Alright folks, here we are and here it is -- the first ever bank of submissions for RPGC, and what a batch it is! There's a lot of reading here, so I'll keep the meta stuff as short as I can -- before posting all your stories, songs, and poems, I first wanted to remind you of a few voting guidelines (you can see the official stuff here).
First -- the most important part of a contest is writing, and you've sort of blown me away by how well you've done that part! Great work so far. Now comes the close-second-most-important part -- reading and review! It is less exciting and it's a lot of work, but seriously now, every single word you give here is solid gold to the authors who have contributed a piece. The contest crew is going to be working for quite a while I think, preparing some reviews for everybody who entered. But we need your help -- we're only so many people, and a lot of my folks have work of their own popping up. So whether you're a contestant, or just a passer-by reading the contest, you can do the whole guild (and maybe the next Hemmingway) a huge favor by pitching in and leaving some thoughts to help some writers grow. Please help if you can!
Now to keep things tidy, and because I'm hoping to have just pages and pages of discussion, we're going to break this up into two threads. This here is the conversation thread. In this thread only, your response is absolutely anything you want to talk about, relating to this contest. There are a few things to bear in mind of course -- be helpful, try to be positive, use your powers for good. Try to help as many people as you can!! Your reading/reviewing patterns are entirely up to you, but we absolutely love reviews here. Do what you can.
(in the future after some strenuous coding work by Mahz, we can do this via tabs -- and we're exploring other ways to break things down in the meantime -- for now, it's only an extra click or two, so we'll be fine)
Alright, that's plenty of meta. Let's get right to the jam. Here are your entries for RPGC #1 - Inspired by a Song
don't forget to cast your vote here!
this contest has concluded
Title of Song Used: Homesick
Artist of chosen song: Mercy Me
Artist of chosen song: Mercy Me
If you only knew
This is [the author's] actual singing of the lyrics below to better mix them together for the bonus category.
This is [the author's] actual singing of the lyrics below to better mix them together for the bonus category.
Your in a place that is so far away,
an at least a thousand times I have thought of you.
But the reason why I wait, the reason why I try, is to hold you in my arms one day.
An I close my eye's and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes, but I don’t care how long I wait.
If only you knew how much I cared,
you would see I'm yours til the end.
When you cry I want to wipe your tears away,
an make you smile, everyday for you.
But even if I tried to, tell you a million times,
I could never explain my feelings for you.
So I close my eyes and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes I know, but I don't care how long I wait.
If only you knew how much I cared,
you would see I'm yours til the end.
And when you fall I want to lift you high.
An when your weak I want to be your strength.
I would hold on to you until your strong again, until your strong again, until your strong again!
An I close my eyes and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes, but I don't care how long I wait!
If only you knew how much I care, if only you knew just how much I care,
if only you knew how much I care... you would see that I am yours, until the end.
an at least a thousand times I have thought of you.
But the reason why I wait, the reason why I try, is to hold you in my arms one day.
An I close my eye's and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes, but I don’t care how long I wait.
If only you knew how much I cared,
you would see I'm yours til the end.
When you cry I want to wipe your tears away,
an make you smile, everyday for you.
But even if I tried to, tell you a million times,
I could never explain my feelings for you.
So I close my eyes and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes I know, but I don't care how long I wait.
If only you knew how much I cared,
you would see I'm yours til the end.
And when you fall I want to lift you high.
An when your weak I want to be your strength.
I would hold on to you until your strong again, until your strong again, until your strong again!
An I close my eyes and dream of your face,
its hard sometimes, but I don't care how long I wait!
If only you knew how much I care, if only you knew just how much I care,
if only you knew how much I care... you would see that I am yours, until the end.
song-Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey
STILL WAITING
The pale moon shone through the wispy clouds in the balmy summer night, the stars gleaming on a tent of a sky. I was all dressed up and ready, waiting. I had on a strapless crimson dress, smoky mascara and dark red lipstick like cherries in the summer, and my hair was all piled up on my head, perfectly balanced. A slight breeze stirred the sunflowers by the front porch. I sat down on the creaky rocking chair, patiently waiting for him. Finally, my Alfie would come home from the war. He'd said he was coming home tonight.
When he got here, we'd dance for hours to the slow, soothing song coming from the old gramophone, and I'd kick off my heels, with Alfie pulling my long hair down. We'd waltz under the bright stars, rejoicing that the war was almost over, that he would be here with me again, where he belonged. The moon hangs there, a bright crystal ball admist the few wispy curls of clouds surrounding it. The war wasn’t totally over-but Alfie was being sent home. The withdrawal of troops had started. The crickets chirp quietly, and I feel like humming along with them. Life can only get better.
Word had reached that he'd be home by the night of July 14th. Independence Day this year was one of the best yet, but it would've been so much sweeter with Alfie by my side. I'd heard Alfie had been wounded in the war, but he was healing. That soothed my aching soul. It had been years and years since I'd last seen him. I still remember his tousled brown hair and big boyish eyes; I'd loved to bury my hands into his thick hair. We had just gotten married when the draft came...Alfie had left his dog tags behind as a reminder, with the dates that we met and married inscribed in it in minuscule lettering.
The few months we were together were pure bliss. I used to tell him that there was a heaven on earth, and it was with him. At first his draft had been two years, then four, then six. They’re withdrawing troops from Vietnam now. No reason for Alfie to stay any longer.
The old owl starts to hoot, and I chuckle slightly to myself. The sunflowers have lost their brilliance, as they shone vibrantly when the noon hour arrived. It is around midnight, and there is no sign of Alfie, but I’m not worried. He never went back on his word. Not once, not ever.
I sit in the old rocking chair, patiently waiting. It gets a bit colder, and I shiver. I go inside and grab my gauzy shawl from the entrance table. Flashbacks...the night Alfie gifted me the shawl was like this one....balmy and alive…
I remember our first kiss...the laughter-filled days we wiled away together...the wedding day….
Snapping myself out of a web of memories, I walk back outside. The world was being enveloped in an inky, silky blanket of black, and I lit a candle. The scent of honeysuckles wafts through the air, sweet and achingly nostalgic. It reminds me of that one August Alfie and I spent together in an isolated bungalow in the middle of the woods. Every morning, we’d awaken to the sound of birds trilling, and if we walked outside, the fragrant perfume of flowers would wrap us up in their cocoon.
I sigh and delve deeper into my dream world. The day we met was like fireworks streaking through the sky, piercing the night, brilliant streamers of light trailing behind them. Sparks flew as we made eye contact for the first time. It was a clear, cloudless day, and we were both at the beach. I sauntered up and introduced myself to him. We ended up talking for hours….I still remember the palmetto fronds silhouetted against the vivid sunset oh-so-clearly…
The day the draft came tore our lives apart. We’d been married for less than a year. Right before Alfie left, we planted the sunflowers and black-eyed susans by the front stoop as a reminder-a reminder to keep smiling, to keep hoping. Those first weeks after he left were the hardest. I can remember crying myself to sleep each night.
Traces of Alfie are everywhere in our small, cozy home. He loved to garden, and he had a special soft spot for sunflowers. He enjoyed woodworking, and Alfie’s wedding gift to me was the comfortable rocking chair. He drank bitter black coffee every morning, and he was somewhat of an amateur artist-he adored vibrant reds and oranges. For my birthday in October, Alfie gave me a painting of a forest in autumn. It hangs above the fireplace, and it always has. The antique gramophone was a wedding present from his parents, which we kept in top condition. Finally, a whimsical clock ticks proudly in its position over my bed, the clock chiming a different tune every hour.
Fireflies weave in and out of the brush, like flickering Christmas lights. Winters with Alfie were the best. When it snowed, we’d go outside and hurl snowballs at each other, then come in and cuddle by the fire with steaming mugs of rich hot chocolate, inhaling the luxurious scent.
It’s getting later and later. The candle is almost burnt out, and I’m starting to feel traces of fatigue creeping up on me. I bring a blanket outside, and snuggle under it, pretending that I feel Alfie’s warmth and not the warmth of the cotton cloth covering me. I kick off my heels, and my hair becomes mussed up, falling out of its flawless formation. A gentle breeze whispers, chilling me. My mascara is starting to feel dry and itchy, my lips are chapped. But I don’t lose hope. “He’ll be home soon,” I whisper to myself reassuringly, the minute sound that my vocal chords produce swallowed up by the shadows.
It's almost dawn now….almost dawn. Where is Alfie? I grow agitated for a second, then calm down. Alfie always kept his promises….
More time passes, and it’s almost morning. The barest hints of sunlight are starting to filter through the foliage, and birds begin their lilting melody. “Where is he?” I mumble anxiously to the smiling sun and carefree birds. Only the grass, with the morning dew dotting their stalks like teardrops seem to hear me.
It's warm and humid, and the sunflowers as brilliant as ever...but where is Alfie?
Peering down the path, I can just barely discern a figure walking towards me. It’s him! Alfie’s back! I leap out of the rocking chair, my blanket and shawl flying off, and sprint barefoot down the dirt road.
But as I run closer, I realize it isn't Alfie. It's one of his close friends, Frank. He looks worried.
"Frank! Where's Alfie?" I ask, confused, feeling a niggling of concern.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."
I furrow my brow, distraught. “Frank, where’s Alfie?” I repeat, my voice quavering at the end.
Frank embraces me, holding my face in his hands.
I draw back. "What is it?" I ask, panicked, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes.
"Alfie's wound got infected. He died last night."
STILL WAITING
The pale moon shone through the wispy clouds in the balmy summer night, the stars gleaming on a tent of a sky. I was all dressed up and ready, waiting. I had on a strapless crimson dress, smoky mascara and dark red lipstick like cherries in the summer, and my hair was all piled up on my head, perfectly balanced. A slight breeze stirred the sunflowers by the front porch. I sat down on the creaky rocking chair, patiently waiting for him. Finally, my Alfie would come home from the war. He'd said he was coming home tonight.
When he got here, we'd dance for hours to the slow, soothing song coming from the old gramophone, and I'd kick off my heels, with Alfie pulling my long hair down. We'd waltz under the bright stars, rejoicing that the war was almost over, that he would be here with me again, where he belonged. The moon hangs there, a bright crystal ball admist the few wispy curls of clouds surrounding it. The war wasn’t totally over-but Alfie was being sent home. The withdrawal of troops had started. The crickets chirp quietly, and I feel like humming along with them. Life can only get better.
Word had reached that he'd be home by the night of July 14th. Independence Day this year was one of the best yet, but it would've been so much sweeter with Alfie by my side. I'd heard Alfie had been wounded in the war, but he was healing. That soothed my aching soul. It had been years and years since I'd last seen him. I still remember his tousled brown hair and big boyish eyes; I'd loved to bury my hands into his thick hair. We had just gotten married when the draft came...Alfie had left his dog tags behind as a reminder, with the dates that we met and married inscribed in it in minuscule lettering.
The few months we were together were pure bliss. I used to tell him that there was a heaven on earth, and it was with him. At first his draft had been two years, then four, then six. They’re withdrawing troops from Vietnam now. No reason for Alfie to stay any longer.
The old owl starts to hoot, and I chuckle slightly to myself. The sunflowers have lost their brilliance, as they shone vibrantly when the noon hour arrived. It is around midnight, and there is no sign of Alfie, but I’m not worried. He never went back on his word. Not once, not ever.
I sit in the old rocking chair, patiently waiting. It gets a bit colder, and I shiver. I go inside and grab my gauzy shawl from the entrance table. Flashbacks...the night Alfie gifted me the shawl was like this one....balmy and alive…
I remember our first kiss...the laughter-filled days we wiled away together...the wedding day….
Snapping myself out of a web of memories, I walk back outside. The world was being enveloped in an inky, silky blanket of black, and I lit a candle. The scent of honeysuckles wafts through the air, sweet and achingly nostalgic. It reminds me of that one August Alfie and I spent together in an isolated bungalow in the middle of the woods. Every morning, we’d awaken to the sound of birds trilling, and if we walked outside, the fragrant perfume of flowers would wrap us up in their cocoon.
I sigh and delve deeper into my dream world. The day we met was like fireworks streaking through the sky, piercing the night, brilliant streamers of light trailing behind them. Sparks flew as we made eye contact for the first time. It was a clear, cloudless day, and we were both at the beach. I sauntered up and introduced myself to him. We ended up talking for hours….I still remember the palmetto fronds silhouetted against the vivid sunset oh-so-clearly…
The day the draft came tore our lives apart. We’d been married for less than a year. Right before Alfie left, we planted the sunflowers and black-eyed susans by the front stoop as a reminder-a reminder to keep smiling, to keep hoping. Those first weeks after he left were the hardest. I can remember crying myself to sleep each night.
Traces of Alfie are everywhere in our small, cozy home. He loved to garden, and he had a special soft spot for sunflowers. He enjoyed woodworking, and Alfie’s wedding gift to me was the comfortable rocking chair. He drank bitter black coffee every morning, and he was somewhat of an amateur artist-he adored vibrant reds and oranges. For my birthday in October, Alfie gave me a painting of a forest in autumn. It hangs above the fireplace, and it always has. The antique gramophone was a wedding present from his parents, which we kept in top condition. Finally, a whimsical clock ticks proudly in its position over my bed, the clock chiming a different tune every hour.
Fireflies weave in and out of the brush, like flickering Christmas lights. Winters with Alfie were the best. When it snowed, we’d go outside and hurl snowballs at each other, then come in and cuddle by the fire with steaming mugs of rich hot chocolate, inhaling the luxurious scent.
It’s getting later and later. The candle is almost burnt out, and I’m starting to feel traces of fatigue creeping up on me. I bring a blanket outside, and snuggle under it, pretending that I feel Alfie’s warmth and not the warmth of the cotton cloth covering me. I kick off my heels, and my hair becomes mussed up, falling out of its flawless formation. A gentle breeze whispers, chilling me. My mascara is starting to feel dry and itchy, my lips are chapped. But I don’t lose hope. “He’ll be home soon,” I whisper to myself reassuringly, the minute sound that my vocal chords produce swallowed up by the shadows.
It's almost dawn now….almost dawn. Where is Alfie? I grow agitated for a second, then calm down. Alfie always kept his promises….
More time passes, and it’s almost morning. The barest hints of sunlight are starting to filter through the foliage, and birds begin their lilting melody. “Where is he?” I mumble anxiously to the smiling sun and carefree birds. Only the grass, with the morning dew dotting their stalks like teardrops seem to hear me.
It's warm and humid, and the sunflowers as brilliant as ever...but where is Alfie?
Peering down the path, I can just barely discern a figure walking towards me. It’s him! Alfie’s back! I leap out of the rocking chair, my blanket and shawl flying off, and sprint barefoot down the dirt road.
But as I run closer, I realize it isn't Alfie. It's one of his close friends, Frank. He looks worried.
"Frank! Where's Alfie?" I ask, confused, feeling a niggling of concern.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."
I furrow my brow, distraught. “Frank, where’s Alfie?” I repeat, my voice quavering at the end.
Frank embraces me, holding my face in his hands.
I draw back. "What is it?" I ask, panicked, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes.
"Alfie's wound got infected. He died last night."
Go West
My father threw me out today.
I got home, and found all my belongings on the lawn. This was the place that I had grown up in. This was the place that I had made all of those milestones they talk about. I shed a tear for the memories, and turned my back upon the place that had sheltered me, however unwilling.
I go out clubbing. This is my favourite discothèque. At least, it was my favourite discothèque in Boston. Now… Now I don’t know where to go.
I normally love dancing. But I am homeless, and my usual vigor is gone. Even people who I have never met in my life seem to see it.
There he is. The love of my life. My dearest.
He is stunning as usual, in a revealing white shirt, suspenders, and those tight leather pants I always love to see him in. Dropping, spinning, grinding. For a moment, I can forget my worries, but then it hits me, like a sledgehammer. He is the only reason for me to stay in Boston.
Perhaps… Perhaps I can convince him to go with me. It will be hard for us to move, but we could do it. He could certainly work as a dancer, and I am not entirely without skills.
Things will be better in San Francisco, I am sure. No-one will refuse us work there. I might even join an amateur theater company when we settle.
My heart is fluttering as I approach him. What will he say?
“Sweetheart?”
My voice is even more high-pitched than usual. What if he doesn’t want to go with me?
“Yes, dear?”
‘Dear’ calms me somewhat, but still…
“Well… My father threw me out today”
He doesn’t respond immediately. My heart flies into overdrive. What is he thinking? What if he leaves me? He doesn’t need me like I need him. What if he leaves me for a girl? That has been my fear since we met, and it looks more immediately possible than ever, now that I am helpless.
He puts his muscular arm around me, calming me more than he will ever know.
“I’m sorry. I have space in my apartment for you.”
I know that is a lie. He barely has space for himself, let alone me.
“O-okay? I think I could move in with you, buuut…”
My heart is pounding again. This is the moment of truth.”
“Do you have any other ideas?”
His voice is caring. I could lose myself in there on any other day, but my life is in such turmoil.
“We could go west. To San Fran, I mean. The Castro, per…”
My voice fades out, but he knows what I am saying. He takes my hand in his. I fall into his arms. He has not rejected me. I offer a prayer to whatever is out there to accept prayer.
“That sounds great. Honestly. A new life, in a better place. It will be hard, but we will live through it. You and I. Together.”
I pull his strong arms around me, feeling his muscles through the pique of his shirt.
“Thank you. You don’t know how important this is to me.”
He kisses me. I love his lips, and how perfect they are.
“It is important to me too then, because I love you. Your happiness is my world.”
We go out to the dancefloor, and we dance with renewed vigor. We know what we are going to do, when we finally can.
We Will Go West
My father threw me out today.
I got home, and found all my belongings on the lawn. This was the place that I had grown up in. This was the place that I had made all of those milestones they talk about. I shed a tear for the memories, and turned my back upon the place that had sheltered me, however unwilling.
I go out clubbing. This is my favourite discothèque. At least, it was my favourite discothèque in Boston. Now… Now I don’t know where to go.
I normally love dancing. But I am homeless, and my usual vigor is gone. Even people who I have never met in my life seem to see it.
There he is. The love of my life. My dearest.
He is stunning as usual, in a revealing white shirt, suspenders, and those tight leather pants I always love to see him in. Dropping, spinning, grinding. For a moment, I can forget my worries, but then it hits me, like a sledgehammer. He is the only reason for me to stay in Boston.
Perhaps… Perhaps I can convince him to go with me. It will be hard for us to move, but we could do it. He could certainly work as a dancer, and I am not entirely without skills.
Things will be better in San Francisco, I am sure. No-one will refuse us work there. I might even join an amateur theater company when we settle.
My heart is fluttering as I approach him. What will he say?
“Sweetheart?”
My voice is even more high-pitched than usual. What if he doesn’t want to go with me?
“Yes, dear?”
‘Dear’ calms me somewhat, but still…
“Well… My father threw me out today”
He doesn’t respond immediately. My heart flies into overdrive. What is he thinking? What if he leaves me? He doesn’t need me like I need him. What if he leaves me for a girl? That has been my fear since we met, and it looks more immediately possible than ever, now that I am helpless.
He puts his muscular arm around me, calming me more than he will ever know.
“I’m sorry. I have space in my apartment for you.”
I know that is a lie. He barely has space for himself, let alone me.
“O-okay? I think I could move in with you, buuut…”
My heart is pounding again. This is the moment of truth.”
“Do you have any other ideas?”
His voice is caring. I could lose myself in there on any other day, but my life is in such turmoil.
“We could go west. To San Fran, I mean. The Castro, per…”
My voice fades out, but he knows what I am saying. He takes my hand in his. I fall into his arms. He has not rejected me. I offer a prayer to whatever is out there to accept prayer.
“That sounds great. Honestly. A new life, in a better place. It will be hard, but we will live through it. You and I. Together.”
I pull his strong arms around me, feeling his muscles through the pique of his shirt.
“Thank you. You don’t know how important this is to me.”
He kisses me. I love his lips, and how perfect they are.
“It is important to me too then, because I love you. Your happiness is my world.”
We go out to the dancefloor, and we dance with renewed vigor. We know what we are going to do, when we finally can.
We Will Go West
It Watches
Free-verse poetry inspired by "The Bad Thing" by Periphery
Such a trivial thing is life,
When the world is so numb to the fact that,
They are being watched for what they are doing.
Not by a God, no, not by your religion,
But of a different demon,
A stranger in the shadows,
Waiting for a chance to strike at the next disaster.
