooooooo!” said the owls.

“Chirp chirp,” said the crickets.

There was no other sound to be heard.

Indeed, it was very, very quiet.

Why, you ask, was it so silent? Why, you wonder, did the once warm and fun site of writing become cold, full of shadows, and ghost-like?

*lowers voice to a whisper* Because the writers were nowhere to be found!

Mayhap their muses left them. Mayhap they had no time to get on and set their muses free. Whatever the situation, there wasn’t a writer in site.

It was a sad day, the day that WorstEnding became cold and empty. Dark and dismal. Lonely and melancholy.

The characters of the WEans stories met together to debate the terrible situation.

“Where could my author have gone?” one girl mused, her face weary and sad. “I miss her!”

“I don’t know!” a boy moaned. “My author hasn’t spoken to me in weeks! He’s gone too!”

“Oh, what are we to do?” another girl cried. “We’ll just sit here in the dark and get dusty, our stories forever halted, our worlds forever motionless. The evil men in them will take over, because there will be no author to stop them!”

The characters all began to cry together, until at last they were all so very weary and heartsick that they retreated to their empty, lifeless corner of WE.

It was a sad day.

Where, oh where had the writers gone? Would they ever return? Were they gone forever?

I suppose we’ll just have to wait and find out. We wish the characters much good and prosperity; they’re going to need it in the days ahead if their authors don’t return.

Please, authors, I beg you – bring some joy, happiness, glee, gladness and repetitiveness back to your characters’ lives! They need you! WE needs you!

DON’T LET WE DIE!!!!!! WE MUST LIVE!!!!!!

*screams* COME BACK, WRITERS!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS! IS! FOR! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Categories: Nonfiction.

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A Huge Thank-You

0

June 5, 2010

I just wanna extend a !!!!!!!HUGE!!!!!!!! thank-you to Empathy who, first of all, helped me come up with some of the plot for “Out of Darkness” and then suggested that title!!!!! So yeah. Em, you’re always giving such great stuff to me (names, titles, and what-not) for my stories!!! YOU ROCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone give Em a round of applause!!!! =D =D =D =D

*Myth begins applause loudly, happily and dorkishly*

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

Tags: , ,

Chapter One (Out of Darkness)

0

June 3, 2010

(this chapter needs tons of work, and idk that the ending makes all that much sense . . . but anyway, i hope you get the gist of it xD enjoy, and if you can’t remember this story at all coz i haven’t posted forever, just search for the prologue – the title should be “Prologue (Out of Darkness)” or something. or just look at all posts by me on the dashboard and you’ll find it. lol. do whaaatever you want xD ta! -myth)

“Our attack on Seram was successful?” I asked, sipping my goblet of wine.
“Yes, Majesty,” the general of my army, Urandr, said, his face proud. “We have taken yet another kingdom for you.”
“Good, good,” I said. Things were turning out wonderfully, and if they kept going the way they were going now, it wouldn’t be all that long before I had control over every kingdom in of Tyranur, the country home to my kingdom and every other kingdom I had or wanted to have. “I take it you brought me back every piece of treasure found.” I looked pointedly at him.
“Y-yes, Majesty,” he stammered. I knew I made him nervous when I looked at him like that. Anyone got nervous when I gave them that look, and I relished the knowledge of this fact.
“See to it that it all gets to the treasury. You know the consequences if any of you is discovered hiding some from me.” Another pointed look.
“Yes, Majesty; I know,” he said, his face grave.
I laughed. “Go, Urandr, you cowardly man,” I said.
Shame-faced, he bowed out of the room.
Yes, I thought to myself. Things were turning out nicely indeed.

~

“Seram has fallen, Sire,” one of the king’s advisors said woefully.
King Remus covered his face with one hand. Queen Deteria was growing unrealistically more and more powerful with each passing day – and she, only twenty-one years of age, had been queen for just three years.
What do I do? he thought. The Kingdom of Edrahad might be better fortified than the kingdoms Deteria had been conquering lately, but it wasn’t strong enough to withstand the Kingdom of the Illain’s army, especially with all the new “recruits” it had been getting.
“Sire, they – they say she plans to come after us next,” the advisor said. It was clear that it killed him to have be the bearer of such devastating news, but he couldn’t just not tell the king.
The king looked up sharply. “What?” he breathed.
His advisor merely hung his head.
No. No, no, no, King Remus thought.
The end was near . . . very near.
Unless he did something about all of this.
“Get the other advisors and the general now,” he said in a haunted voice. The man bowed and hurried away, not bothering to say “Yes, my King” as he usually did. Not that Remus noticed (or would have cared if he had).
No. He was too deep in thought as his mind quickly divulged a plan, one that seemed their last chance of survival.
He stopped planning for a moment to think of how comical it was that one woman was making his and the others’ lives a nightmare. How one woman, younger than him, so not even old and therefore wise for it, was really delivering blows from every side, no matter where they turned.
One woman.