It is simply a bad thing,
Watching the people go about their lives,
Ignorance entwined,
As one they live separately.
Separately they live alone.
It watches for its chance.
Give it a reason?
No, you're simply playing with fate.
It will come.
Patiently it watches people ascend,
To what it knows not,
But it waits,
And boundaries will not stop it.
Some people tempt the beast to come out,
And when it is seen they scream;
Insanity.
It beckons to them with their hopes and dreams,
Come to me and see past the leaves,
See past the trees,
All the you can be, will be,
Come to me.
Few live through this demon's destruction,
And those who do are marked to slip through,
The cracks in the earth and descend with it,
They are marked for death,
To come with it,
And even though they scream,
It is music to the beast's ears,
As he drags them down.
They could have lived without hypocrisy,
Without the indignancy,
Without the hatred that the bad thing feeds on,
They could have lived their dreams before it drank them up,
But they gave it a reason,
They bled,
And now?
Now they will transcend with this malevolent being,
Now they will become another, unfortunate,
Bad thing.
Free-verse poetry inspired by "The Bad Thing" by Periphery
Such a trivial thing is life,
When the world is so numb to the fact that,
They are being watched for what they are doing.
Not by a God, no, not by your religion,
But of a different demon,
A stranger in the shadows,
Waiting for a chance to strike at the next disaster.
It is simply a bad thing,
Watching the people go about their lives,
Ignorance entwined,
As one they live separately.
Separately they live alone.
It watches for its chance.
Give it a reason?
No, you're simply playing with fate.
It will come.
Patiently it watches people ascend,
To what it knows not,
But it waits,
And boundaries will not stop it.
Some people tempt the beast to come out,
And when it is seen they scream;
Insanity.
It beckons to them with their hopes and dreams,
Come to me and see past the leaves,
See past the trees,
All the you can be, will be,
Come to me.
Few live through this demon's destruction,
And those who do are marked to slip through,
The cracks in the earth and descend with it,
They are marked for death,
To come with it,
And even though they scream,
It is music to the beast's ears,
As he drags them down.
They could have lived without hypocrisy,
Without the indignancy,
Without the hatred that the bad thing feeds on,
They could have lived their dreams before it drank them up,
But they gave it a reason,
They bled,
And now?
Now they will transcend with this malevolent being,
Now they will become another, unfortunate,
Bad thing.
Song: Perfect Day
Artist: Lou Reed
Eric's hands shook as he rolled the dirty, slightly cracked syringe around in his left palm. The glass was cold against his skin and he could feel every little crevice in the cracks of the syringe. The orange, honey like liquid left no space inside the syringe, Eric had made sure of that before he had paid what little money he had left to his dealer for the life changing drug. His arm was thin, skeletal even, every vein popping out just waiting to be stuck with the filthy needle. Eric's bloodshot eyes darted around the room, he was contemplating whether to do this or not. Eventually they caught on a very old picture of himself, cracked alike the needle down the middle. He was healthy in the picture, muscular, his ex-girlfriend was side by side with him kissing him as they stood in front of their newly built and bought house. Those were happier times, but things couldn't get much happier than when Eric jammed the needle into himself, or could they, he couldn't remember. Things had been so bad recently that this seemed like the option, but then again had they been? He had thought the death of Colin, his best friend who had distanced himself from Eric enough to not even warrant an invite to his wedding, nor his funeral. Or so Eric had thought, Colin's family had actually sent Eric the invite to his funeral, but Eric was too doped up on heroin to actually notice and had just assumed that Colin had specifically told people not to invite Eric. No one invited Eric anywhere anymore. Eric had found out about Colin's death from a friend of both of them. Eric had just stormed off in a fit of rage after hearing the news.
It had been a week since Eric had stopped using the drug and now he was rolling it around in his hands actually considering using it. His mother and father had locked him in their spare room, he had thrashed about, screamed and practically destroyed the room in an effort to get out and get to his precious drug. He saw Colin that night, telling him how much of a failure he was and how he never deserved to come to his funeral. Eric attempted suicide after that horrendous night, failing obviously. Eric had gotten a job after he became 'clean'. His brother owned a corner shop where he employed Eric to stack the shelves and do the heavy lifting. He never trusted him enough to let him work the counter or do anything requiring more than a grunt of approval and a hasty walk over to where he was told to go.
His clean period has abruptly ended when his dealer took it upon himself to seek Eric out and practically force him to buy the grimy syringe filled with the sweet nectar that Eric so craved. Eric had practically no choice now, the urge was too great, he was sweating like a pig and his wrists chafed and hurt like he was wearing a shirt far too tight. He practically slammed the syringe into one of his veins before pulling the plunger back a small bit, filling the vial with a small amount of blood that changed the honey yellow to a crimson red. He pushed the plunger down back into his body and fell backwards onto the hard wooden floor beneath him. The syringe still hanging out of his arm.
Brief life flickered on Eric's face. His eyes jolted open and slammed shut quicker than he could comprehend. His eyes stayed open long enough for Eric to take account of the situation as best he could at one point. Doctors towered over him, nought but their judging eyes looking back down at him, trying to bring him back to life while needy patients waited for a doctor in the room down the hall. Their voices sounded like another language, muffled by radio static. Eric's eyes slowly closed to a shut.
Family and friends stood over Eric's grave watching as the shadow black slowly lowered into the deep pit below. His mother cried, remembering him as a small child, he was bright, full of ideas, bound to turn into something good. She couldn't believe what was happening. If Eric had seem himself a few years previous he wouldn't have either.
Artist: Lou Reed
Eric's hands shook as he rolled the dirty, slightly cracked syringe around in his left palm. The glass was cold against his skin and he could feel every little crevice in the cracks of the syringe. The orange, honey like liquid left no space inside the syringe, Eric had made sure of that before he had paid what little money he had left to his dealer for the life changing drug. His arm was thin, skeletal even, every vein popping out just waiting to be stuck with the filthy needle. Eric's bloodshot eyes darted around the room, he was contemplating whether to do this or not. Eventually they caught on a very old picture of himself, cracked alike the needle down the middle. He was healthy in the picture, muscular, his ex-girlfriend was side by side with him kissing him as they stood in front of their newly built and bought house. Those were happier times, but things couldn't get much happier than when Eric jammed the needle into himself, or could they, he couldn't remember. Things had been so bad recently that this seemed like the option, but then again had they been? He had thought the death of Colin, his best friend who had distanced himself from Eric enough to not even warrant an invite to his wedding, nor his funeral. Or so Eric had thought, Colin's family had actually sent Eric the invite to his funeral, but Eric was too doped up on heroin to actually notice and had just assumed that Colin had specifically told people not to invite Eric. No one invited Eric anywhere anymore. Eric had found out about Colin's death from a friend of both of them. Eric had just stormed off in a fit of rage after hearing the news.
It had been a week since Eric had stopped using the drug and now he was rolling it around in his hands actually considering using it. His mother and father had locked him in their spare room, he had thrashed about, screamed and practically destroyed the room in an effort to get out and get to his precious drug. He saw Colin that night, telling him how much of a failure he was and how he never deserved to come to his funeral. Eric attempted suicide after that horrendous night, failing obviously. Eric had gotten a job after he became 'clean'. His brother owned a corner shop where he employed Eric to stack the shelves and do the heavy lifting. He never trusted him enough to let him work the counter or do anything requiring more than a grunt of approval and a hasty walk over to where he was told to go.
His clean period has abruptly ended when his dealer took it upon himself to seek Eric out and practically force him to buy the grimy syringe filled with the sweet nectar that Eric so craved. Eric had practically no choice now, the urge was too great, he was sweating like a pig and his wrists chafed and hurt like he was wearing a shirt far too tight. He practically slammed the syringe into one of his veins before pulling the plunger back a small bit, filling the vial with a small amount of blood that changed the honey yellow to a crimson red. He pushed the plunger down back into his body and fell backwards onto the hard wooden floor beneath him. The syringe still hanging out of his arm.
Brief life flickered on Eric's face. His eyes jolted open and slammed shut quicker than he could comprehend. His eyes stayed open long enough for Eric to take account of the situation as best he could at one point. Doctors towered over him, nought but their judging eyes looking back down at him, trying to bring him back to life while needy patients waited for a doctor in the room down the hall. Their voices sounded like another language, muffled by radio static. Eric's eyes slowly closed to a shut.
Family and friends stood over Eric's grave watching as the shadow black slowly lowered into the deep pit below. His mother cried, remembering him as a small child, he was bright, full of ideas, bound to turn into something good. She couldn't believe what was happening. If Eric had seem himself a few years previous he wouldn't have either.
Based on 'Rather Be' by Clean Bandit and Jess Glyne
We're more than a thousand miles away from the comfort of our homes back in London, and it's taken us drives across Europe and Asia, and a boat across the Sea of Japan to get here, but as long as I'm with Sarah, there's no place I'd rather be. I'd wait with her here forever, because it feels that as long as I'm with her, my heart will continue to beat.
With every step that we take from Kyoto town centre to the bay, strolling casually, I realise that we're different, but still the same. Anyway, it's fun to switch it up sometimes.
"Y'know," I say to Sarah, "If you gave me a chance to live here forever, I would take it instantly."
"It'd be a shot in the dark," she replies, "You barley speak Japanese,"
"But I'd make it!" I tell her, "You must know with all of your heart that I wouldn't let you shake me! When I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be!"
"I'm sure there are other places," she says happily, "Like the pub with your mates,"
"N-no! No! There's no place I'd rather be than with you!" I almost scream in excitement.
So, we staked out on a mission, to get a house in Kyoto, where we could find our inner peace. We would find a place that would make our love everlasting, and with everything, so that nothing was incomplete.
"It's so easy being with you," I tell her, "It's sacred simplicity. As long as we stay together, there really is no place I'd rather be."
With every step we take down roads, finding a house, from the centre of Kyoto, to the bay, we go casually. We like different houses, but we also like the same houses. But, it would be nice to try a different style house.
"If you have me a chance to learn Japanese, I would take it in an instant," I told her.
"It'd be a shot in the dark, you're not the best at learning languages," she said to me.
"I could still take it!" I said optimistically, "You know with all of your heart that I'd do my best to learn! Then I could stay here, and speak the language, because as long as I am with you, there's no place that I'd rather be!"
"And as long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be," she says in her sweet voice.
"Yeah!" I shouted, "Yeah! That's the spirit!" I bent down and kissed her, and then, to her surprise, got on one knee, and proposed to her, there and then, at the bay. "Will you marry me?" I asked her.
"Yes!" she screamed, "Yes! Of course!"
I put the ring on her finger, stared in her eyes, and then, as the sun set, in unison, we said, "As long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be."
We're more than a thousand miles away from the comfort of our homes back in London, and it's taken us drives across Europe and Asia, and a boat across the Sea of Japan to get here, but as long as I'm with Sarah, there's no place I'd rather be. I'd wait with her here forever, because it feels that as long as I'm with her, my heart will continue to beat.
With every step that we take from Kyoto town centre to the bay, strolling casually, I realise that we're different, but still the same. Anyway, it's fun to switch it up sometimes.
"Y'know," I say to Sarah, "If you gave me a chance to live here forever, I would take it instantly."
"It'd be a shot in the dark," she replies, "You barley speak Japanese,"
"But I'd make it!" I tell her, "You must know with all of your heart that I wouldn't let you shake me! When I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be!"
"I'm sure there are other places," she says happily, "Like the pub with your mates,"
"N-no! No! There's no place I'd rather be than with you!" I almost scream in excitement.
So, we staked out on a mission, to get a house in Kyoto, where we could find our inner peace. We would find a place that would make our love everlasting, and with everything, so that nothing was incomplete.
"It's so easy being with you," I tell her, "It's sacred simplicity. As long as we stay together, there really is no place I'd rather be."
With every step we take down roads, finding a house, from the centre of Kyoto, to the bay, we go casually. We like different houses, but we also like the same houses. But, it would be nice to try a different style house.
"If you have me a chance to learn Japanese, I would take it in an instant," I told her.
"It'd be a shot in the dark, you're not the best at learning languages," she said to me.
"I could still take it!" I said optimistically, "You know with all of your heart that I'd do my best to learn! Then I could stay here, and speak the language, because as long as I am with you, there's no place that I'd rather be!"
"And as long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be," she says in her sweet voice.
"Yeah!" I shouted, "Yeah! That's the spirit!" I bent down and kissed her, and then, to her surprise, got on one knee, and proposed to her, there and then, at the bay. "Will you marry me?" I asked her.
"Yes!" she screamed, "Yes! Of course!"
I put the ring on her finger, stared in her eyes, and then, as the sun set, in unison, we said, "As long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be."
Inspired by and to the rhythm of Novocain by Fall out Boy
What a pretty, pretty girl standing there
Didn’t you know of her anger?
“In God we trust”
Didn’t know God was such a
Homophobic snob.
Yelling, “How is it not,
How is it not okay?”
If you knew, knew of the
Beauty of two, two
You might have understood!
Grasp it now?
This is their future
Your disgust is
Nothing but stupid!
You take their love
And you bring it down
Bring it down with blasphemy
And now they’re just scum!
Pay no mind,
I just fight for their freedom
Don’t scowl, don’t scowl
Scowling is for the rightfully angry!
I don’t feel sorry for you.
What a pretty, pretty girl standing there
Didn’t you know of her anger?
“In God we trust”
Didn’t know God was such a
Homophobic snob.
Yelling, “How is it not,
How is it not okay?”
If you knew, knew of the
Beauty of two, two
You might have understood!
Grasp it now?
This is their future
Your disgust is
Nothing but stupid!
You take their love
And you bring it down
Bring it down with blasphemy
And now they’re just scum!
Pay no mind,
I just fight for their freedom
Don’t scowl, don’t scowl
Scowling is for the rightfully angry!
I don’t feel sorry for you.
Sky Full of Stars - Coldplay - Ghost stories
It was a clear night, for some odd reason.
Not that she was complaining. Clear skies meant stars and stars meant constellations. She wasn’t too sure why she loved the sky so much, but she wasn’t about to question her 11-year old motives. She had bigger fish to fry - so to speak.
Sitting out on her personal balcony, she turned on the radio, set up her notebook, and spent the next 5 or so minutes setting up her telescope.
How cool was it that she’d gotten such a thing? Her Pop had been teasing that he’d buy her one since she was nine, and when it came in the mail on her birthday she was “the happiest little lion” he’d ever seen over skype. She remembered him watching as she set it up for the first time, and laughing when she’d make an offhand comment about the difficulty. She’d been offered help, but didn’t take it.
After she finished setting it up, she sat down, staring up at the starts and checking her astronomy book, looking for one specific constellation. She scanned the index - a little trick picked up from Pop, and boom! there it was. Leo. She flipped to the page and started using that ever so special telescope. One… two… three! She grabbed her notebook, and flipped to a grid page.
Nearly 30 minutes later, she was still at her telescope, scanning and writing and plotting points. Behind her, the sliding door did what it did best, and let out a familiar face with a smile and come hot cocoa.
“okay, so… on March 1st….” She checked her book as he sat himself near her.
“What constellation has your eye tonight?” He asked, and she turned her head as if mildly startled.
“Oh, well” She started as she grabbed her astronomy book “Pop’s gonna be deployed on his birthday, so i’m mapping out Leo for him, and I’m gonna send it in a letter” She explained, going back to her grid paper.
“Oh, he’ll love that!” He encouraged “ He loves when you send him constellations” He put the hot cocoa down, and watched her expressions - a bit confused at her sad-ish look. “Kuba?”
“... Dad, my substitute teacher says that going to Afghanistan is a death sentence” She looked to him, worry flooding her eyes. “Is that true…? Is Pop gonna die?”
“What?!” He stood up “No!”
She jumped, startled at his sudden outburst. He sighed deeply, going down on one knee to be eye level with her. “Listen, Kuba. I’m about to lay down some hard truth” He started, and Kuba’s eyes were fixated on him. “Not everybody likes the military. There are a lot of people who don’t like certain aspects of it. And thats okay!” He pointed out “ Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But never believe sour people like that. Ever!” He held her hand in his, seeing the unreadable expression on her face as a sign he hadn’t said enough. “Tategami felt a call to the military and followed it. He didn’t join because he wanted to die. I certainly didn’t join for that!” He assured her, and watched as she took her hand out of his and hugged him. He sighed deeply, and put his arms around her.
“Kuba, people are allowed to have opinions.” He stated “ But when that opinion insults you or the people you love, you are not obligated to listen!” He stated the moral of his little lecture to her and felt her nod against his shoulder.
Standing up, he held her firmly with one hand, and grabbed the hot cocoa with the other “lets get you inside. It’s time for bed” He started towards the sliding door
“But my telescope” She weakly protested
“I’ll put it away” he assured her, taking her straight to her room.
After somehow getting her to sleep, he went outside and started putting her things away, finishing up with the telescope. The radio was still on as he put it away. Some song about stars. How appropriate.
It was a clear night, for some odd reason.
Not that she was complaining. Clear skies meant stars and stars meant constellations. She wasn’t too sure why she loved the sky so much, but she wasn’t about to question her 11-year old motives. She had bigger fish to fry - so to speak.
Sitting out on her personal balcony, she turned on the radio, set up her notebook, and spent the next 5 or so minutes setting up her telescope.
How cool was it that she’d gotten such a thing? Her Pop had been teasing that he’d buy her one since she was nine, and when it came in the mail on her birthday she was “the happiest little lion” he’d ever seen over skype. She remembered him watching as she set it up for the first time, and laughing when she’d make an offhand comment about the difficulty. She’d been offered help, but didn’t take it.
After she finished setting it up, she sat down, staring up at the starts and checking her astronomy book, looking for one specific constellation. She scanned the index - a little trick picked up from Pop, and boom! there it was. Leo. She flipped to the page and started using that ever so special telescope. One… two… three! She grabbed her notebook, and flipped to a grid page.
Nearly 30 minutes later, she was still at her telescope, scanning and writing and plotting points. Behind her, the sliding door did what it did best, and let out a familiar face with a smile and come hot cocoa.
“okay, so… on March 1st….” She checked her book as he sat himself near her.
“What constellation has your eye tonight?” He asked, and she turned her head as if mildly startled.
“Oh, well” She started as she grabbed her astronomy book “Pop’s gonna be deployed on his birthday, so i’m mapping out Leo for him, and I’m gonna send it in a letter” She explained, going back to her grid paper.
“Oh, he’ll love that!” He encouraged “ He loves when you send him constellations” He put the hot cocoa down, and watched her expressions - a bit confused at her sad-ish look. “Kuba?”
“... Dad, my substitute teacher says that going to Afghanistan is a death sentence” She looked to him, worry flooding her eyes. “Is that true…? Is Pop gonna die?”
“What?!” He stood up “No!”
She jumped, startled at his sudden outburst. He sighed deeply, going down on one knee to be eye level with her. “Listen, Kuba. I’m about to lay down some hard truth” He started, and Kuba’s eyes were fixated on him. “Not everybody likes the military. There are a lot of people who don’t like certain aspects of it. And thats okay!” He pointed out “ Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But never believe sour people like that. Ever!” He held her hand in his, seeing the unreadable expression on her face as a sign he hadn’t said enough. “Tategami felt a call to the military and followed it. He didn’t join because he wanted to die. I certainly didn’t join for that!” He assured her, and watched as she took her hand out of his and hugged him. He sighed deeply, and put his arms around her.
“Kuba, people are allowed to have opinions.” He stated “ But when that opinion insults you or the people you love, you are not obligated to listen!” He stated the moral of his little lecture to her and felt her nod against his shoulder.
Standing up, he held her firmly with one hand, and grabbed the hot cocoa with the other “lets get you inside. It’s time for bed” He started towards the sliding door
“But my telescope” She weakly protested
“I’ll put it away” he assured her, taking her straight to her room.
After somehow getting her to sleep, he went outside and started putting her things away, finishing up with the telescope. The radio was still on as he put it away. Some song about stars. How appropriate.
Smoke and Mirrors by Gotye
I hold on tight to the mask
All the questions they ask
It drives me insane
I hide the pain
I just keep true to the lie
Every time, I get by
I hide from them all
But I don't notice the further I fall
The more I can't see
The mask, the mask is really me
I hold on tight to the mask
All the questions they ask
It drives me insane
I hide the pain
I just keep true to the lie
Every time, I get by
I hide from them all
But I don't notice the further I fall
The more I can't see
The mask, the mask is really me
Cops and Robbers by the Hoosiers
"This will be dangerous. Our chances of success are not optimal," Max walked down the line of eight men and women, giving them all a scrutinising look. "But if we do succeed we will be one step closer to destroying the enforcers and with them the empire." There were a few cheers at that. Max let a small smile slip across his lined face. Not quite genuine. It had been a while since he had genuinely smiled. Four months to be exact. "This is voluntary. If you do not want to do this, leave now. There are other jobs in the rebellion that need done." Nobody left and a silence filled the cold air. "Good. Arm yourselves and get into formation."
The mission itself was simple enough. Get into an enforcer base to rescue members of the rebellion that had been recently captured then blow the place up. Max had done this plenty of times. Every time he had survived, though they had not all been a success. But this time it was different. The base was bigger, better protected. And the last time they tried they lost one of their best men.
Max remembered when he joined the rebellion. He had been running, running from the force he had once been a part of. He had joined the enforcers as a medic in the hopes of attaining glory and dealing out justice. What he had discovered were dark secrets, drugs that turned you into emotionless, mindless drones and an empire that wasn't as good as it seemed. With a leader who had not created peace and freedom in the world but rather suppressed the people and killed all who stood in his way. Max had gone through the rigorous training, found out that what he had been brought up being told had been a lie. So he had escaped. Run away.
The group got into formation, Max taking lead with a gun in his hand. He navigated with ease the underground passages that had once been the London subway. The darkness did not bother him. Every member of the rebellion knew these passages like the back of their hand. Because knowing them could be the difference between escape or capture, life or death.
He was so tired. Running, running was pointless. The things he was running from, the things he had almost become, were tireless. He had collapsed in the mud and rain to wait for his death. Because no one left the force, not if they wanted to live. But his death never came. He heard gunshots, shouts and running. Then someone was shaking him. He had opened his eyes to see the most beautiful man staring back at him. His pale, beautiful face was splattered in blood and mud, his dark curls unruly and tangled. His eyes were of a deep blue like sapphires. He had been perfect.
Max put his hand up for the group to halt as they got to one of the stairways leading to the streets above.
"How close is the next patrol?" Max spoke quietly into the microphone embedded into his ear.
"Three minutes, you had better be quick."
"Thank you, Harrison." Max nodded, indicating for his group to follow him. And quickly. He disliked Harrison, the communicator for this mission. So had Ashe. But he would have to deal with it.
After a few questions they had allowed him to join. Even the rebellion saw the benefit in someone who was enforcer trained. And Max had never been tainted, never taken the drug. He quickly joined their ranks and moved up as he proved himself again and again. He rarely saw the amazing man who had saved him. But then again he was Ashe Thorne, co-leader of the rebellion. He didn't properly see him again until they were thrown together in a partner mission. That was when it all began.
The group silently ran out the entrance with none lagging. Max slipped behind a building, the eight rebels following suit and pressing against the wall behind him. Max watched the gate carefully. Two guards. Simple lock mechanism that could be picked. Not what he would have expected of an important enforcer base. But he would go with it. Made their job much easier.
Their mission was a brilliant success. Max and Ashe just clicked. Ashe was brilliant and Max could see why he was one of the leaders. Max followed his every move. They were in sync. After that Ashe had requested Max on every mission he went on. They became partners, excelling where others failed. They were the rebellion's hit team. Their secret weapon. It was on one mission gone terribly wrong where they shared their first kiss. That had been a year ago.
Max readied his gun and indicated for the woman on his right, Megan, to do the same. It wouldn't be hard to take the two guards out. Enforcers may be emotionless, extra resilient and trained fighters but they weren't invincible. A well aimed gun wound would kill them just as it would any other person. Everyone got ready to move. After the first shots were fired time would be against them.
It had been in an old warehouse surrounded by enforcers that they kissed. They would need a miracle to survive and imminent death affects people in strange ways. Yet somehow that miracle had happened. They had escaped. It was all a bit of a blur to Max but they had made it. After that their relationship changed. They spent every moment they could together. Max remembered the quick, chaste kisses they exchanged as Ashe headed to yet another meeting while Max tended to the wounded. The nights they spent together before going out on missions. But no one said that love in the midst of a war was easy.
The first shots were fired and as the bullets met their targets the group moved. The gate was unlocked. They headed in and towards the building they knew held the captives. The alarm would be going up now, the enforcers were efficient. It was only a matter of time before they would have to fight. But they were ready. This time they were more prepared. This time they knew how to escape and when to run.
They had been in a relationship for six months. They had truly fallen in love, you could say. It was hard, not knowing if you would live to see the next day. So they acted as if each day was their last. Their fears had been well founded.
The first enforcers appeared as the group entered the prison block. They were shot and killed before they could even get close. That was the good thing about most enforcers. When they were given the order to stop all intruders they dropped whatever they were doing to carry out this task. Even if it meant fighting without weapons (which they were very good at). They were a sort of a hive mind, only the more powerful ones having any form of intelligence.
It was exactly four months ago. A whole rebel base had been stormed by the enforcers with all the members there captured. Given a team Ashe was ordered to retaliate and release what captives he could. The stakes had never been higher. Fourteen went in, two returned.
They moved quickly in formation down the corridor. Max counted the doors quietly, waiting for Harrison to tell them which was the right one.
"Stop."
They halted.
"The door on your right."
"Thank you," Max turned to nod at his troops. Through here were the captives. After this it was a fight for their lives.
"Good luck. You'll need it." With that the line cut off. Max turned to the side, breaking down the door with his shoulder. They surged in to find... nothing. What? Something wasn't right. Max gripped his gun tightly as the door was slammed behind them.
"Ah, Doctor Ward. Ever so valiant, offering himself for a suicidal mission with a small chance of success. How predictable." Max knew that voice, but the sneer was unfamiliar. No...
"Go, Max!" Ashe shouted, his deep voice commanding. "Go now, and take Sarah with you!" Ashe fought as he spoke, spinning around to shoot an enforcer before stabbing another in the eye to keep them off Max as he tried to treat the gun wound of their fallen comrade. Around them the rest of the team fought a desperate, losing battle.
"I won't leave you!"
"You will leave me and you will do it now." Ashe eyes were wild as he met Max's briefly."I command it. If you do not go now she will die."
Max shook his head, applying pressure to the wound. "No..."
"We will follow close behind." The look on Ashe's face told Max that he was lying. He knew that he, and the others, would not follow. But Max believed him. A miracle had happened before so why not now?
Turns out miracles can't fix everything.
Max turned around to face the speaker, gun held in front of him.
"Oh, I wouldn't shoot. We know your petty tricks, Doctor Ward. Do you not think we are prepared?" His grin was wolf like as he showed off his bulletproof vest.
"A shot to the head would still kill you," Max managed to growl out.
"But you will not shoot me, will you?"
"No..." Max let his gun clatter to the ground. "Ashe... Please."
The man who had once been Ashe ignored him, indicating to the other enforcers. They grabbed the rest of Max's men.
"Line them up against the wall," Ashe ordered. This was carried out swiftly. Max felt the worn strands of hope begin to slip out of his grasp as he was shoved against the wall. But then again he had never had any hope. He had lost that when he lost Ashe.
"Ashe, please, don't do this," Max begged. The other eight looked defeated, shoulders slouched and ready for death. But Max wasn't giving up. He may not have any hope but that didn't mean he didn't have any spirit. He was a rebel. "You have to fight it! You can fight it, I know you can fight it... The drug can't be that strong."
Ashe merely laughed, once beautiful eyes now devoid of emotion. No, this was not the Ashe that Max had known. But Max had already realised that. "Ready your guns." Max let his head drop. This was it, then. Their lives would end in a grey room shot like common criminals. Ashe moved to stand in front of Max, gun raised.
Max was lying in the rain and mud seeing Ashe for the first time as he saved him.
"On the count of three."
They were kissing in the warehouse in what they thought were their last moments.
"One."
They were in bed together. Max said he loved Ashe. Ashe replied that no matter what, he would always love Max.
"Two."
Max braced himself for the end. He was ready.
"Three."
Shades of White and Black
Sometimes, a lot of the time actually. Life can get tough for me, for everyone I suppose. But sometimes, actually, it's a lot of the time as well. I get so caught up with how tough my life is, that I forget about the fact that life is tough for all of us. In one way or another, we're all fighting a battle. Sometimes it's small and short and sometimes it's vicious and lasts for years.
When I think of those things, I find it hard to articulate the feelings and thoughts into words that help to make sense of it all. I wonder how common that is. Feeling as if you understand something wholly, yet having no way of describing it. But if I had to try, I guess I could use colors. When you think about the colors of light, you get white because it is all of the colors together.
So sometimes I am white, because I have a lot of great people around me, friends who I hang out with and make me laugh and I am filled with the desire to pursue my many curious interest that bring me joy and challenge my mind. But then, sometimes, actually it's a lot of the time. I am black, that's what we get when there is no light, when there is nothing. It is at these times, when I am at my darkest, that I like to stare at the stars that dot the night sky. Their sparkling form fills me with light, as dim as their shine in the sky, as I wonder, how many other people are also black right now? And will I ever know the answer to such a question?
The summers heat is felt in full force as I lay on the smooth tile floor of my apartment in an attempt to steal what cold may be stored in the white porcelain tiles. My planned heist is successful as I instantly feel the back half of my body start to cool. While in this laid out position I slide my shoes off while I take deep breathes and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I've been stuck walking from office to office and store to store looking for work to kick off the new year and so far all my labours have returned no fruits, only blisters.
Placing my palm to my forehead a dose of anxiety shoots through me like an injection and collects in my stomach, with it I start to feel ill as my thoughts turn to more serious matters. The rent is due soon and so I may have to start cutting into my food salary which is already slim as it is. Sitting up I look over my 'not-so-fit' figure and think to myself, 'Maybe I'll start to lose some weight'. I force a smile in a hope to remain positive, but it's quickly broken as thoughts of how pathetic I must be flood my mind and I allow myself to fall back to the tiles cool embrace.
"What am I doing with myself?" I ask out loud. While feeling no shame, I continue "Have I become so pathetic and lonesome that talking to myself is an acceptable thing to do in my life?" And so I ponder for a moment. "Yes, I guess so." I reply to myself in a hushed whisper. With my internet funds already being funnelled into my rent I find myself with nothing to do in my empty apartment, so I move to put my shoes on again and head back into the heat looking for something to distract my mind.
Taking slow strides along the empty path I keep my head down and my eyes locked on the ground, it may not be the wisest thing to do but it helps my anxiety when I am in the public eye. With foot in front of foot the paved concrete eventually turns into green grass as I raise my head to view my surroundings. The sky's azure blue has darkened to a slight purple and the sun sits as an orange orb nearing the horizon's edge. Bellow this scene and laid out before me is a wide and empty park, a sparkling river reflects the suns rays like twinkling stars off it's ripples and the river separates the large park into two. I stand on the green and tree dense smaller side. Walking towards the river I move deeper into the park and take a seat at an old, worn out wooden bench on the rivers edge. On the larger side of the park is a huge clearing where the figures of happy dog owners can be seen playing with their pets, their forms made small by the large distance separating us.
I take a deep breath in through my nose and exhale a satisfying sigh, the air and atmosphere feels fresh and relaxed. Leaning back I look up through the leaves of a large tree giving shade from the last hours of sun in this day. Silently I just sit and keep my mind clear of my money issues. I close my eyes and take this chance to relax.
I guess saying that 'sometimes' I am white is a bit of a stretch. Truth is, there isn't a night that goes by where I think that it'd be so much easier to just end it all. To become truly black, and most nights that thought eases my mind. Why? I'm not entirely sure, it might be because I wouldn't have to worry about anything any more or deal with my annoying issues. "So, when there is nothing left for you, when all your life is a burden. What keeps you going exactly?" Good question, to be honest, I'm not sure. "I didn't think so."
The spoken reply catches me off guard as I open my eyes to the late stages of the evening sky, I look around and spot a young women kneeling by the river a little further down from me. Was she speaking to me? No, I don't think so, I am sure she doesn't even know I'm here.
"What reason is there to exist in this world when you're not even sure why you should exist?" She seems to ask her reflection into the river.
Standing from my seated position I take a few steps closer to the river, remaining a distance from her. She takes notice of me and looks at me through the reflection of the river, even if I hadn't noticed it by her reflection I'd still had guessed that she's been crying.
I look up to the darkening sky and notice the few bright stars that have made their presence aware in the very low light of the almost set sun. As I gaze at the twinkling stars I can't help but blurt the first answer that comes to mind "I guess finding a reason to exist could be reason enough sometimes. After all, this world is capable of such beautiful things."
She turns her head my way before following my stare to the stars and for a moment we both stand and stare at the darkening sky sprinkled with dots of beautiful twinkling lights. Two beings who share a common color, whose light is brightened by the night's sky.
'Little Me' by Little Mix
A vacuum cleaner roared aloud, being dragged back and forth across a floor. A woman, with long black hair, untidy clothes and an annoyance in her eyes pulled it back and forth across a large living room. That woman… was me. It was with an unfriendly glare that I cleaned this large house for my husband that I didn’t love. It had simply been a convenient set-up, and he was pretty wealthy. But… no. I didn’t like this. He had made me be his house-wife, and now I was sheltered, almost never leaving the house, my past having formed my future as a coward who was ever unable to pull through with my actions. All this time, I had become used to simple allowing things to happen, never putting in my own two cents, and being satisfied with the results. But now… as my best years had ended, an annoyance had appeared in my eyes. I wasn’t happy anymore. I regretted my life. This… this was horrible.
I went by a desk while vacuuming, suddenly stopping the machine to inspect a single photograph next to those of my hateful children and the family that had been forced upon me simply because I hadn’t said “no”. The photograph I saw was that of a young girl. A young thing curled into a dark corner, lonely, afraid… It was this young girl that had ruined my life. This young girl had kept all her desires and opinions sealed away deep inside, letting herself be rolled over by the events going on around her, simply having decided that it would be okay for everyone around her to get their way… I tightened her fists, glaring in anger at the girl in the photograph. That attitude had cost me the boy I secretly loved, the job I secretly desired, the person I secretly wanted to be… So in this distasteful photograph that my husband had kept due to his sick love for the supposedly adorable vulnerable girl… It was…
Little Me.
I could see her. Within that frightened husk… I could see her. She lived in the shadow of a lonely girl. Voice so quiet you couldn’t hear a word. Always talking but she couldn’t be heard. You could see her there if you caught her eye. You could tell she was brave but it was trapped inside. Scared to talk but she didn’t know why… I frowned, slowly raising my hands to grab around the frames to stare down at the young black-haired little me who’s long hair mirrored my own and had the same accepting aura and dissatisfaction but lacked my own anger that had built up over the years. This girl… why didn’t she act!? What was wrong with her!? All she had to do was ACT! I-I wish…
“… I wish I knew back then, what I do now…” I stated to absolutely nothing, glaring at the little me in the image. “Wish I could somehow… go back in time, and maybe LISTEN TO MY OWN ADVICE!” I didn’t even intend to scream out the last part, but somehow it just happened, my emotions just welling up from the bottom of my heart as I grabbed the sides of the photograph intensely, the glass breaking under my nails as I shouted at the photograph.
“SPEAK UP! SHOUT LOUD!” I screamed at the photograph, my eyes starting to tear up as I just unleashed it all on the poor cracking frame of the photograph. “Talk a bit LOUDER! Be a bit PROUDER!” I gritted my teeth, glaring at the inanimate object, somehow wanting to make little me hear myself however I could. “You’re BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, everything that which you don’t see…!” … It may have been a trick of light… but it looked to me like the little me in the photograph had opened her eyes wide in surprise. “You gotta SPEAK UP! You gotta SHOUT LOUD!” I told her, as if she could hear me. “And know that RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW…!” I… I needed to encourage her so that she wouldn’t make the mistake I did letting it all slip away… “You can be BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, anything you wanna be…!” My tears now ran down my face, my knees buckling as I sat down on my knees before the photograph, which stared back at me wide-eyed…
“Little Me…” I stated to it, now feeling exhausted…
…
…
The house was completely silent, the only apparent living being in here a small black-haired girl in the corner, who now flinched a little as her father took a picture of her in her depressed state, then told her to “Get back to us soon, little one, so we can laugh at this photograph later.” He said with a kind little smile before walking off to make dinner for her. … The little girl was me. I sat huddling in the corner, hugging around myself, staring surprised as my father walked with the camera. I… continued to hug myself. What else was I to do? … There… was a boy in school, who I liked. But, another girl, way more energetic than I were, who had stolen his attention and it didn’t feel appropriate for me to interfere, no matter my emotions. There was also the pressure to choose career, but… the path everyone expected me and wanted me to take wasn’t the one I secretly desired to take, but taking it would cause a lot of problems with my family I didn’t want to trouble them with. The shining individual I wanted to be… I couldn’t be her, so I hid. I hid and let it all simply happen…
I leaned my head against the wall, feeling a surge of acceptance going through me. If he was happy without me, then there wasn’t my place to interfere. If I just accepted everything that happened around me, if I could take the fall for everyone around me, then they could all be happy. Whatever happened, happened. I couldn’t appear as a greedy girl. I didn’t want to be greedy. I didn’t want to trouble people around me with my existence. Somehow, if I could just let it all be and everything could work itself out automatically, that would be the best thing ever. Who knows…? Maybe I can even derive some happiness out of what comes from doing so. A little accepting smile spread over my expression, making me smile a little and wondering privately if this wasn’t a decision I would regret in the future…
“… Little Me.”
I blinked. Someone had spoken. It wasn’t a voice I recognized. The voice of a woman far older than I. I looked up… I… I couldn’t believe it. There was a mirage, an older woman with long black hair like my own, an expression of politeness and submissiveness like my own… but there was anger there, and desperation. The woman’s clothes looked ill taken care of, her hair more unkempt than my own, and my eyes widened as fear and shock went through me as I realized what I might be looking at. I-it was impossible. Supernatural things simply didn’t happen. And yet… the woman that looked quite alike to my mother now ran a gentle hand along my cheek as if caring about me…
“Yeah, you got a lotta time to act your age…” She said with a caring little smile at me, her eyes looking like they’d been crying… “You can’t write a book from a single page. Hands on the clock only turn one way…” I blinked up at her. She was… she was telling me to change myself, and to do it before it was too late. “Run too fast and you’ll risk it all, but you can’t be afraid to take a fall!” She smiled down at me as she encouraged me. I-I didn’t know what to make of this. I felt frightened, but then she put her hand on my head and petted me, calming me somewhat… “Felt so big but you look so small…”
“… I wish I knew back then, what I do now…” I stared up at the woman, as her smile disappeared and was replaced with a glare… Wait, what? “Wish I could somehow… go back in time, and maybe LISTEN TO MY OWN ADVICE!” I flinched, not prepared for that she’d scream the last part out at me. H-hold on, what she said… She hadn’t realized I could hear her!? W-well, of course, one can’t talk to their past self, all manners of contradictions and stuff told that, but… I didn’t get more time to consider that as big me grabbed me harshly by my sides and lifted me up on my feet, glaring at me with tears running down her cheeks, visibly upset as she shouted at me.
“SPEAK UP! SHOUT LOUD!” She screamed at me way too loudly for this short distance between us, leaving my brain blank and eyes wide staring up at her as she told me to… “Talk a bit LOUDER! Be a bit PROUDER!” E-even if she tells me to do that… I felt my body shivering, how could I possibly change because…? “You’re BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, everything that which you don’t see…!” … I opened my eyes wide in surprise, staring at her as she held me in place. I-I am…? “You gotta SPEAK UP! You gotta SHOUT LOUD!” … There was no question about it, she was talking about the boy, and about my future, and who I wanted to be… “And know that RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW…!” I-I was frightened by her, but seeing her tears… It was obvious… I was making a mistake. “You can be BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, anything you wanna be…!” My mouth opened as the true meaning of all she was saying dawned on me. If I just let everything slip away… Then this… Then… all that was left was her confirming her identity…
“Little Me…” I blinked at her, staring, as the woman confirmed that she was indeed… me from the future. As she said that, it seemed her energy somehow ran out as her grip vanished from around my sides and she fell onto me, hugging around me for a moment before vanishing, the heat from her body somehow remaining as she did. And now… as suddenly as she had appeared… she had disappeared, my eyes wide as I stared out of the dark void where I had been placed. “…!” There was no time to even bother thinking about how in the world what just happened could possibly have taken place. My appearance had confirmed something. This life I am leading… is going to hell. There is… NO WAY… I am letting this pass through my fingers now…! … I dashed out of my corner, running immediately for the phone before spinning around and deciding to run out on the streets instead. I… I had a boy I had to visit first…!