~

I walked in my garden, running my hand along the thorny black roses absentmindedly. The moon shone down on me, and a gentle breeze played with my hair.
A sharp pain suddenly cut through my wall of thought. Looking down at my thumb I saw I’d pricked it on a thorn accidentally.
As the blood flowed I was assaulted by memories.
Blood.
Horror.
The day I’d officially turned on my people and become so evil.
Of course, they’d deserved it . . . but still . . .
Suddenly one particularly horrific memory gripped me so tightly I felt I couldn’t breathe.
A child screamed by its mother’s body. I paused, watching it. Tears streamed down its dirty face, and its hands were covered in the blood of its mother.
“It” was a little boy. Well, not so little, maybe eight or nine. But the way he looked at me, his eyes full of pure hate – pure loathing. I was shocked by the intensity of his gaze and had to turn away; hurry on.
But as I ran faster and faster, trying to put the scene out of my mind, the child’s cries still reached me. “Mama, why did you leave me?” the child sobbed. “Come back!”
I was pulled from my memory to find myself kneeling on the garden ground, shaking and close to sobbing my heart out. That memory would always haunt me. It would always affect me more deeply than anyone could imagine.
What had I become?!
Then my mind seemed to say, You’ve become a powerful queen, one who doesn’t simply stand by when her loved ones are killed and do nothing. You can conquer anyone. You, Queen Deteria, are the most powerful royalty in existence.
I stood slowly then, annoyance coming into my heart in place of sadness. I had nearly cried.
Rage overtook me then, and for lack of anything better to do I began running the length of the garden, ripping out rose bushes as I went. I hardly noticed the pain as many of the thorns embedded themselves deep in the flesh of my hands.
When I finally stopped seeing red, I stood still, panting. I surveyed the chaos behind me, feeling a little sorry, now that I could think, that I’d ripped out the roses – I’d loved them. They were so black.
Ah, well. I could just get the servants to re-plant them.
You will not get the better of me again, I thought at the memory that had started all of this. I’m a strong queen, and I will never almost cry – never portray such a disgusting weakness – again.
No. For I was Queen Deteria, queen of all.
And I. Was. Not. Weak.

~

“Forgive me, King, but how on earth will that work?” Iminel, one of the king’s top advisors, said. “Yes, she’ll accept, but . . . but, sire, she probably has the force of black magic on her side! You’ll never make it, and then we’ll not only lose our beloved king but go into exile as well!”
Remus smiled sadly. “I’m touched by your concern for me, Iminel,” he said. “But I will not lose. I have trained with the sword for many years, and I’ve no doubt I’m stronger than her. As for black magic, I don’t think she has that – I think she just has amazing prowess and cunning.”
Iminel sighed. “But how can you know for sure, my king? And what if she refuses this challenge?”
“Then we do what is the only reasonable thing left to do,” Remus replied quietly.
“Surrender?!” another of his advisors, Salazor, said in disbelief.
“Yes, Salazor, surrender,” Remus said. “But it won’t be forever. We’ll make a plan over time and gather the right weapons and men to break free from her control. Maybe we can even win the other kingdoms. I don’t know. The point is that I will lead you no matter how desolate the situation gets.”
There was silence in the room. “Friends. there’s really nothing else to do,” Remus said softly. “It’s either I risk my life or I risk all of yours by asking the people to run – and you know we won’t get far before Deteria catches us. Unless we sail across the Great Sea (don’t worry, y’all, i’ll come up with a better name for it later, lol), which would take many ships to accustom all the people of Edrahad, we have nowhere to go.”
“But why couldn’t one of us fight in your place?” Iminel said, in a last attempt to stop his king from seemingly baring his neck to Deteria’s great sword.
“It has to be I, Iminel,” Remus replied. “She’ll feel slighted if I challenged her to fight anyone else.”
Iminel sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I don’t like it.”
“I understand why, and I thank you for your loyalty,” Remus said gratefully. “But I have to do this. I have to try to save my people. My friends. My family. Because I consider every Edrahan to be part of my family. So will you all now support me in this decision?”
There was silence once more until at last the general, Taran, said, “I will support you, my king, and if it comes to battle I will fight to the death for you.” He knelt before the king.
“I, too, will support you – and die for you,” Iminel said, kneeling as well.
The other advisers all spoke the same and knelt.
“Rise, my friends,” King Remus said. “I thank you.”
Taran looked at the king. “How do we go about it, sire?” he asked.
“At daybreak I will send a message to Queen Deteria, challenging her to fight me with a sword or other weapon of her choice,” Remus said, not cherishing the thought.  “And the terms will be that whoever wins shall rule over the other’s people and lands.”
He gave each man a task, then, and then, after they had all left, collapsed into his throne and mentally asked himself if he was ready to die.
Death, he thought. Can I face it?
Not that it much mattered if he was ready or not, because if Deteria accepted his challenge he would be facing it. Yes, there was a great probability that he would defeat Deteria, and if he did he would offer her peace and a place in Edrahad . . . but there was also a probability that he could be defeated. And he knew that, if he was, Deteria wouldn’t hesitate to drive her weapon’s point through his heart.
Would you kill Deteria if she refused? his mind seemed to say then.
It seemed almost merciless . . . but then hadn’t Deteria been merciless to hundreds, even thousands, of people? Hadn’t she killed even when those people tried to surrender?
He realized that if it came to it he would have to kill her. He had to preserve the lives of his people.
But then, even if Deteria did accept the challenge, and then won the challenge, would she stick to the terms and let Remus and his people live?
Fear, black and choking, hit Remus so hard it took his breath away.
I can’t lose, he thought. I can’t lose.