…
…
I breathed out on the photograph lying on the desk, now that I had broken the frame and the glass which had been obstructing direct contact. I sat on my knees, my elbows on the desk as I looked down on the photograph. … It was empty. The corner… was empty. Little me had risen out of it and run out of it, probably changing her life forever. … I grinned, looking down at the photograph in exhaustion from all my shouting and in satisfaction. I don’t even know how I did it, or why I still exist. Suppose the little me I influenced is from an alternative universe and I’m still stuck in my own? Yeah, suppose if I had changed my own little me, the me who gave the advice to this little me would never have existed, and that would have caused some form of paradox and such… I blink a little in surprise, noticing a little text in the bottom right corner of the photograph, which absolutely definitely wasn’t there before. “Thank you, Big Me. Please, don’t give up, you either.”
“… HA!” What, are you trying to encourage me in turn, Little Me? The mere absurdness of this made me laugh out loud. Yeah, why not? Using the desk to support myself, I stood up with a satisfied grin on my face, knowing that somewhere out there in an alternative universe there existed a little me who had achieved all her dreams. … Well, I didn’t actually know if she had or not, but in any case she had definitely had a more adventurous life than I had. Now then, I thought to myself as I looked over the room which my husband and I shared in his one-sided love to me… Guess it was about time I went out on an adventure of my own, eh? I grinned as I kicked over the vacuum cleaner beside me onto its back in a rebellious movement, starting to walk out of the room stretching my arms behind my head, smiling wider than I had in years. Somehow, I felt like the soul of Little Me smiled at me in turn in this action, which was fine with me.
Now, then. What should I do now~?
A vacuum cleaner roared aloud, being dragged back and forth across a floor. A woman, with long black hair, untidy clothes and an annoyance in her eyes pulled it back and forth across a large living room. That woman… was me. It was with an unfriendly glare that I cleaned this large house for my husband that I didn’t love. It had simply been a convenient set-up, and he was pretty wealthy. But… no. I didn’t like this. He had made me be his house-wife, and now I was sheltered, almost never leaving the house, my past having formed my future as a coward who was ever unable to pull through with my actions. All this time, I had become used to simple allowing things to happen, never putting in my own two cents, and being satisfied with the results. But now… as my best years had ended, an annoyance had appeared in my eyes. I wasn’t happy anymore. I regretted my life. This… this was horrible.
I went by a desk while vacuuming, suddenly stopping the machine to inspect a single photograph next to those of my hateful children and the family that had been forced upon me simply because I hadn’t said “no”. The photograph I saw was that of a young girl. A young thing curled into a dark corner, lonely, afraid… It was this young girl that had ruined my life. This young girl had kept all her desires and opinions sealed away deep inside, letting herself be rolled over by the events going on around her, simply having decided that it would be okay for everyone around her to get their way… I tightened her fists, glaring in anger at the girl in the photograph. That attitude had cost me the boy I secretly loved, the job I secretly desired, the person I secretly wanted to be… So in this distasteful photograph that my husband had kept due to his sick love for the supposedly adorable vulnerable girl… It was…
Little Me.
I could see her. Within that frightened husk… I could see her. She lived in the shadow of a lonely girl. Voice so quiet you couldn’t hear a word. Always talking but she couldn’t be heard. You could see her there if you caught her eye. You could tell she was brave but it was trapped inside. Scared to talk but she didn’t know why… I frowned, slowly raising my hands to grab around the frames to stare down at the young black-haired little me who’s long hair mirrored my own and had the same accepting aura and dissatisfaction but lacked my own anger that had built up over the years. This girl… why didn’t she act!? What was wrong with her!? All she had to do was ACT! I-I wish…
“… I wish I knew back then, what I do now…” I stated to absolutely nothing, glaring at the little me in the image. “Wish I could somehow… go back in time, and maybe LISTEN TO MY OWN ADVICE!” I didn’t even intend to scream out the last part, but somehow it just happened, my emotions just welling up from the bottom of my heart as I grabbed the sides of the photograph intensely, the glass breaking under my nails as I shouted at the photograph.
“SPEAK UP! SHOUT LOUD!” I screamed at the photograph, my eyes starting to tear up as I just unleashed it all on the poor cracking frame of the photograph. “Talk a bit LOUDER! Be a bit PROUDER!” I gritted my teeth, glaring at the inanimate object, somehow wanting to make little me hear myself however I could. “You’re BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, everything that which you don’t see…!” … It may have been a trick of light… but it looked to me like the little me in the photograph had opened her eyes wide in surprise. “You gotta SPEAK UP! You gotta SHOUT LOUD!” I told her, as if she could hear me. “And know that RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW…!” I… I needed to encourage her so that she wouldn’t make the mistake I did letting it all slip away… “You can be BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, anything you wanna be…!” My tears now ran down my face, my knees buckling as I sat down on my knees before the photograph, which stared back at me wide-eyed…
“Little Me…” I stated to it, now feeling exhausted…
…
…
The house was completely silent, the only apparent living being in here a small black-haired girl in the corner, who now flinched a little as her father took a picture of her in her depressed state, then told her to “Get back to us soon, little one, so we can laugh at this photograph later.” He said with a kind little smile before walking off to make dinner for her. … The little girl was me. I sat huddling in the corner, hugging around myself, staring surprised as my father walked with the camera. I… continued to hug myself. What else was I to do? … There… was a boy in school, who I liked. But, another girl, way more energetic than I were, who had stolen his attention and it didn’t feel appropriate for me to interfere, no matter my emotions. There was also the pressure to choose career, but… the path everyone expected me and wanted me to take wasn’t the one I secretly desired to take, but taking it would cause a lot of problems with my family I didn’t want to trouble them with. The shining individual I wanted to be… I couldn’t be her, so I hid. I hid and let it all simply happen…
I leaned my head against the wall, feeling a surge of acceptance going through me. If he was happy without me, then there wasn’t my place to interfere. If I just accepted everything that happened around me, if I could take the fall for everyone around me, then they could all be happy. Whatever happened, happened. I couldn’t appear as a greedy girl. I didn’t want to be greedy. I didn’t want to trouble people around me with my existence. Somehow, if I could just let it all be and everything could work itself out automatically, that would be the best thing ever. Who knows…? Maybe I can even derive some happiness out of what comes from doing so. A little accepting smile spread over my expression, making me smile a little and wondering privately if this wasn’t a decision I would regret in the future…
“… Little Me.”
I blinked. Someone had spoken. It wasn’t a voice I recognized. The voice of a woman far older than I. I looked up… I… I couldn’t believe it. There was a mirage, an older woman with long black hair like my own, an expression of politeness and submissiveness like my own… but there was anger there, and desperation. The woman’s clothes looked ill taken care of, her hair more unkempt than my own, and my eyes widened as fear and shock went through me as I realized what I might be looking at. I-it was impossible. Supernatural things simply didn’t happen. And yet… the woman that looked quite alike to my mother now ran a gentle hand along my cheek as if caring about me…
“Yeah, you got a lotta time to act your age…” She said with a caring little smile at me, her eyes looking like they’d been crying… “You can’t write a book from a single page. Hands on the clock only turn one way…” I blinked up at her. She was… she was telling me to change myself, and to do it before it was too late. “Run too fast and you’ll risk it all, but you can’t be afraid to take a fall!” She smiled down at me as she encouraged me. I-I didn’t know what to make of this. I felt frightened, but then she put her hand on my head and petted me, calming me somewhat… “Felt so big but you look so small…”
“… I wish I knew back then, what I do now…” I stared up at the woman, as her smile disappeared and was replaced with a glare… Wait, what? “Wish I could somehow… go back in time, and maybe LISTEN TO MY OWN ADVICE!” I flinched, not prepared for that she’d scream the last part out at me. H-hold on, what she said… She hadn’t realized I could hear her!? W-well, of course, one can’t talk to their past self, all manners of contradictions and stuff told that, but… I didn’t get more time to consider that as big me grabbed me harshly by my sides and lifted me up on my feet, glaring at me with tears running down her cheeks, visibly upset as she shouted at me.
“SPEAK UP! SHOUT LOUD!” She screamed at me way too loudly for this short distance between us, leaving my brain blank and eyes wide staring up at her as she told me to… “Talk a bit LOUDER! Be a bit PROUDER!” E-even if she tells me to do that… I felt my body shivering, how could I possibly change because…? “You’re BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, everything that which you don’t see…!” … I opened my eyes wide in surprise, staring at her as she held me in place. I-I am…? “You gotta SPEAK UP! You gotta SHOUT LOUD!” … There was no question about it, she was talking about the boy, and about my future, and who I wanted to be… “And know that RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW…!” I-I was frightened by her, but seeing her tears… It was obvious… I was making a mistake. “You can be BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, anything you wanna be…!” My mouth opened as the true meaning of all she was saying dawned on me. If I just let everything slip away… Then this… Then… all that was left was her confirming her identity…
“Little Me…” I blinked at her, staring, as the woman confirmed that she was indeed… me from the future. As she said that, it seemed her energy somehow ran out as her grip vanished from around my sides and she fell onto me, hugging around me for a moment before vanishing, the heat from her body somehow remaining as she did. And now… as suddenly as she had appeared… she had disappeared, my eyes wide as I stared out of the dark void where I had been placed. “…!” There was no time to even bother thinking about how in the world what just happened could possibly have taken place. My appearance had confirmed something. This life I am leading… is going to hell. There is… NO WAY… I am letting this pass through my fingers now…! … I dashed out of my corner, running immediately for the phone before spinning around and deciding to run out on the streets instead. I… I had a boy I had to visit first…!
…
…
I breathed out on the photograph lying on the desk, now that I had broken the frame and the glass which had been obstructing direct contact. I sat on my knees, my elbows on the desk as I looked down on the photograph. … It was empty. The corner… was empty. Little me had risen out of it and run out of it, probably changing her life forever. … I grinned, looking down at the photograph in exhaustion from all my shouting and in satisfaction. I don’t even know how I did it, or why I still exist. Suppose the little me I influenced is from an alternative universe and I’m still stuck in my own? Yeah, suppose if I had changed my own little me, the me who gave the advice to this little me would never have existed, and that would have caused some form of paradox and such… I blink a little in surprise, noticing a little text in the bottom right corner of the photograph, which absolutely definitely wasn’t there before. “Thank you, Big Me. Please, don’t give up, you either.”
“… HA!” What, are you trying to encourage me in turn, Little Me? The mere absurdness of this made me laugh out loud. Yeah, why not? Using the desk to support myself, I stood up with a satisfied grin on my face, knowing that somewhere out there in an alternative universe there existed a little me who had achieved all her dreams. … Well, I didn’t actually know if she had or not, but in any case she had definitely had a more adventurous life than I had. Now then, I thought to myself as I looked over the room which my husband and I shared in his one-sided love to me… Guess it was about time I went out on an adventure of my own, eh? I grinned as I kicked over the vacuum cleaner beside me onto its back in a rebellious movement, starting to walk out of the room stretching my arms behind my head, smiling wider than I had in years. Somehow, I felt like the soul of Little Me smiled at me in turn in this action, which was fine with me.
Now, then. What should I do now~?
Ranbu Escalation by Gaku Sano & Kobayashi Yutaka
My eyes opened up as I got out of bed. I was in a tent and felt the pain on my chest pound with a burning sensation. I reeled back into the bed and screamed out. A medic came in and restrained me. I soon began to pass out. I can remember the last thing I heard before I woke up here:
“We have obtained the ultimate power... Now, what kind of world will be reflected in our eyes?”
I recalled who said that to me: my brother, Zack. We were best friends... that is until the war began. He left me and my mom for four years of bloody conflict. I remembered when he returned. My mom held him, though he didn’t respond to the hug. I waved hello to him, and he only looked at me weirdly. He never wanted to tell us what happened, but I know that it wasn’t pleasant.
Over the next few years, things have gotten rough. A flu broke out and my mom was one of the many victims. My father over in the United Kingdom took us to his place. There, words of depression and grudges have been building up. I walked down the street of my home one time, only to see a beggar be kicked around by another, yelling that this is his place.
It seems that every war leaves behind the seed of conflict. I think back and worry about Zack. I think to myself: in time, it matures into the fruit of sadness.
And mature it did... Another war broke out and Zack and I were the first to go into the front lines of war. It was horrible... many soldiers died in our first battle alone. I remember what he said to me the day after that battle:
“If you want to run away, then just leave this battle. It’s not easy to make your ideals come true.”
I did try to run an hour after he said that, but someone caught me, a man with short blonde hair and a horseshoe moustache, our general.
“SOLDIER! Why are you running away from war?” He asked me.
“I... I don’t want to fight!” I told him. He glared and gave me a slap.
“YOU INSIGNIFICANT GREEN FRUIT!” He yelled at me and walked off. I slumped to my knees and cried. My brother came over and patted me on the head. Our next battle didn’t end well. We were captured by the enemy army and got held in a prison camp along with several others that they had rounded up.
A scientist looked after us and began to perform experiments. I could remember the screaming of all the patients he tortured before they ultimately died. He then used us as his next test subjects, and I could feel like the angel of death itself would whisk me and my brother away once he began to inject a serum into us. He told us something simple to seemingly calm us:
“Everyone aims for the future they wish for...” Before the scientist was able to go any further with the experiment, a grenade broke in and blasted apart the lab. We were rescued.
However, before long, another blast made its presence... from my brother and me. My brother flew off in a bolt of lightning while I felt myself burning alive. I could hear by brother cackling:
“We have obtained the ultimate power... Now, what kind of world will be reflected in our eyes?”
Before long, I was clubbed in the head and was knocked out.
I awoke again, this time the pain gone and the burning ceased. The medic went back to my tent. I asked her:
“Where’s my brother? Where’s Zack Rismore?” I asked her.
“I... I can’t say.” She said. She left the tent. I shuddered as a brief breeze of cold air entered from the opened flap.
“He went AWOL.” Someone told me. I turned around and saw the person who rescued me: the general. “Whatever they did to you isn’t pretty... We need to figure out what exactly is wrong with the two of you.” He said. I shook my head.
“N-no! I have to find my brother! He’s afraid! Who knows what will happen to him?” I force myself out of bed as the soldier tried to hold me down, only for his hands to reel back as I heard the sounds of sizzling.
“GAAAAH!” He roared as I ran out of the tent. I leaped up and all of a sudden, I burst into flames. I hovered up and flew out of the camp while a loud alarm rang throughout. I closed my eyes and thought of my brother... As if by instinct, I knew where he was.
I flew over to a barren battlefield, ridden with exploded mines and dead soldiers. There I could see my brother. And he had changed, his once calm black hair now spiked up and sparking with electricity, muscles appearing all over his body, and an aura of lightning enveloping him. He sent bolts of lightning towards several enemy soldiers. They screamed in their language as their smiter laughed.
“ZACK!” I call to him. He turned around.
“Samuel... What a lovely surprise. You’ve adapted to that power perfectly...” The way he spoke... It wasn’t like my brother at all! He sounded too calm... too sickly... What happened? Was this what the wars did to him?
“What are you doing!?” I asked him. He casually sent another bolt to the enemies, though from their response, he didn’t seem intent on hitting them. The soldiers screamed and scrambled about like ants.
“Our powers are gifted to us, and so, we must use this great power responsibly.” He said. I look to him and nodded.
“So... So we shall use it to break the stalemate!” I told him. That’s when I heard airplanes flying towards us. Our airplanes.
“Yes...” My brother smirked as he pointed his fingers towards one of them like a gun. Right before he fired, I went over and pushed him out of the way, the bolt of lightning straying off into the sky.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” I yell my question again.
“Once we break the stalemate, we will use this power to rule over all.” He laughed and ascended into the sky, thunderclouds forming.
“WE HAVE THE ULTIMATE ESCALATION!” He sent out thunderclouds at the entire battlefield. They indiscriminately destroyed soldiers, both friend and foe alike. I had to stop them. I flew over and attacked each of the thunderclouds with my fists, though I got scared when they were lit on fire. The fire burned out the clouds. I froze as I looked at my fiery hands melt back down into normal skin. I could hear the sound of the airplanes’ machine guns firing at me. Though, they felt more like tickles... Tickles that my brother used to give me before the war.
I heard thunder cracks as the airplanes went down, some having their pilots ejecting while others exploded before they even had the chance. I turned around and looked towards my brother.
“You don’t even notice that you’re being targeted as you hesitate... I can still crush you if you remain a green fruit...” Zack said. He sent a thunderbolt at me now. I held my arms up as blue flames came to defend me. I looked at my hands... They’re becoming a dull blue color. I heard the sound of a rocket being fired at me. I turned and saw a rocket coming towards me, coming straight from one of our allies.
“NO! STOP!” I shouted and exploded into a blaze, firing a stream of flames at the rocket and blasting it. As those fires died, I could feel my hair on fire. I put my hands over the fiery hair, but I didn’t feel burned from it. I become anxious every time I cross my limits. Where am I going? What am I going to lose? I turned to Zack, who had flown off to somewhere else. I looked at my hands and thought back to the times when my brother was nice and happy. When he used to give me piggyback rides and teach me how to fly a kite. Those days vanished when he went for that first war, and any hope of him returning to that was destroyed in the second war...
Back in my youth, Zack and I used to play fight. It never got serious and we knew to say “uncle” when we got really hurt. However, he never said it. Instead, I was the one to say it. He had won every fight against me, mainly because I was the youngest of the two. Though, I always felt like if I was the older one, I wouldn’t hurt him. I loved him so much... so why? Why is he like this? I have to stop him before he destroys the world with this power...
That’s when I realized: there’s no turning back... There’s no stopping... Until I win in the end. I flew off. Tailing me were two airplanes, both firing at me. I flew to one side and then the other. Eventually, I spotted an incoming squadron of enemy aircraft and I flew in their direction, passing them as the planes behind me engaged them instead.
I flew into enemy territory as the soldiers began to fire upon me. I shielded myself from the bullets with my fire. It rained molten metal upon the enemies. I flew down towards them and shielded them from the rain with my flames. One of the soldiers aimed his gun at me, but I held the barrel of his rifle and melted it, preventing the bullet from exiting. When the rain stopped, I flew off and created a brief burst of light to blind the enemies. I began to think back to when the scientist experimented on us... Did he have to do with our powers? I frowned and thought...
When the greatest power in the world is unlocked, where will our fate lead us? As I thought that, I saw my brother right over a large building with a garden courtyard. His hands held long glowing bars of light. The bars were jagged on the sides and I realized that he was holding a lightning bolt... a very powerful one.
“Sammy! We shall create a world without war! You and I have seen what it had done to our lives and everyone else’s! I shall end this war and declare my superiority to anyone who would dare declare war!” Zack said. He aimed his lightning bolt at the main building. I can’t help but side with him. He’s a living example of his own statement. But still... ending the war by being the one in charge? Even if I was young, even if I was stupid, even if I was a green fruit... I knew this will not end happily.
We’re burning with ambition. Our wish will not change. However, I will go another route to make sure there’s a world with no war. And it starts with stopping my brother.
“POWER ESCALATION!” I screamed out as I burst into flames. I flew towards Zack as his reflexes kicked in and he threw the bolt at me. The bolt shattered and my aura of fire blew up with it. I fell, but at a slow pace. Zack smirked. I flicked by arms behind me and created an orb of fire that exploded onto the ground and push me up to Zack.
“Everyone has their reason to fight! No one can be stopped!” I told him. Zack sighed and frowned.
“I guess that in the beginning, it was just like the chaotic warring states...” He told me. He proceeded to punch me in the stomach as I felt a thousand volts of electricity course through me. If I was a normal person, I would have been dead. However, the electricity amplified my body. My fist turned into magma as I, with a pained scream, punched my own brother in the gut. I could see my fist poking through the other side of his body. I retched and pulled it away. My brother fell over and nearly hit the ground, but I flew down and picked him up.
“ZACK! DON’T DIE! PLEASE!” I began to cry. That’s when I looked over at the wound I gave him. The hole in his stomach slowly began to regrow. Was that also what the scientist gave us? Zack looked at me.
“U...Uncle...” He said. I gave a smile.
“Come back home with me. We’ll live a life without war.” I told him.
“It’s too late for that... We’re brought into this war and the wars to come thanks to this power we have.” He told me. I shook my head.
“No! I’ll live a normal life! No matter what the power I’ve obtained is!” I said. Zack gave me a smile before he pushed me away and floated up. He turned his head towards the palace. He simply shot an arrow at the entrance, causing rubble to fall down and seal it up. He turned to me with a glare.
“I’ll stay ahead of everyone else. My ideals won’t change.” With that, he flew away, an aura of blue lightning forming around him before he flew off at supersonic speeds. I stood there as dozens of enemy soldiers started chattering in their own language. I floated down as the group began to assemble a firing squad. Just as they were about to fire, I scoffed and sent bolt of fire at their feet with formed into a wall of fire. I flew off as well, though in the opposite direction of my brother. I know I will see him again.
Though, I shed a tear, saying goodbye to the youthful days with my brother. We have obtained a power beyond compare. I have yet to wonder what world will await us before our eyes. I just know that I will stop these wars, but I won’t rule over them like my brother. No.
I will keep escalating to the zenith.
My eyes opened up as I got out of bed. I was in a tent and felt the pain on my chest pound with a burning sensation. I reeled back into the bed and screamed out. A medic came in and restrained me. I soon began to pass out. I can remember the last thing I heard before I woke up here:
“We have obtained the ultimate power... Now, what kind of world will be reflected in our eyes?”
----
I recalled who said that to me: my brother, Zack. We were best friends... that is until the war began. He left me and my mom for four years of bloody conflict. I remembered when he returned. My mom held him, though he didn’t respond to the hug. I waved hello to him, and he only looked at me weirdly. He never wanted to tell us what happened, but I know that it wasn’t pleasant.
Over the next few years, things have gotten rough. A flu broke out and my mom was one of the many victims. My father over in the United Kingdom took us to his place. There, words of depression and grudges have been building up. I walked down the street of my home one time, only to see a beggar be kicked around by another, yelling that this is his place.
It seems that every war leaves behind the seed of conflict. I think back and worry about Zack. I think to myself: in time, it matures into the fruit of sadness.
And mature it did... Another war broke out and Zack and I were the first to go into the front lines of war. It was horrible... many soldiers died in our first battle alone. I remember what he said to me the day after that battle:
“If you want to run away, then just leave this battle. It’s not easy to make your ideals come true.”
I did try to run an hour after he said that, but someone caught me, a man with short blonde hair and a horseshoe moustache, our general.
“SOLDIER! Why are you running away from war?” He asked me.
“I... I don’t want to fight!” I told him. He glared and gave me a slap.
“YOU INSIGNIFICANT GREEN FRUIT!” He yelled at me and walked off. I slumped to my knees and cried. My brother came over and patted me on the head. Our next battle didn’t end well. We were captured by the enemy army and got held in a prison camp along with several others that they had rounded up.
A scientist looked after us and began to perform experiments. I could remember the screaming of all the patients he tortured before they ultimately died. He then used us as his next test subjects, and I could feel like the angel of death itself would whisk me and my brother away once he began to inject a serum into us. He told us something simple to seemingly calm us:
“Everyone aims for the future they wish for...” Before the scientist was able to go any further with the experiment, a grenade broke in and blasted apart the lab. We were rescued.
However, before long, another blast made its presence... from my brother and me. My brother flew off in a bolt of lightning while I felt myself burning alive. I could hear by brother cackling:
“We have obtained the ultimate power... Now, what kind of world will be reflected in our eyes?”
Before long, I was clubbed in the head and was knocked out.
----
I awoke again, this time the pain gone and the burning ceased. The medic went back to my tent. I asked her:
“Where’s my brother? Where’s Zack Rismore?” I asked her.
“I... I can’t say.” She said. She left the tent. I shuddered as a brief breeze of cold air entered from the opened flap.
“He went AWOL.” Someone told me. I turned around and saw the person who rescued me: the general. “Whatever they did to you isn’t pretty... We need to figure out what exactly is wrong with the two of you.” He said. I shook my head.
“N-no! I have to find my brother! He’s afraid! Who knows what will happen to him?” I force myself out of bed as the soldier tried to hold me down, only for his hands to reel back as I heard the sounds of sizzling.
“GAAAAH!” He roared as I ran out of the tent. I leaped up and all of a sudden, I burst into flames. I hovered up and flew out of the camp while a loud alarm rang throughout. I closed my eyes and thought of my brother... As if by instinct, I knew where he was.
----
I flew over to a barren battlefield, ridden with exploded mines and dead soldiers. There I could see my brother. And he had changed, his once calm black hair now spiked up and sparking with electricity, muscles appearing all over his body, and an aura of lightning enveloping him. He sent bolts of lightning towards several enemy soldiers. They screamed in their language as their smiter laughed.
“ZACK!” I call to him. He turned around.
“Samuel... What a lovely surprise. You’ve adapted to that power perfectly...” The way he spoke... It wasn’t like my brother at all! He sounded too calm... too sickly... What happened? Was this what the wars did to him?
“What are you doing!?” I asked him. He casually sent another bolt to the enemies, though from their response, he didn’t seem intent on hitting them. The soldiers screamed and scrambled about like ants.
“Our powers are gifted to us, and so, we must use this great power responsibly.” He said. I look to him and nodded.
“So... So we shall use it to break the stalemate!” I told him. That’s when I heard airplanes flying towards us. Our airplanes.
“Yes...” My brother smirked as he pointed his fingers towards one of them like a gun. Right before he fired, I went over and pushed him out of the way, the bolt of lightning straying off into the sky.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” I yell my question again.
“Once we break the stalemate, we will use this power to rule over all.” He laughed and ascended into the sky, thunderclouds forming.
“WE HAVE THE ULTIMATE ESCALATION!” He sent out thunderclouds at the entire battlefield. They indiscriminately destroyed soldiers, both friend and foe alike. I had to stop them. I flew over and attacked each of the thunderclouds with my fists, though I got scared when they were lit on fire. The fire burned out the clouds. I froze as I looked at my fiery hands melt back down into normal skin. I could hear the sound of the airplanes’ machine guns firing at me. Though, they felt more like tickles... Tickles that my brother used to give me before the war.
I heard thunder cracks as the airplanes went down, some having their pilots ejecting while others exploded before they even had the chance. I turned around and looked towards my brother.
“You don’t even notice that you’re being targeted as you hesitate... I can still crush you if you remain a green fruit...” Zack said. He sent a thunderbolt at me now. I held my arms up as blue flames came to defend me. I looked at my hands... They’re becoming a dull blue color. I heard the sound of a rocket being fired at me. I turned and saw a rocket coming towards me, coming straight from one of our allies.
“NO! STOP!” I shouted and exploded into a blaze, firing a stream of flames at the rocket and blasting it. As those fires died, I could feel my hair on fire. I put my hands over the fiery hair, but I didn’t feel burned from it. I become anxious every time I cross my limits. Where am I going? What am I going to lose? I turned to Zack, who had flown off to somewhere else. I looked at my hands and thought back to the times when my brother was nice and happy. When he used to give me piggyback rides and teach me how to fly a kite. Those days vanished when he went for that first war, and any hope of him returning to that was destroyed in the second war...
Back in my youth, Zack and I used to play fight. It never got serious and we knew to say “uncle” when we got really hurt. However, he never said it. Instead, I was the one to say it. He had won every fight against me, mainly because I was the youngest of the two. Though, I always felt like if I was the older one, I wouldn’t hurt him. I loved him so much... so why? Why is he like this? I have to stop him before he destroys the world with this power...
That’s when I realized: there’s no turning back... There’s no stopping... Until I win in the end. I flew off. Tailing me were two airplanes, both firing at me. I flew to one side and then the other. Eventually, I spotted an incoming squadron of enemy aircraft and I flew in their direction, passing them as the planes behind me engaged them instead.
----
I flew into enemy territory as the soldiers began to fire upon me. I shielded myself from the bullets with my fire. It rained molten metal upon the enemies. I flew down towards them and shielded them from the rain with my flames. One of the soldiers aimed his gun at me, but I held the barrel of his rifle and melted it, preventing the bullet from exiting. When the rain stopped, I flew off and created a brief burst of light to blind the enemies. I began to think back to when the scientist experimented on us... Did he have to do with our powers? I frowned and thought...
When the greatest power in the world is unlocked, where will our fate lead us? As I thought that, I saw my brother right over a large building with a garden courtyard. His hands held long glowing bars of light. The bars were jagged on the sides and I realized that he was holding a lightning bolt... a very powerful one.
“Sammy! We shall create a world without war! You and I have seen what it had done to our lives and everyone else’s! I shall end this war and declare my superiority to anyone who would dare declare war!” Zack said. He aimed his lightning bolt at the main building. I can’t help but side with him. He’s a living example of his own statement. But still... ending the war by being the one in charge? Even if I was young, even if I was stupid, even if I was a green fruit... I knew this will not end happily.
We’re burning with ambition. Our wish will not change. However, I will go another route to make sure there’s a world with no war. And it starts with stopping my brother.
“POWER ESCALATION!” I screamed out as I burst into flames. I flew towards Zack as his reflexes kicked in and he threw the bolt at me. The bolt shattered and my aura of fire blew up with it. I fell, but at a slow pace. Zack smirked. I flicked by arms behind me and created an orb of fire that exploded onto the ground and push me up to Zack.
“Everyone has their reason to fight! No one can be stopped!” I told him. Zack sighed and frowned.
“I guess that in the beginning, it was just like the chaotic warring states...” He told me. He proceeded to punch me in the stomach as I felt a thousand volts of electricity course through me. If I was a normal person, I would have been dead. However, the electricity amplified my body. My fist turned into magma as I, with a pained scream, punched my own brother in the gut. I could see my fist poking through the other side of his body. I retched and pulled it away. My brother fell over and nearly hit the ground, but I flew down and picked him up.
“ZACK! DON’T DIE! PLEASE!” I began to cry. That’s when I looked over at the wound I gave him. The hole in his stomach slowly began to regrow. Was that also what the scientist gave us? Zack looked at me.
“U...Uncle...” He said. I gave a smile.
“Come back home with me. We’ll live a life without war.” I told him.
“It’s too late for that... We’re brought into this war and the wars to come thanks to this power we have.” He told me. I shook my head.
“No! I’ll live a normal life! No matter what the power I’ve obtained is!” I said. Zack gave me a smile before he pushed me away and floated up. He turned his head towards the palace. He simply shot an arrow at the entrance, causing rubble to fall down and seal it up. He turned to me with a glare.
“I’ll stay ahead of everyone else. My ideals won’t change.” With that, he flew away, an aura of blue lightning forming around him before he flew off at supersonic speeds. I stood there as dozens of enemy soldiers started chattering in their own language. I floated down as the group began to assemble a firing squad. Just as they were about to fire, I scoffed and sent bolt of fire at their feet with formed into a wall of fire. I flew off as well, though in the opposite direction of my brother. I know I will see him again.
Though, I shed a tear, saying goodbye to the youthful days with my brother. We have obtained a power beyond compare. I have yet to wonder what world will await us before our eyes. I just know that I will stop these wars, but I won’t rule over them like my brother. No.
I will keep escalating to the zenith.
Inspired by this
I said I would never end up like you.
But I look back, and here I am.
This side-walk was never meant for two
But you just had to find a way
I said I would never end up like you.
Five dollar feuds
Black-blue hues
But you couldn't help
But trip me?
Did you know the way?
Did you know that I would fall?
It was in every word you said,
You put it in my head,
And now all I can do is stall.
I said I would never end up like you.
But I look back, and here I am.
This side-walk was never meant for two
But you just had to find a way
I said I would never end up like you.
Five dollar feuds
Black-blue hues
But you couldn't help
But trip me?
Did you know the way?
Did you know that I would fall?
It was in every word you said,
You put it in my head,
And now all I can do is stall.
inspired by"Rondo All Turca" by Mozart
Kings
We are kings.
This broken city is where we rule.
The sounds of sirens and gunshots are our national anthem.
Track marks the coat of arms that coat our arms.
Abandoned rowhouses and hovels are our palaces.
We wear sacred garments of the finest holy tattered cloth.
Our crowns are mud and blood-stained baseball caps.
We hold court with the corner boys, the hookers,
the tweakers, and the stick-up artists.
We ride our noble steed in the form of
a shopping cart with a broken wheel.
We do battle with the enemy that is gentrification
and liberate copper wiring and pipes from their oppressive
state in soon to be renovated buildings.
We set them free at twenty-five cents per pounds.
A victorious day’s campaign leads to that day’s spoils.
Ambrosia from the apothecary for twenty bucks a pop.
They say it’s the bomb, but they say that every day.
We find a place to rest our heads; this way station
with weeds, used rubbers, and broken bottles.
It is befitting royalty such as us.
Our steward prepares the royal works with a care and a grace
that comes with a lifetime of practice.
The silver spoon blackened by fire
and bent by time bubbles the concoction over flame.
The gilded needle finds its home in the vein.
The divine nectar courses through our body and we become weightless.
“Blast off,” our squire says, smiling with crooked and rotting teeth.
We float as ether, surveying our kingdom from outside our bodies.
We see the cracked streets, the weed-strewn lots,
the squatters living without running water or electricity.
They accept that they must live their life out
in the fatalistic path circumstance has decreed.
Our subjects, cold and hungry and homeless, play their part the way we must play our part.
All the world is a game and we are merely trying to not get played.
For a brief moment we live in harmony with this urban decay.
For a microsecond all is right in the world.
Like all good things it ends. We come back to reality with sobering clarity.
We see it for what it is, the cold existence of chasing that
high that was never as good as the one before.
Always searching for one more.
The futility of it all becomes almost too overwhelming for us to handle.
“Yo,” says our steward. “The old man up the way has got some guns we can pawn.”
We smile and nod.
The old sport knows just how to cheer us up.
There is another adventure to have.
Another war to wage.
Another right to wrong.
Our time here is all too brief.
We are not the first of our line, nor will we be the last.
But for now we reign.
We are kings.
Kings
We are kings.
This broken city is where we rule.
The sounds of sirens and gunshots are our national anthem.
Track marks the coat of arms that coat our arms.
Abandoned rowhouses and hovels are our palaces.
We wear sacred garments of the finest holy tattered cloth.
Our crowns are mud and blood-stained baseball caps.
We hold court with the corner boys, the hookers,
the tweakers, and the stick-up artists.
We ride our noble steed in the form of
a shopping cart with a broken wheel.
We do battle with the enemy that is gentrification
and liberate copper wiring and pipes from their oppressive
state in soon to be renovated buildings.
We set them free at twenty-five cents per pounds.
A victorious day’s campaign leads to that day’s spoils.
Ambrosia from the apothecary for twenty bucks a pop.
They say it’s the bomb, but they say that every day.
We find a place to rest our heads; this way station
with weeds, used rubbers, and broken bottles.
It is befitting royalty such as us.
Our steward prepares the royal works with a care and a grace
that comes with a lifetime of practice.
The silver spoon blackened by fire
and bent by time bubbles the concoction over flame.
The gilded needle finds its home in the vein.
The divine nectar courses through our body and we become weightless.
“Blast off,” our squire says, smiling with crooked and rotting teeth.
We float as ether, surveying our kingdom from outside our bodies.
We see the cracked streets, the weed-strewn lots,
the squatters living without running water or electricity.
They accept that they must live their life out
in the fatalistic path circumstance has decreed.
Our subjects, cold and hungry and homeless, play their part the way we must play our part.
All the world is a game and we are merely trying to not get played.
For a brief moment we live in harmony with this urban decay.
For a microsecond all is right in the world.
Like all good things it ends. We come back to reality with sobering clarity.
We see it for what it is, the cold existence of chasing that
high that was never as good as the one before.
Always searching for one more.
The futility of it all becomes almost too overwhelming for us to handle.
“Yo,” says our steward. “The old man up the way has got some guns we can pawn.”
We smile and nod.
The old sport knows just how to cheer us up.
There is another adventure to have.
Another war to wage.
Another right to wrong.
Our time here is all too brief.
We are not the first of our line, nor will we be the last.
But for now we reign.
We are kings.
Stepping Out, inspired by Joe Jackson's Steppin' Out
A passing siren forced its way into the living room, blaring in from the cool night, the uninvited guest made its presence known in each room, as if to spite any soundproofing the apartment building may boast. Whining, it’s loud, droning cry, it punched the walls, disturbing hour old dust from the china cabinet on one wall, straightening out thousand year old picture frames holding stock images on another. The furnishings vibrated with this siren’s scream, it was child throwing a tantrum, it just wanted attention.
It died lazily.
43 seconds, lazily, actually. That’s when the last vestiges of its echo died off. It always made me wonder, how high up did one need to be to escape the urban yell? Certainly, 30 stories was not a steep enough climb for the shriek of those cars and their flashing lights.
When one tyrant leaves, another always finds their way in. This monopoly of silence would not last--
“Jimmaayyy!?” Came the Bronx-injected wail of mother, her bedroom walls no doubt groaning with effort, “Wheyas tha cwoffey?”
“Aily’s doin’ it, ma.” Responds a tired voice from the living room. Jimmy. His classic NY accent is diluted from globalization.
This ‘Aily’ is me.
“Come and get it your damn self!” I yell. To neither of them in particular. I simply don’t enjoy sojourns into my mother’s quarters. Not only that, but I do have somewhere to be, and I’d like to leave soon. I plop the mug down on a counter top, spilling some of the black fluid in the process. This, in all honesty, probably kills several colonies of bacteria.
“Ohhhh!!! Mwy own kiiids go throwin’ me to tha wolves I tell ya!” Cries mother, she’s absolutely heartbroken that her investment in children hasn’t netted her slaves in her old age. I remain indifferent. Jimmy sighs.
“Steppin’ out?” He mutters. Like the real hero he is, he tears himself away from the television to deliver the java.
“Yes.” Is my nonchalant response. The jacket I throw on is blue velvet. I think it’s a suitable contrast to the horrendously pink dress I have on under it.
Jimmy doesn’t like it at all, he tells me that I look like a child. I tell him he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. He says he does and that I can’t go out dressed like that, that I look like a child. I tell him I’ll do as I please, and that he can go consume a burlap sack of phallus’. Our mother chimes in with a comment about her substance addiction to caffeine. Jimmy and I give sighs of varying levels of exasperation.
Then, he just stands there. I’m looking at him, getting ready to leave, thinking that he’s going to say something to me, waiting for him to say something to me. But he isn’t. He’s just standing there, holding this mug of coffee that’s sending up a wisp of steam that almost completely covers the look of disapproval on his face.
Is the look softening?
It really doesn’t matter. I turn and leave, exiting the apartment that has become my life, I step out into the night.
Well, more specifically, I step out into the hallway of our ramshackle building. It’s as barren as my mother’s womb and as unused as mine. I move through the drab gray corridor to a shiny silver door. This mystical portal to the ground running on technology both arcane and fantastic. The elevator!
As I press the button, it glows a dim off-white. Confirming my decision. This is one of many points of no return, one that door opens, I must step in—I owe it to the energy spent getting the metal box to my floor. I can either turn around and go back home or commit myself completely to going down. A symbolic trip down? I’m finding poetic meaning in a simple, if rare, evening excursion such as this already.
Aw fuck.
“Heeeeeyyyy!!!!” Shouts an annoyingly mirthful Italian voice, it only increases in volume as the door pushes its way open. The source of the voice; a plump, blading Italian man. Ennio. As he likes to be called. In that moment, I could feel nothing but an incredible longing to lock myself back away in my room. But I can’t—he’s seen me, he won’t let me go without giving me twice the earful I avoided by skirting coffee courier duties to my brother.
Ennio is fucking crazy. A ball of lard personified, Ennio is both revolting and absolutely sweet. He’s, in every way but appearance and mannerisms, the ideal human being. Or at the very least, the ideal landlord. Ennio is a closet homosexual, and I’m pretty sure Jimmy preforms sexual favors for him to get extensions on our rent. Generally, he is an open and kind and unbearable person. Sometimes, he even bakes us pastries.