Categories: Fantasy Fiction.

Tags: , , ,

You Were Too (by Jules)

1

June 2, 2010

Your soft skin is draped over your bones
But your bones are brittle and old
Your eyes show wisdom beyond belief
But you still keep a strong hold on my hands
When I wonder when we’ll disband
I hope that it’s not soon

Your voice isn’t much more than a whisper
But each whisper is so dear to me
Your hair has turned white over the years
It’s not what it used to be, it used to be brown
And you wore it long and down
And now it’s short and up

Your frail frame makes it hard for me
To make me understand this much
Your age is infinitely more than mine
And I can hardly feel your touch on my hands
But even you were a child, once
And even though that was long ago
Even you were a child, once
Somewhere inside you, the child shows.

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

It Will Be Okay

2

May 31, 2010

I start to cry
As Daddy yells at me
He hits me on the face
And storms out of the room
I didn’t do anything wrong
I just asked for some water.
Mommy runs after him
Shouting for him to stop
“You’re drunk again!” she yells
She’s angry too
“You’re gonna kill your son!”
There’s cursing and shouting
And then I hear a car
As Daddy drives away
Mommy comes back
Tears rolling down her face
She looks at me and starts
To cry even harder
Before she runs up to her room
And slams the door.
I sit on the couch
I am all alone
This is what happens every night
I can’t remember
When Daddy last hugged me
Or kissed me goodnight
But that doesn’t matter
I’ll love him anyway
Coz he’s my daddy
“Dear God,” I pray out loud
“Keep my daddy safe tonight
Let him know he needs to stop
Being so bad
And please, let him love us again.
Amen.”
I close the front door and turn out the lights
And I go up to my mommy’s room
Without knocking I open the door
And go inside
She’s crying, and I crawl up on the bed
And lay next to her
“It’ll be okay, Mommy,” I say
Rubbing her arm.
She turns over to kiss me.
“I love you, son,” she whispers
Her face red and puffy
“You’re Mommy’s little angel.”
“I love you too,” I say
And then, while we go to sleep
And I think how Daddy will come back
In the morning
I remember how my grandma told me
That if you let you ask Jesus into your heart
He never leaves
And I know everything will be okay
Coz even if Daddy goes away
My best friend Jesus
Will always stay.

Categories: Poetry.

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My contribution to de-ghostifying

3

May 30, 2010

This is actually a “response paper” to “The Scarlet Letter” that I had to write for School….

Title:  Hearts Bleed

Hearts bleed.

More than any other object
that can be hurt,
that can be cut,
that can be broken,

hearts are the most easily shattered.

I know this
because I’ve seen it happen.

I know
because I’ve stabbed quite a few.

But, perhaps more than these,

I know
because my heart is bleeding profusely;

spilling over my chest,

pouring down my stomach,

dripping down my legs,

leaving a sticky trail

wherever I go.

It doesn’t stop;
the bleeding,
the aching,
the agony,
the tears.

The pain will persist

no matter the time that passes.

Sometimes, I wish it’d just stop,

but it keeps on beating,

keeps on living,

keeps on making itself

vulnerable to the world.

There is no relief

for my misery.

Yet, sometimes

when the snow is falling,

when there’s children laughing;

a balm is pressed tightly against my chest.

Then, for just a moment,

I feel hope.

Hope in the impossible,

hope in healing,

and hope in God.

In that moment

I know
that there will always be a scar,

that the past will be reopened,

that it will hurt again.

But I also know,

somewhere,

somehow,

my heart,

though scarlet,

will go on.

Hester Pyrnne
Friday, May 28th 2010

by PD

Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.

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