Uggghhhh
Ennio, at that moment, appeared to be greasier than my face in high school. Except it was like, his whole body. He didn’t seem to care about that though. The chubby Italian asshole pulled me into the elevator with an incredibly slippery bear hug. Like, a bear fish hug. No… that was fish oil and bacon grease… What he assaulted me with was this horrid pig man fish bear hug.
Uggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I wanted to throw up. I couldn’t believe I’d left the safety of my home for this, for an unashamed display of public affection. It was awful. And I imagine that I left his embrace, or, more realistically, as he released me from his 4ft vice grip, even greasier than he was.
I say, ‘I imagine,’ because at this point I completely zoned out. I have absolutely no desire to engage in conversation with Ennio. So I turn to the only sanctuary available to me at the moment, my mind.
He’s saying something to me about how he hasn’t seen me in months, how I should get out more, about Hollow’s Eve, and what we’d like to do for it. I am ignoring him. I bring up a numb arm to push on the glassy elevator button, surprised the light even still comes on in this ancient elevator to illuminate the ‘L,’ signifying my desired location.
I wanted to get out there as fast as possible; Ennio had moved his one way discussion on to kittens in hats.
Of course, things never go the way we like them to in the real world.
The elevator door swings open to reveal the giddiest group of women it has ever been my pleasure and displeasure to know.
They’re my friends from high school, and I hate them. I hate them all. I hate it all.
The elevator opens to the ground floor buzzing with the incessant chatting of those who’ve driven me to this. I can still make it to the bridge; I just need to get a late night taxi.
I stumble out of the building, ignoring their cries, into the dark night.
I turn quickly to find the voice again, but it’s gone.
Someone was talking to me here a moment ago... I think... But this stranger is gone. The only evidence of our strangely pleasant exchange is a bright flower left hanging limply in my hand.
Now, I am left with only me.
There is only ever me. Heavy are the thoughts, something that changes through the ages. I look up. Sky. Black sky. Something that bridges a gap for others, something that can’t bridge a gap between others.
My walk.
My ride.
My life. Something unique? No. Something agreeable? I haven’t decided.
People. Voices. Many of them with a lot of to say, many of them useless.
The stranger. A man. A man of flowers and few, useful words.
Friends. Friends that I hate.
Sirens. 911. The 911 that must be called for every whining siren I hear. A car without the sirens I always hear. No 911 but the whims of people.
Made from the ideas of the past are cars.
Made from the ideas of the past are people.
Am I?
Something that other people made. Life. Something that other people made. People are what? Something that they made. People are things which people made. The things I possess are my mind and my thoughts.
The vessel of thought. This form. Is it mine? A body made of the past and other people, the throne of an isolated mind.
This body is made of other people.
Who are they? It doesn't matter who or what or where.
I think.
Can’t know.
But who am I? The mind.
Why did I step into the night? Away from the voices—I crave isolation. Why am I crying? Why am I crying? Why am I crying?
I… I do not know.
What do I know?
I know that I, am Aily. This object is me, the material of others which forms me.
This, is the Aily that is visible, though it feels as if this is not Aily. This is an extremely painful feeling.
My body seems as if it is being thrown out of a car. It’s not my body. I am not my body. I cannot see myself. It’s not myself. I am not myself. My figure is fading away. It’s not my figure. I am not my figure. Is the figure mine to claim? Is anything? My mind is.
I am aware of other people and their voices.
I know who this is? This is also me. Aily. I claim ownership over this Aily. The Aily in MY mind. The Aily I am. The Aily that controls this form stolen from the meat of other people. My memories are stolen too, knowledge. Is it? I do not know. I do know that my thoughts are not.
My thoughts have stolen the voices of others.
Voices of other people. Mother. Jimmy. Ennio. People, my friends. The driver of the yellow taxi. The stranger. Aily. At least you can talk, who are you? Who are you? Who are you?
They do not answer. Have they ever?
They tried.
Aily answers.
The lights. The night. What will I find should I step into it? The other side?
These eyes will feel dry when this body is not.
I step out into the night. I have already.
Aily smiles.
Where there was once a bridge, illuminating the night with a fine electricity, where the silhouette of a figure disturbed the glow. There is now only a bridge, lights slightly dampened by a sudden mist, hiding their color. If one were to listen, above sirens of the city and hum of the cars and distant voices, you might be able to hear a faint splash. The still water perfectly mirrored the night sky, but something has caused the moon to ripple. There will soon be two night skies again though, soon the water will cease its rippling.
One night sky has rose petals.
~~~
A passing siren forced its way into the living room, blaring in from the cool night, the uninvited guest made its presence known in each room, as if to spite any soundproofing the apartment building may boast. Whining, it’s loud, droning cry, it punched the walls, disturbing hour old dust from the china cabinet on one wall, straightening out thousand year old picture frames holding stock images on another. The furnishings vibrated with this siren’s scream, it was child throwing a tantrum, it just wanted attention.
It died lazily.
43 seconds, lazily, actually. That’s when the last vestiges of its echo died off. It always made me wonder, how high up did one need to be to escape the urban yell? Certainly, 30 stories was not a steep enough climb for the shriek of those cars and their flashing lights.
When one tyrant leaves, another always finds their way in. This monopoly of silence would not last--
“Jimmaayyy!?” Came the Bronx-injected wail of mother, her bedroom walls no doubt groaning with effort, “Wheyas tha cwoffey?”
“Aily’s doin’ it, ma.” Responds a tired voice from the living room. Jimmy. His classic NY accent is diluted from globalization.
This ‘Aily’ is me.
“Come and get it your damn self!” I yell. To neither of them in particular. I simply don’t enjoy sojourns into my mother’s quarters. Not only that, but I do have somewhere to be, and I’d like to leave soon. I plop the mug down on a counter top, spilling some of the black fluid in the process. This, in all honesty, probably kills several colonies of bacteria.
“Ohhhh!!! Mwy own kiiids go throwin’ me to tha wolves I tell ya!” Cries mother, she’s absolutely heartbroken that her investment in children hasn’t netted her slaves in her old age. I remain indifferent. Jimmy sighs.
“Steppin’ out?” He mutters. Like the real hero he is, he tears himself away from the television to deliver the java.
“Yes.” Is my nonchalant response. The jacket I throw on is blue velvet. I think it’s a suitable contrast to the horrendously pink dress I have on under it.
Jimmy doesn’t like it at all, he tells me that I look like a child. I tell him he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. He says he does and that I can’t go out dressed like that, that I look like a child. I tell him I’ll do as I please, and that he can go consume a burlap sack of phallus’. Our mother chimes in with a comment about her substance addiction to caffeine. Jimmy and I give sighs of varying levels of exasperation.
Then, he just stands there. I’m looking at him, getting ready to leave, thinking that he’s going to say something to me, waiting for him to say something to me. But he isn’t. He’s just standing there, holding this mug of coffee that’s sending up a wisp of steam that almost completely covers the look of disapproval on his face.
Is the look softening?
It really doesn’t matter. I turn and leave, exiting the apartment that has become my life, I step out into the night.
Well, more specifically, I step out into the hallway of our ramshackle building. It’s as barren as my mother’s womb and as unused as mine. I move through the drab gray corridor to a shiny silver door. This mystical portal to the ground running on technology both arcane and fantastic. The elevator!
As I press the button, it glows a dim off-white. Confirming my decision. This is one of many points of no return, one that door opens, I must step in—I owe it to the energy spent getting the metal box to my floor. I can either turn around and go back home or commit myself completely to going down. A symbolic trip down? I’m finding poetic meaning in a simple, if rare, evening excursion such as this already.
*ding*
Aw fuck.
“Heeeeeyyyy!!!!” Shouts an annoyingly mirthful Italian voice, it only increases in volume as the door pushes its way open. The source of the voice; a plump, blading Italian man. Ennio. As he likes to be called. In that moment, I could feel nothing but an incredible longing to lock myself back away in my room. But I can’t—he’s seen me, he won’t let me go without giving me twice the earful I avoided by skirting coffee courier duties to my brother.
Ennio is fucking crazy. A ball of lard personified, Ennio is both revolting and absolutely sweet. He’s, in every way but appearance and mannerisms, the ideal human being. Or at the very least, the ideal landlord. Ennio is a closet homosexual, and I’m pretty sure Jimmy preforms sexual favors for him to get extensions on our rent. Generally, he is an open and kind and unbearable person. Sometimes, he even bakes us pastries.
Uggghhhh
Ennio, at that moment, appeared to be greasier than my face in high school. Except it was like, his whole body. He didn’t seem to care about that though. The chubby Italian asshole pulled me into the elevator with an incredibly slippery bear hug. Like, a bear fish hug. No… that was fish oil and bacon grease… What he assaulted me with was this horrid pig man fish bear hug.
Uggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I wanted to throw up. I couldn’t believe I’d left the safety of my home for this, for an unashamed display of public affection. It was awful. And I imagine that I left his embrace, or, more realistically, as he released me from his 4ft vice grip, even greasier than he was.
I say, ‘I imagine,’ because at this point I completely zoned out. I have absolutely no desire to engage in conversation with Ennio. So I turn to the only sanctuary available to me at the moment, my mind.
He’s saying something to me about how he hasn’t seen me in months, how I should get out more, about Hollow’s Eve, and what we’d like to do for it. I am ignoring him. I bring up a numb arm to push on the glassy elevator button, surprised the light even still comes on in this ancient elevator to illuminate the ‘L,’ signifying my desired location.
I wanted to get out there as fast as possible; Ennio had moved his one way discussion on to kittens in hats.
Of course, things never go the way we like them to in the real world.
The elevator door swings open to reveal the giddiest group of women it has ever been my pleasure and displeasure to know.
They’re my friends from high school, and I hate them. I hate them all. I hate it all.
The elevator opens to the ground floor buzzing with the incessant chatting of those who’ve driven me to this. I can still make it to the bridge; I just need to get a late night taxi.
I stumble out of the building, ignoring their cries, into the dark night.
~~~
I turn quickly to find the voice again, but it’s gone.
Someone was talking to me here a moment ago... I think... But this stranger is gone. The only evidence of our strangely pleasant exchange is a bright flower left hanging limply in my hand.
Now, I am left with only me.
There is only ever me. Heavy are the thoughts, something that changes through the ages. I look up. Sky. Black sky. Something that bridges a gap for others, something that can’t bridge a gap between others.
My walk.
My ride.
My life. Something unique? No. Something agreeable? I haven’t decided.
People. Voices. Many of them with a lot of to say, many of them useless.
The stranger. A man. A man of flowers and few, useful words.
Friends. Friends that I hate.
Sirens. 911. The 911 that must be called for every whining siren I hear. A car without the sirens I always hear. No 911 but the whims of people.
Made from the ideas of the past are cars.
Made from the ideas of the past are people.
Am I?
Something that other people made. Life. Something that other people made. People are what? Something that they made. People are things which people made. The things I possess are my mind and my thoughts.
The vessel of thought. This form. Is it mine? A body made of the past and other people, the throne of an isolated mind.
This body is made of other people.
Who are they? It doesn't matter who or what or where.
I think.
Can’t know.
But who am I? The mind.
Why did I step into the night? Away from the voices—I crave isolation. Why am I crying? Why am I crying? Why am I crying?
I… I do not know.
What do I know?
I know that I, am Aily. This object is me, the material of others which forms me.
This, is the Aily that is visible, though it feels as if this is not Aily. This is an extremely painful feeling.
My body seems as if it is being thrown out of a car. It’s not my body. I am not my body. I cannot see myself. It’s not myself. I am not myself. My figure is fading away. It’s not my figure. I am not my figure. Is the figure mine to claim? Is anything? My mind is.
I am aware of other people and their voices.
I know who this is? This is also me. Aily. I claim ownership over this Aily. The Aily in MY mind. The Aily I am. The Aily that controls this form stolen from the meat of other people. My memories are stolen too, knowledge. Is it? I do not know. I do know that my thoughts are not.
My thoughts have stolen the voices of others.
Voices of other people. Mother. Jimmy. Ennio. People, my friends. The driver of the yellow taxi. The stranger. Aily. At least you can talk, who are you? Who are you? Who are you?
They do not answer. Have they ever?
They tried.
Aily answers.
The lights. The night. What will I find should I step into it? The other side?
These eyes will feel dry when this body is not.
I step out into the night. I have already.
Aily smiles.
Where there was once a bridge, illuminating the night with a fine electricity, where the silhouette of a figure disturbed the glow. There is now only a bridge, lights slightly dampened by a sudden mist, hiding their color. If one were to listen, above sirens of the city and hum of the cars and distant voices, you might be able to hear a faint splash. The still water perfectly mirrored the night sky, but something has caused the moon to ripple. There will soon be two night skies again though, soon the water will cease its rippling.
One night sky has rose petals.
Salvation, by Skillet.
Unraveling.
My thoughts are coming unwound
I can’t see anything, through the pain
And fear. I hope I’ll be found
Before I die. Or even after I die.
As long as they find me, and don’t forget me.
I prayed they were coming to rescue me, only…
I’m the one who turned my back on them.
I betrayed them.
But… Would they rescue me?
And now my life is unraveling before my eyes
And for all I know they’re sitting around laughing.
Watching me unravel.
Real or not real? My mind is a web.
People, connections are a web, a net.
And nets and webs both unravel.
So does consciousness, apparently.
So does sanity.
But I can’t give into it.
If they’re still out there, looking for me.
I’ve got to keep it together.
Weave the net back together,
Stick the web back together,
And don’t you dare fall apart.
The only reason I’m still going
Is because they’re helping me survive.
Keeping me from unraveling.
Real or not real?
People are traitors.
They don’t care about me.
Aren’t looking for me.
As far as they know
I’m already dead.
Not suffering this agony.
Because the girl they care about?
She’s gone. Into oblivion.
Unraveled.
Unraveling.
My thoughts are coming unwound
I can’t see anything, through the pain
And fear. I hope I’ll be found
Before I die. Or even after I die.
As long as they find me, and don’t forget me.
I prayed they were coming to rescue me, only…
I’m the one who turned my back on them.
I betrayed them.
But… Would they rescue me?
And now my life is unraveling before my eyes
And for all I know they’re sitting around laughing.
Watching me unravel.
Real or not real? My mind is a web.
People, connections are a web, a net.
And nets and webs both unravel.
So does consciousness, apparently.
So does sanity.
But I can’t give into it.
If they’re still out there, looking for me.
I’ve got to keep it together.
Weave the net back together,
Stick the web back together,
And don’t you dare fall apart.
The only reason I’m still going
Is because they’re helping me survive.
Keeping me from unraveling.
Real or not real?
People are traitors.
They don’t care about me.
Aren’t looking for me.
As far as they know
I’m already dead.
Not suffering this agony.
Because the girl they care about?
She’s gone. Into oblivion.
Unraveled.
Inspired by Poet and the Pendulum - Nightwish
"Bring him in" one of the men had ordered, and the 16 year old was presented to them, blindfolded and bound by the wrists. As he was brought to a kneeling position, the blindfold was lifted and amber eyes that flared with greed and cunning glanced around the room. There were figures in front of him, but were hidden behind a white screen wall, only showing their silhouettes. Fein didn't bother asking questions, chances are they would dodge them or respond with their own. Standing up for a more comfortable position, he met their gaze, or so he could tell.
"So then." One began. "Tell us what happened in that town, Aelgriess, your home." So this is what they wanted; information. He didn't see any exits, nor any reason to defy them. After all, they brought him to them, surely they had something planned for him. Although he found it strange for world leaders to be interested in such a small disaster like Aelgriess. If they were world leaders. To have such authority in this day and age was difficult otherwise. "Well..." Fein replied. "Let's just say... It was Hell Incarnate for some."
Only a decade ago, when I was old enough to perform physical labor, I was coraled with many others of my age. They all knew. Knew what was in store for them. He who was in charge of Aelgriess, Wilhelm, the mayor. He knew no compassion or mercy, instead replaced with indulgence and selfishness. In that town, once anyone was of age of labor, they were summoned by Wilhelm to work as slaves. Few defied his rules, those that did... Were taken care of. There was no choice.
There also seemed no hope, as "investigators" were either bribed or blackmailed, and if neither option was viable, murder was always a pleasing way to resolve such problems. None outside of that closed off world knew even of their existence. As such, they were treated as terribly as amused their owners, Wilhelm and his company. More than once the others would bear gruesome nightmares, made apparent by their howls in the middle of the night, as well as terrible scars, inside and out. They were pitiable, they were filled with such fear and sadness, they were all innocent.
With one exception. I was strong. Or heartless, both seem true. I didn't cry as the others did, I didn't despair over those lost around us, I was different. Instead of grief and hopelessness, I was burning with ambition and hatred. It seemed apparent that anyone that bore power would inevitably misuse it. 10 years I was enthralled, beaten, and mocked. Only it made me stronger. 10 years I had been growing, learning, plotting. Then one evening, at the dead of night, I slaughtered them all.
Out in the mountains where we were secluded, the threats of carnivorous beasts was ever present. I used this against them, opening gates, luring them with fresh blood. Then there was the fires, spread everywhere, and the traps that littered the town. It was working perfectly, absolute chaos ensued everywhere, women and children, those innocent and evil alike were dying and suffering. But my true business was elsewhere. It seemed Wilhelm had expected this, although from his enraged expression, he had underestimated the capabilities of someone under his heel of torture.
The fires, the beasts, the traps, all of it erupted the final blaze of suffering and widespread terror. They who wept beside me, those who broke, those who suffered most. They would suffer no more. I intended to steal everything from Silhelm, be it slaves or treasure, all that was in his possession was perishing, and next was his life. Surprisingly, he cowered, pleaded and wept like a child. There was no power he truly held, it was only stolen and borrowed through the fear and suffering he isntilled into others.
Wielding the greatsword he cherished killing others with, I raised it above him, and in one final swing, it was over. It was all over. Taking the pendulum like weapon with me, I left the ruins which housed evil no more. Everyone was dead. Everything was burning. The despair was no more, the power Silhelm had was stolen, taken by a young man filled with ambition. This, I realized was what I must do. All who hold power misuse it. So I shall steal their power from them, ending their existence in the process. And so I await the one who shall do so to myself as I continue growing stronger and stronger.
"I, Fein Dren. Sole survivor of the Tragedy of Aelgriess. Another power hungry fool. I will complete my objective, no matter what." He let out a sigh after his long explanation. He was a survivor, but only to become another victim. "And it is here, that I met you. You, who promised me more power. You, who desired my capabilities. You, who now hides behind your veil. I have answered your question, now answer mine. Tell me what you have planned for me."
"Bring him in" one of the men had ordered, and the 16 year old was presented to them, blindfolded and bound by the wrists. As he was brought to a kneeling position, the blindfold was lifted and amber eyes that flared with greed and cunning glanced around the room. There were figures in front of him, but were hidden behind a white screen wall, only showing their silhouettes. Fein didn't bother asking questions, chances are they would dodge them or respond with their own. Standing up for a more comfortable position, he met their gaze, or so he could tell.
"So then." One began. "Tell us what happened in that town, Aelgriess, your home." So this is what they wanted; information. He didn't see any exits, nor any reason to defy them. After all, they brought him to them, surely they had something planned for him. Although he found it strange for world leaders to be interested in such a small disaster like Aelgriess. If they were world leaders. To have such authority in this day and age was difficult otherwise. "Well..." Fein replied. "Let's just say... It was Hell Incarnate for some."
Only a decade ago, when I was old enough to perform physical labor, I was coraled with many others of my age. They all knew. Knew what was in store for them. He who was in charge of Aelgriess, Wilhelm, the mayor. He knew no compassion or mercy, instead replaced with indulgence and selfishness. In that town, once anyone was of age of labor, they were summoned by Wilhelm to work as slaves. Few defied his rules, those that did... Were taken care of. There was no choice.
There also seemed no hope, as "investigators" were either bribed or blackmailed, and if neither option was viable, murder was always a pleasing way to resolve such problems. None outside of that closed off world knew even of their existence. As such, they were treated as terribly as amused their owners, Wilhelm and his company. More than once the others would bear gruesome nightmares, made apparent by their howls in the middle of the night, as well as terrible scars, inside and out. They were pitiable, they were filled with such fear and sadness, they were all innocent.
With one exception. I was strong. Or heartless, both seem true. I didn't cry as the others did, I didn't despair over those lost around us, I was different. Instead of grief and hopelessness, I was burning with ambition and hatred. It seemed apparent that anyone that bore power would inevitably misuse it. 10 years I was enthralled, beaten, and mocked. Only it made me stronger. 10 years I had been growing, learning, plotting. Then one evening, at the dead of night, I slaughtered them all.
Out in the mountains where we were secluded, the threats of carnivorous beasts was ever present. I used this against them, opening gates, luring them with fresh blood. Then there was the fires, spread everywhere, and the traps that littered the town. It was working perfectly, absolute chaos ensued everywhere, women and children, those innocent and evil alike were dying and suffering. But my true business was elsewhere. It seemed Wilhelm had expected this, although from his enraged expression, he had underestimated the capabilities of someone under his heel of torture.
The fires, the beasts, the traps, all of it erupted the final blaze of suffering and widespread terror. They who wept beside me, those who broke, those who suffered most. They would suffer no more. I intended to steal everything from Silhelm, be it slaves or treasure, all that was in his possession was perishing, and next was his life. Surprisingly, he cowered, pleaded and wept like a child. There was no power he truly held, it was only stolen and borrowed through the fear and suffering he isntilled into others.
Wielding the greatsword he cherished killing others with, I raised it above him, and in one final swing, it was over. It was all over. Taking the pendulum like weapon with me, I left the ruins which housed evil no more. Everyone was dead. Everything was burning. The despair was no more, the power Silhelm had was stolen, taken by a young man filled with ambition. This, I realized was what I must do. All who hold power misuse it. So I shall steal their power from them, ending their existence in the process. And so I await the one who shall do so to myself as I continue growing stronger and stronger.
"I, Fein Dren. Sole survivor of the Tragedy of Aelgriess. Another power hungry fool. I will complete my objective, no matter what." He let out a sigh after his long explanation. He was a survivor, but only to become another victim. "And it is here, that I met you. You, who promised me more power. You, who desired my capabilities. You, who now hides behind your veil. I have answered your question, now answer mine. Tell me what you have planned for me."
Song Title: For Blue Skies
Artist/Band: Strays Don't Sleep
For Blue Skies
I can’t seem to sit still, writing this note to you. This blue pen taps impatiently against the paper torn from my notebook. You know the pen, those ones we always had to have for school with the eraser on the cap. The back is chewed to all hell. My mom certainly would not be happy. Habits never really die; funny, all things considered.
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing to you. Hah! As if you’re even capable of wondering about anything. When was the last time you even used that brain of yours? You got a D in English. It’s your own language, idiot! I know you’re smarter than that. Take those books out of your backpack. Stop being such a layabout, and stop going for unnecessary walks. What’s with all the depressing music? Sure it sounds good, but you could use some new tunes dude.
Remember what you wrote on my notebook that one time? I’m looking at it right now. It says: “Don’t do without thought but don’t forget to feel because mind and heart work hand in hand, interwoven in truth.” I’ve read that every single day since the moment the swish of your pencil stopped. You’ve got a beautiful mind, friend. Because of you I stepped out of my comfort zone. Opening the door of my closed room and letting the world in.
Too much time in thought and hesitation prevented me from stepping out and remembering how to feel. But at the same time without it we’d make stupid and hurtful choices. I want you to know these things because you should know you’re a good person. Or at least know that someone out there thinks you are. If I say anything that should ever stay with you, then take this:
You are not your father’s choices, and you will never be defined by them.
Small compared to the way you’ve inspired me. I could look forward to tomorrow, and I wanted tomorrow for the first time in a long time. This is the most I can do in return. These are the things I’ve always wanted to say but never found the time to do so.
But now, I’d like to speak to what is most important. Not me. Trust me, I’m fine. I’m enjoying my time where I am but it is painful to watch you. Yes, that’s right. You selfless son of a… you’re the most important for once. I wanted to say that it’s not your fault. I forgive you. I don’t even understand how you could possibly be asking me to give you forgiveness.
There was never anything you did that required an apology. Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. From this new perspective up high, things happen. That’s how it is and always will be. No grand scheme. No reasoning. All the world is; is human beings and the nature around us. Our qualities. Our faults. Successes and failures. They happen, they don’t happen. No matter what, life continues on and flourishes. As painful as one moment can be and freeze you in the past, everything around you will go on.
Don’t stay frozen in pain. Let the summer warmth melt the icy numbness you’ve let seep into your heart. Be brave. Be bold.
Let me tell you about the day you often think and dream about. Tossing and turning in your sleep. In this life we all have our red lights, and our green lights. You did nothing wrong. The light was green for you to go, and you went. For me the light was red, metaphorically speaking (remember to study your literature terms!), and it was time for my light to burn out.
Sure, I miss the things that were. Would like to see the things that could have been. But ultimately, I’m at peace. I wish you could be too. You always told me to look forward to brighter days. To live on for blue skies.
I know you will never be able to see or hear these words I’ve written for you. Hopefully they will slip into your troubled conscience and appear within the folds of your chaotic dreams. And if it does, take them to heart.
Shed the tears you need to.
Calm the turbulent seas of your soul.
Step out from the past and into the promise tomorrow holds. If not for me, do it for yourself. You can make it. The dark clouds will dissipate and you can live on…
For blue skies.
PS: My halo is doing just fine, thank you for asking. It’s all shiny and stuff!
Artist/Band: Strays Don't Sleep
For Blue Skies
I can’t seem to sit still, writing this note to you. This blue pen taps impatiently against the paper torn from my notebook. You know the pen, those ones we always had to have for school with the eraser on the cap. The back is chewed to all hell. My mom certainly would not be happy. Habits never really die; funny, all things considered.
You’re probably wondering why I’m writing to you. Hah! As if you’re even capable of wondering about anything. When was the last time you even used that brain of yours? You got a D in English. It’s your own language, idiot! I know you’re smarter than that. Take those books out of your backpack. Stop being such a layabout, and stop going for unnecessary walks. What’s with all the depressing music? Sure it sounds good, but you could use some new tunes dude.
Remember what you wrote on my notebook that one time? I’m looking at it right now. It says: “Don’t do without thought but don’t forget to feel because mind and heart work hand in hand, interwoven in truth.” I’ve read that every single day since the moment the swish of your pencil stopped. You’ve got a beautiful mind, friend. Because of you I stepped out of my comfort zone. Opening the door of my closed room and letting the world in.
Too much time in thought and hesitation prevented me from stepping out and remembering how to feel. But at the same time without it we’d make stupid and hurtful choices. I want you to know these things because you should know you’re a good person. Or at least know that someone out there thinks you are. If I say anything that should ever stay with you, then take this:
You are not your father’s choices, and you will never be defined by them.
Small compared to the way you’ve inspired me. I could look forward to tomorrow, and I wanted tomorrow for the first time in a long time. This is the most I can do in return. These are the things I’ve always wanted to say but never found the time to do so.
But now, I’d like to speak to what is most important. Not me. Trust me, I’m fine. I’m enjoying my time where I am but it is painful to watch you. Yes, that’s right. You selfless son of a… you’re the most important for once. I wanted to say that it’s not your fault. I forgive you. I don’t even understand how you could possibly be asking me to give you forgiveness.
There was never anything you did that required an apology. Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. From this new perspective up high, things happen. That’s how it is and always will be. No grand scheme. No reasoning. All the world is; is human beings and the nature around us. Our qualities. Our faults. Successes and failures. They happen, they don’t happen. No matter what, life continues on and flourishes. As painful as one moment can be and freeze you in the past, everything around you will go on.
Don’t stay frozen in pain. Let the summer warmth melt the icy numbness you’ve let seep into your heart. Be brave. Be bold.
Let me tell you about the day you often think and dream about. Tossing and turning in your sleep. In this life we all have our red lights, and our green lights. You did nothing wrong. The light was green for you to go, and you went. For me the light was red, metaphorically speaking (remember to study your literature terms!), and it was time for my light to burn out.
Sure, I miss the things that were. Would like to see the things that could have been. But ultimately, I’m at peace. I wish you could be too. You always told me to look forward to brighter days. To live on for blue skies.
I know you will never be able to see or hear these words I’ve written for you. Hopefully they will slip into your troubled conscience and appear within the folds of your chaotic dreams. And if it does, take them to heart.
Shed the tears you need to.
Calm the turbulent seas of your soul.
Step out from the past and into the promise tomorrow holds. If not for me, do it for yourself. You can make it. The dark clouds will dissipate and you can live on…
For blue skies.
PS: My halo is doing just fine, thank you for asking. It’s all shiny and stuff!
Raggle Taggle Gypsy, folk song
I leaned out the window, closing my eyes and listening; on the wind I could hear the most stunningly beautiful sound. A song weaving itself together from what might have appeared to others as a random kerfuffle, but to me, I found the mix an amazing work of art. There was singing, loud and cheerful, resonating, resounding. Above it, the chimes of bells, tinkling in lose time to the song. A grating creak ripping through it occasionally, both destroying and uplifting the song. Below it all, the pounding percussion of horses hooves and tramping feet beating time, a wild rhythm of wonder.
The music was growing louder, pulsating through my blood. I opened my eyes and looked down, down the gravel drive, to where three men were climbing to the back door. They were dressed in bright colours, smashing together, clashing and colliding; dazzling to the eye. Two horses, pulling a small wagon, were mechanical; clockwork automatons made in the image of horses, and to fulfill the same purpose. There was also a real horse, plodding along behind the wagon, a rare sight these days. It was small and dapple-grey, more a pony then a horse. Small as the wagon was, it was sweet, even if it was falling to pieces. Said wagon was draped in more garishly bright colours, looped with ropes, strings, bells and tassels.
The three and their contingent came closer, close enough for me to be able to distinguish who was singing what. The first was singing in beautiful falsetto, the notes soring into the air. The second, with deep bass notes, tumbling out of his mouth, and the third, was even more melodious, singing his heart out; pure and honest, as only gypsies could be. Yes gypsies the traveling wanderers, the ones that are often scorned, yes those gypsies.
I grinned, snatching at my excess of skirts and dashing down the stairs, galloping across the hall in an attempt to reach the door before any of the servants. The cacophony grew louder, then paused, right outside the door. I froze, suddenly aware that I didn't exactly want to present myself as the lady of this manor, It was too new a concept, and if there was someone I never wanted to see me like this; it was any gypsies. Three loud knocks sliced through my thoughts and the sudden silence, dancing through the air, accompanied only by the whisper of my gown, the soft ticking of the still clockwork horses, and the faint snuffling of the real horse.
Backing slowly away, I reached the safety of the stairs just as one of the serving girls drifted over to answer the door. Quietly I slunk back up the stairs, turning and running as soon as I thought no one could see. I was a lady now, and that meant I couldn't go answering doors, there were servants to do that, a sobering thought. It was as I was sneaking away, the coward that feel I am, that an idea came to me, a fabulous, wonderful, freeing idea.
Scavenging through my wardrobe I pushed aside glorious gowns, skirts that, when properly worn, made the wearer look like a couch, frocks and lace galore, and there, right at the back, where I had hidden it all that time ago: a leather fighting outfit.
With tall dark lace-up leather boots, a tightfitting leather corset, backed and studded ‘party gloves’, a super short skirt like thing, thin black stockings, black a red hooded cloak (not for fighting so much as traveling), and my fiery red hair pulled back in a long high tight braid, I strolled down the stairs, double fighting knives swaying back and forth on my hips.
Striding over to the door I glanced at the gypsies, as they tried to get the serving girl to fetch them the lord. There were three, as I had earlier noted, and they were all rather different; one, the soprano; was short and skinny, with shaggy blondish hair, grass green eyes, and an astounding mix of sunburst yellow, flamingo pink, midday blue, and emerald green to match his eyes.
The second, bass, had short dark hair the colour of chocolate, and hazel eyes, again, like chocolate. His clothes weren't quite as gaudy, being a base of brown and layered with fire red, deep orange, soft yellow, and lavender.
The third was even less flashy. His hair was full of muck to the point that I could not see the colour beneath. His eyes were dark, hidden beneath his bangs. In all honesty he himself seemed young, not a man so much as a boy. He looked to be around my age, and his clothes were dark and worn, with less of the blinding colours.
"What do you want?" I slipped easily back into coarse fighter mode. "I have other things to attend to, so make it quick."
"We would like," started the bass, "to talk to the lord of these lands."
"I am afraid that neither the lord nor his lady are here today." the lie rolled off my tongue with ease; it was mostly true, my lord was out hunting and I, the lady, had shed that facade, reverting back to my violent, coarse, fighting self I had been before this thrice danged, accursed marriage. "I am in charge while they are away, so you can talk to me."
The serving girl, Scarlett, I think her name was, was giving me weird looks, I shooed her away, sending her off to finish whatever job she had interrupted to answer the door.
The youngest gypsy stepped forward then, brushing his dirty hair out of his eyes, "Well then, can we get your permission to stop here for the night?" I blinked, gypsies didn't ask, least not the gypsies I had previously traveled with. "The lord does not permit travelers to stop on his land for any time." The short one then turned away, heading to wind up the horses. "However I know a place you can stop, and I will tell you, if you take me with you."
I did not like being a lady, with dresses and parties galore, I hated having to be polite even when I wanted to swear, cuss, and be vulgar. I hated this life that my parents had chosen for me and I wanted out.
The gypsies stepped back to confer, whispering quietly, far to quiet for me to hear. Finally, after what seemed like an age the short one stepped forward, "Mel here" he gestured at the youngest, "said he'd vouch for you, so......." I nodded, "Aright then, let's be off, I can show you better than I can tell." We strode of down the drive, and when they started singing, I joined in the mix, throwing my own timbre voice into the fray.
All I felt was relief, I had gotten out, however little did I know that while I had been speaking to the gypsies, the serving girl had been listening through the wall. And she then went round to the other servants telling them the scandal; that the newly wed lady of the house had run off with a group of gypsies, and that she was wearing something utterly outrageous.
There is a clattering of hooves, as horses; all clockwork, pound into the yard at the front of the villa. Men start leaping down from horses, boots thumping as they hit the cobble. There is laughing and cheering, raucous noise. They are patting each other on the back, rifles slung over shoulders, riding suits of black. There is one man, the host of this event, who is clad in blue trimmed with gold, his black top hat shiny as his boots. He dismounts a ginormous clockwork steed, made with a beautiful copper mane and tail, contrasting with the silver steel body. There are a few dogs, real dogs, barking and yapping, making a ruckus, while the clockwork dogs stood still, statues, just like their horse counterparts.
"Roxi! Chatsworth! Edmund!" the man barked, cutting the dogs off, "go, food." They bounded away happily, springing through the mass, toppling a few clockworks and tripping up humans.
"I don't know how you stand those beasts." Duke Hilton of somewhere or other complained, glaring after the dogs, Roxi specifically, as she had nearly pushed him over. "Oh... don't mind them. They're actually quite good at tracking." The man, Richard Chatsworth Kingsly the fourth, lord of this house and the surrounding land, commented, not really answering the Duke's question, "Well then, shall we go in?" He inquired of his guests.
The entre hall was shining, freshly polished, and trimmed in gold filigree, perfectly prepared for their lord’s return, with even maids with bucket and mop, ready to clean up any muddy footprints that may be tramped across the floor as the men came back from the hunt. Richard strode across the foyer chatting comfortably with the other men, all in some position of power.
"So, Richard, I hear you have a stunning new wife?" Duke Hilton commented, eyes shining like beacons. "Yes, yes I do.” Richard gloated, “Lady Emeralde? Please come and greet our guests." He was however greeted by silence, his lady did not come. "Lady Emeralde?" the lord queried, "Scarlett? Where is Lady Emeralde?"
Scarlett, a well-to-do serving girl, popped her head round the door, saw all the visitors and disappeared again, reappearing a few seconds later, curtsying at the door.
"I'm afraid the lady is not here at the moment, sir." Scarlett curtsied again, practically dropping to her knees on the cold marble floor. "Then where is she?" the lord asked in an undertone, it was never a good sign to loose your wife. "I'm afraid, sir, that she left with some gypsies, and in the most outrageous getup, if I may say so, sir."
The lord sighed; he didn't need to have to deal with this, why? Why did she just run off? "Scarlett, go saddle my horse, the real one." then turning to the amassed lords he raised his voice, "I'm afraid something has come up, and it is a rather pressing matter, so I am going to leave you to find your own way home." With that he turned sharply on his heel and strode out, off to the stable, whistling for the dogs.
Swinging up into the saddle of a beautiful snow-white real horse, he grabbed at the reigns and wheeled her round, "Come on lass" he murmured, "We're going to go find my wife." He then clattered out of the courtyard, just him, his horse, and the three dogs.
He rode for hours and the sky was dark when he finally found them, he had only found them because of the gypsies' fire.
I jolted from my sleep, wrapped up in Meldie's arms, just like old times.
Meldie was the youngest gypsy, Tancross The Third; was the tall brown bass, and Le-Cass; the soprano.
It was a dog's barking that had woken me, Roxi's distinctive trill, I bolted up,
Roxi meant Richard, a prospect I was loath to confront.
"Meldie?" I nudged him awake, "Meldie, we've got company." He jolted awake, just as Richard thundered into the clearing on his only real horse, a mare named, most creatively, Lassie.
"Lady Emeralde? My love? Why are you here?" Richard’s voice rang out across the field, waking the other two from their slumber. "Lady Emeralde is not here." I announced clambering to my feet and dusting off the dirt that stuck to my leather, but sadly, not before my lord had managed to see who I was snuggling up to, and he shot Meldie a killer glare. Meldie, being Meldie, glared strait back, as he had every right to, I was more Meldie's than some stuck-up lord of an estate.
"Not here?" he inquired, "but you are Lady Emeralde, my love, and you are most certainly here. Why did you ever leave?"
"Why not?" I retorted, "this is how my life should be, free and wild, fighting to live, …not trapped inside a gilded cage!" I paused, "Also my name is Rhys." Richard didn't seem too fazed by my fake name my parents had given me when they tied me into this marriage, but rather was still stuck upon my leaving his home."But, you, …you had money, power, a beautiful home, servants to your every beck and call. Why would you throw that away for a young gypsy boy in a field?" To tell the truth he looked utterly confused, there was no way he'd be leaving the lap of luxury any time soon, and so he could not understand why I’d one what I’d done. "I'm sixteen! Do you really think I would want all that when I could get out and see the world, live every day by day, never stuck to one place?" I gestured wildly as I talked, old habits coming back fast.
"But...... but," he stammered, at a bit of a loss, "but you had proper food, gilded furniture, a feather bed! And yet here you have..... what? You have skewered meat over a fire, a rickety wagon, and the arms of a gypsy! How can you be happy like this?"
I had to admit, silently to myself of course, that the food had been good, but I was happy with skewered meat. I did agree that the wagon was rickety, there were more cracks then wagon, but it worked well enough. And yes, I did used to have a feather bed, bloody marshmallow that that was, but to be back with Meldie, my traveling companion from times long past, never, never would I swap him for a feather bed. NEVER.
"Why would I need anything else but what I have here?" I questioned, "I don't need your money, your land, or your title. You can go stuff your food, gilded furniture and feather beds. I'd rather kiss every gypsy I ever meet than even once return to your cage."
Raggle Taggle Gypsy
I leaned out the window, closing my eyes and listening; on the wind I could hear the most stunningly beautiful sound. A song weaving itself together from what might have appeared to others as a random kerfuffle, but to me, I found the mix an amazing work of art. There was singing, loud and cheerful, resonating, resounding. Above it, the chimes of bells, tinkling in lose time to the song. A grating creak ripping through it occasionally, both destroying and uplifting the song. Below it all, the pounding percussion of horses hooves and tramping feet beating time, a wild rhythm of wonder.
The music was growing louder, pulsating through my blood. I opened my eyes and looked down, down the gravel drive, to where three men were climbing to the back door. They were dressed in bright colours, smashing together, clashing and colliding; dazzling to the eye. Two horses, pulling a small wagon, were mechanical; clockwork automatons made in the image of horses, and to fulfill the same purpose. There was also a real horse, plodding along behind the wagon, a rare sight these days. It was small and dapple-grey, more a pony then a horse. Small as the wagon was, it was sweet, even if it was falling to pieces. Said wagon was draped in more garishly bright colours, looped with ropes, strings, bells and tassels.
The three and their contingent came closer, close enough for me to be able to distinguish who was singing what. The first was singing in beautiful falsetto, the notes soring into the air. The second, with deep bass notes, tumbling out of his mouth, and the third, was even more melodious, singing his heart out; pure and honest, as only gypsies could be. Yes gypsies the traveling wanderers, the ones that are often scorned, yes those gypsies.
I grinned, snatching at my excess of skirts and dashing down the stairs, galloping across the hall in an attempt to reach the door before any of the servants. The cacophony grew louder, then paused, right outside the door. I froze, suddenly aware that I didn't exactly want to present myself as the lady of this manor, It was too new a concept, and if there was someone I never wanted to see me like this; it was any gypsies. Three loud knocks sliced through my thoughts and the sudden silence, dancing through the air, accompanied only by the whisper of my gown, the soft ticking of the still clockwork horses, and the faint snuffling of the real horse.
Backing slowly away, I reached the safety of the stairs just as one of the serving girls drifted over to answer the door. Quietly I slunk back up the stairs, turning and running as soon as I thought no one could see. I was a lady now, and that meant I couldn't go answering doors, there were servants to do that, a sobering thought. It was as I was sneaking away, the coward that feel I am, that an idea came to me, a fabulous, wonderful, freeing idea.
Scavenging through my wardrobe I pushed aside glorious gowns, skirts that, when properly worn, made the wearer look like a couch, frocks and lace galore, and there, right at the back, where I had hidden it all that time ago: a leather fighting outfit.
With tall dark lace-up leather boots, a tightfitting leather corset, backed and studded ‘party gloves’, a super short skirt like thing, thin black stockings, black a red hooded cloak (not for fighting so much as traveling), and my fiery red hair pulled back in a long high tight braid, I strolled down the stairs, double fighting knives swaying back and forth on my hips.
Striding over to the door I glanced at the gypsies, as they tried to get the serving girl to fetch them the lord. There were three, as I had earlier noted, and they were all rather different; one, the soprano; was short and skinny, with shaggy blondish hair, grass green eyes, and an astounding mix of sunburst yellow, flamingo pink, midday blue, and emerald green to match his eyes.
The second, bass, had short dark hair the colour of chocolate, and hazel eyes, again, like chocolate. His clothes weren't quite as gaudy, being a base of brown and layered with fire red, deep orange, soft yellow, and lavender.
The third was even less flashy. His hair was full of muck to the point that I could not see the colour beneath. His eyes were dark, hidden beneath his bangs. In all honesty he himself seemed young, not a man so much as a boy. He looked to be around my age, and his clothes were dark and worn, with less of the blinding colours.
"What do you want?" I slipped easily back into coarse fighter mode. "I have other things to attend to, so make it quick."
"We would like," started the bass, "to talk to the lord of these lands."
"I am afraid that neither the lord nor his lady are here today." the lie rolled off my tongue with ease; it was mostly true, my lord was out hunting and I, the lady, had shed that facade, reverting back to my violent, coarse, fighting self I had been before this thrice danged, accursed marriage. "I am in charge while they are away, so you can talk to me."
The serving girl, Scarlett, I think her name was, was giving me weird looks, I shooed her away, sending her off to finish whatever job she had interrupted to answer the door.
The youngest gypsy stepped forward then, brushing his dirty hair out of his eyes, "Well then, can we get your permission to stop here for the night?" I blinked, gypsies didn't ask, least not the gypsies I had previously traveled with. "The lord does not permit travelers to stop on his land for any time." The short one then turned away, heading to wind up the horses. "However I know a place you can stop, and I will tell you, if you take me with you."
I did not like being a lady, with dresses and parties galore, I hated having to be polite even when I wanted to swear, cuss, and be vulgar. I hated this life that my parents had chosen for me and I wanted out.
The gypsies stepped back to confer, whispering quietly, far to quiet for me to hear. Finally, after what seemed like an age the short one stepped forward, "Mel here" he gestured at the youngest, "said he'd vouch for you, so......." I nodded, "Aright then, let's be off, I can show you better than I can tell." We strode of down the drive, and when they started singing, I joined in the mix, throwing my own timbre voice into the fray.
All I felt was relief, I had gotten out, however little did I know that while I had been speaking to the gypsies, the serving girl had been listening through the wall. And she then went round to the other servants telling them the scandal; that the newly wed lady of the house had run off with a group of gypsies, and that she was wearing something utterly outrageous.
There is a clattering of hooves, as horses; all clockwork, pound into the yard at the front of the villa. Men start leaping down from horses, boots thumping as they hit the cobble. There is laughing and cheering, raucous noise. They are patting each other on the back, rifles slung over shoulders, riding suits of black. There is one man, the host of this event, who is clad in blue trimmed with gold, his black top hat shiny as his boots. He dismounts a ginormous clockwork steed, made with a beautiful copper mane and tail, contrasting with the silver steel body. There are a few dogs, real dogs, barking and yapping, making a ruckus, while the clockwork dogs stood still, statues, just like their horse counterparts.
"Roxi! Chatsworth! Edmund!" the man barked, cutting the dogs off, "go, food." They bounded away happily, springing through the mass, toppling a few clockworks and tripping up humans.
"I don't know how you stand those beasts." Duke Hilton of somewhere or other complained, glaring after the dogs, Roxi specifically, as she had nearly pushed him over. "Oh... don't mind them. They're actually quite good at tracking." The man, Richard Chatsworth Kingsly the fourth, lord of this house and the surrounding land, commented, not really answering the Duke's question, "Well then, shall we go in?" He inquired of his guests.
The entre hall was shining, freshly polished, and trimmed in gold filigree, perfectly prepared for their lord’s return, with even maids with bucket and mop, ready to clean up any muddy footprints that may be tramped across the floor as the men came back from the hunt. Richard strode across the foyer chatting comfortably with the other men, all in some position of power.
"So, Richard, I hear you have a stunning new wife?" Duke Hilton commented, eyes shining like beacons. "Yes, yes I do.” Richard gloated, “Lady Emeralde? Please come and greet our guests." He was however greeted by silence, his lady did not come. "Lady Emeralde?" the lord queried, "Scarlett? Where is Lady Emeralde?"
Scarlett, a well-to-do serving girl, popped her head round the door, saw all the visitors and disappeared again, reappearing a few seconds later, curtsying at the door.
"I'm afraid the lady is not here at the moment, sir." Scarlett curtsied again, practically dropping to her knees on the cold marble floor. "Then where is she?" the lord asked in an undertone, it was never a good sign to loose your wife. "I'm afraid, sir, that she left with some gypsies, and in the most outrageous getup, if I may say so, sir."
The lord sighed; he didn't need to have to deal with this, why? Why did she just run off? "Scarlett, go saddle my horse, the real one." then turning to the amassed lords he raised his voice, "I'm afraid something has come up, and it is a rather pressing matter, so I am going to leave you to find your own way home." With that he turned sharply on his heel and strode out, off to the stable, whistling for the dogs.
Swinging up into the saddle of a beautiful snow-white real horse, he grabbed at the reigns and wheeled her round, "Come on lass" he murmured, "We're going to go find my wife." He then clattered out of the courtyard, just him, his horse, and the three dogs.
He rode for hours and the sky was dark when he finally found them, he had only found them because of the gypsies' fire.
I jolted from my sleep, wrapped up in Meldie's arms, just like old times.
Meldie was the youngest gypsy, Tancross The Third; was the tall brown bass, and Le-Cass; the soprano.
It was a dog's barking that had woken me, Roxi's distinctive trill, I bolted up,
Roxi meant Richard, a prospect I was loath to confront.
"Meldie?" I nudged him awake, "Meldie, we've got company." He jolted awake, just as Richard thundered into the clearing on his only real horse, a mare named, most creatively, Lassie.
"Lady Emeralde? My love? Why are you here?" Richard’s voice rang out across the field, waking the other two from their slumber. "Lady Emeralde is not here." I announced clambering to my feet and dusting off the dirt that stuck to my leather, but sadly, not before my lord had managed to see who I was snuggling up to, and he shot Meldie a killer glare. Meldie, being Meldie, glared strait back, as he had every right to, I was more Meldie's than some stuck-up lord of an estate.
"Not here?" he inquired, "but you are Lady Emeralde, my love, and you are most certainly here. Why did you ever leave?"
"Why not?" I retorted, "this is how my life should be, free and wild, fighting to live, …not trapped inside a gilded cage!" I paused, "Also my name is Rhys." Richard didn't seem too fazed by my fake name my parents had given me when they tied me into this marriage, but rather was still stuck upon my leaving his home."But, you, …you had money, power, a beautiful home, servants to your every beck and call. Why would you throw that away for a young gypsy boy in a field?" To tell the truth he looked utterly confused, there was no way he'd be leaving the lap of luxury any time soon, and so he could not understand why I’d one what I’d done. "I'm sixteen! Do you really think I would want all that when I could get out and see the world, live every day by day, never stuck to one place?" I gestured wildly as I talked, old habits coming back fast.
"But...... but," he stammered, at a bit of a loss, "but you had proper food, gilded furniture, a feather bed! And yet here you have..... what? You have skewered meat over a fire, a rickety wagon, and the arms of a gypsy! How can you be happy like this?"
I had to admit, silently to myself of course, that the food had been good, but I was happy with skewered meat. I did agree that the wagon was rickety, there were more cracks then wagon, but it worked well enough. And yes, I did used to have a feather bed, bloody marshmallow that that was, but to be back with Meldie, my traveling companion from times long past, never, never would I swap him for a feather bed. NEVER.
"Why would I need anything else but what I have here?" I questioned, "I don't need your money, your land, or your title. You can go stuff your food, gilded furniture and feather beds. I'd rather kiss every gypsy I ever meet than even once return to your cage."
The song
Dark skies—
Whose gray clouds, swollen with rain
drift in the still air, exhausted.
The atmosphere is choked with oppressive humidity
while the world holds its breath, silent, still
in anxious anticipation.
Waiting, waiting for the inevitable.
Bright but fleeting tendrils of light
crackling between the fingers of Zeus
that extend across the heavens.
The silent rebels against the night;
Mute at first
but rattling the earth
with a roar more powerful than a lion’s.
Faster than probability—
With a passion that outshines the Sun.
Such power, such potential!
Gone in a flash but whose echo resounds
in the ears and hearts of its trembling audience
who cower in wonder and in awe
at the terrifying allure of Gaia.
Merv Griffin “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts”
At the English Fair
A young boy's attention was drawn to an old man. The elder called out "Roll a bowl, a ball, a penny, a pitch." The boy ran up to see what the man had for him to do. Today had been so much fun. He had gotten to ride rides, even went up really high, and ate a bunch of spun sugar.
His mother tugged him back away from the old man behind the counter. "Ah none of that now miss, he just wants ta look." He gave her a toothy grin and the boy stood up on his tipey toes to see over the low counter. "See, I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, some as big as yer head." The boy did not believe the old man. He laughed a deep hardy laugh. "You can believe me. That thar's my wife, the idol of my life. I wouldn't lie in front of her."
The mother stepped back up, "Come on son, it is late." She tugged at the boy's hand again, but instead of following the boy slipped out of her grip and held up his last penny. He had not planned on spending the penny, but he wanted to try to roll one of the coconuts. "Oh no," his mother cried out, but the old man had already snatched the penny. He handed the requested coconut over to the boy.
The coconut was overlarge. The boy wondered if it was as big as his head. It must be it was almost too big for him to hold. He glanced at his mom, giving her a grin and rolled the coconut at the pins. It wobbled. It rocked. It stopped just short of its final goal. The boy stared aghast. Oh what a waste of a penny! He should have bought that candy instead.
Downcast the boy started to follow his mother. She held her head up high, the boy held his low.
"Oh wee boy," called the old woman. "Try again."
Face shinning the boy dashed back to the keepers of the coconuts. The old woman handed over the coconut; her hands were rough like the exterior of the fruit. This time the coconut would knock over the pins he swore. The boy pushed the coconut with all his might. It was with baited breath he watched the coconut roll. This time it wobbled less, this time for sure it would hit the pins.
The man frowned; the woman clasped her hands together.
Wood connected with fruit and each pin tumbled over as if they had been waiting their whole existence for that very moment.
“It shouldn’t count.” The man declared.
“Ah but you let ‘em do it.” The woman refuted. A flash of light encompassed the group of four. When the boy opened his eyes again the man was gone and the woman stood straight and tall. Majesty rolled off of the woman. She knelt beside the boy. Her face was soft as if no age had ever touched it. “Oh thank you sweet child.” She took his hands into her own. “Without one pure of soul like you I’d have been trapped forever as that old woman. You may ask of me one favor.”
A tilt of his head, a glance to his mother, “I’d like a piece of candy please.”
She laughed, sounding like Christmas morning sleigh bells, reached into a hidden fold of her dress, and removed a box of the boy’s favorite candy.
The boy took the box, joy coursing through him. He had never had so much of the candy at once. Light flashed again blinding the boy. After several blinks his vision returned, his mother was the only one standing beside him.
“Now what did I say. Let’s go,” She took the boy’s free hand and led him out of the fair. “Where did you get that box?”
At the English Fair
A young boy's attention was drawn to an old man. The elder called out "Roll a bowl, a ball, a penny, a pitch." The boy ran up to see what the man had for him to do. Today had been so much fun. He had gotten to ride rides, even went up really high, and ate a bunch of spun sugar.
His mother tugged him back away from the old man behind the counter. "Ah none of that now miss, he just wants ta look." He gave her a toothy grin and the boy stood up on his tipey toes to see over the low counter. "See, I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, some as big as yer head." The boy did not believe the old man. He laughed a deep hardy laugh. "You can believe me. That thar's my wife, the idol of my life. I wouldn't lie in front of her."
The mother stepped back up, "Come on son, it is late." She tugged at the boy's hand again, but instead of following the boy slipped out of her grip and held up his last penny. He had not planned on spending the penny, but he wanted to try to roll one of the coconuts. "Oh no," his mother cried out, but the old man had already snatched the penny. He handed the requested coconut over to the boy.
The coconut was overlarge. The boy wondered if it was as big as his head. It must be it was almost too big for him to hold. He glanced at his mom, giving her a grin and rolled the coconut at the pins. It wobbled. It rocked. It stopped just short of its final goal. The boy stared aghast. Oh what a waste of a penny! He should have bought that candy instead.
Downcast the boy started to follow his mother. She held her head up high, the boy held his low.
"Oh wee boy," called the old woman. "Try again."
Face shinning the boy dashed back to the keepers of the coconuts. The old woman handed over the coconut; her hands were rough like the exterior of the fruit. This time the coconut would knock over the pins he swore. The boy pushed the coconut with all his might. It was with baited breath he watched the coconut roll. This time it wobbled less, this time for sure it would hit the pins.
The man frowned; the woman clasped her hands together.
Wood connected with fruit and each pin tumbled over as if they had been waiting their whole existence for that very moment.
“It shouldn’t count.” The man declared.
“Ah but you let ‘em do it.” The woman refuted. A flash of light encompassed the group of four. When the boy opened his eyes again the man was gone and the woman stood straight and tall. Majesty rolled off of the woman. She knelt beside the boy. Her face was soft as if no age had ever touched it. “Oh thank you sweet child.” She took his hands into her own. “Without one pure of soul like you I’d have been trapped forever as that old woman. You may ask of me one favor.”
A tilt of his head, a glance to his mother, “I’d like a piece of candy please.”
She laughed, sounding like Christmas morning sleigh bells, reached into a hidden fold of her dress, and removed a box of the boy’s favorite candy.
The boy took the box, joy coursing through him. He had never had so much of the candy at once. Light flashed again blinding the boy. After several blinks his vision returned, his mother was the only one standing beside him.
“Now what did I say. Let’s go,” She took the boy’s free hand and led him out of the fair. “Where did you get that box?”
Expectations by three days grace
Marcus Dennet, an LAPD police officer, had just walked into a local breakfast joint, and sat down with a group of his buddies.
"Ehy! Marcus, how's work going man?" The words came out of the mouth of a rather pudgy and bald african american in a tacky hawaiin shirt.
"Pretty good, Ted. There have been some pretty hectic cases lately." Marcus sported short blond hair and a casual white t-shirt. "I'm just happy to have a day off. Hey Steve, how's the Misses holding up?" Marcus nodded to the third guy at the table, and the only one wearing some sort of business attire.
"She's doin fine, thanks for asking." Steve stared down at his coffee in discontent. The Suit he was wearing was almost chocking him, and the weather didn't really support warm clothing, giving it was the middle of summer. The bald white man wasn't really made for looking good in a suit, anyway. "I just want to get my interview out of the way today."
"Still haven't found a stable job, seriously?" said Ted, each word mixed with laughter and spitting. Marcus looked over to the waitress, who had just walked over to the table.
"Yea, just a coffee please. Thank you." Marcus looked back at the two hoolagins.
"So, Marc, Susan tells me that you had a pretty interestin' conversation yesterday?" Marcus simply nodded in response to Ted's comment.
"Yea. I'm guessing you want to hear about the attention whore?" Marcus said these words with complete distain, as if the scenerio he had been involved in was annoying for him to think or talk about.
"I wouldn't mind hearing about this weird bitch too, Marcus." Said Steve.For the first time this morning, Steve seemed a bit upbeat. Steve pulled at his collar, Steve sat back a bit too comfortably, and Marcus sighed for the millionth time.
"Alright, fine. Last night, I was driving down the road, and a young lady just so happened to be standing on the corner, doing the whole prostitution thing. Well, upon further inspection, she also had marijuana on her person. So, of course, I handcuff her and take her back to the station, but on the way she started spewing out her life story like some shitty drama movie." For some reason, this elicited a chuckle out of Ted. Marcus just glared at Ted and continued. "Eh, anyway, she started talking about how she was the queen of her high school's social scene, everyone loved her, everyone knew her. She wanted to rich and famous, but hated school, so she dropped out, and moved to LA. The Bitch just kept sobbing and spewing her long list of failures. She moved around with some shithead she had started dating, calling it true love or some shit, and at some point winning the lottery with him. They bought a lottery ticket on new years eve of last year, found out it was a winning ticket, and then they partied. They agreed to cash it in on the morning of the next day, but once the bitch fell asleep, well. Turns out, the asshat boyfriend left her in their motel room, alone. He took the ticket, and drove off. She started crashing with some deadbeat who sold her body so he could pay the bills. She had drugs though, so... yea."
Marcus took a sip of the coffee that had just arrived. Good stuff. Tod just nodded, which was odd for the overly loud fatass. Steve seemed rather interested. "So, that bitch made the mistake of leaving a scumbag alone with a shit ton of free money? What a fucking loser." Steve chuckled at the poor girl's misfortune. "Anyway's, continue, please." Marcus sighed.
"That's really it. Not much else really happened. I took her to the station, did what was needed to be done, and went home for the night." Marcus took out his wallet, so that he could pay for the coffee. As he opened the wallet, a slip of paper fell out.
"What's that?" Said Tod.
"Oh, it's just a suvenier from a crash. Fucker was driving with a bottle of jack under his nose the entire time. He drove off the road, flipped over about 10 times, and ended up dead. He just so happened to be near a winning lottery ticket. It was a good ways from the car itself, so they couldn't say it belonged to him. I took the thing, cashed it in, and called it a night." Marcus smirked as he pulled out 7 dollars from his wallet, and put the ticket back in.
"Wait, could that crash have happened on new years?" Ted leaned in towards Marcus, with a generally curious and suprised look on his face.
"Actually, now that I recall, it may have.. been.. oh fuck." The realization of the situation hit the 3 like a brick wall. They burst out laughing.
Marcus Dennet, an LAPD police officer, had just walked into a local breakfast joint, and sat down with a group of his buddies.
"Ehy! Marcus, how's work going man?" The words came out of the mouth of a rather pudgy and bald african american in a tacky hawaiin shirt.
"Pretty good, Ted. There have been some pretty hectic cases lately." Marcus sported short blond hair and a casual white t-shirt. "I'm just happy to have a day off. Hey Steve, how's the Misses holding up?" Marcus nodded to the third guy at the table, and the only one wearing some sort of business attire.
"She's doin fine, thanks for asking." Steve stared down at his coffee in discontent. The Suit he was wearing was almost chocking him, and the weather didn't really support warm clothing, giving it was the middle of summer. The bald white man wasn't really made for looking good in a suit, anyway. "I just want to get my interview out of the way today."
"Still haven't found a stable job, seriously?" said Ted, each word mixed with laughter and spitting. Marcus looked over to the waitress, who had just walked over to the table.
"Yea, just a coffee please. Thank you." Marcus looked back at the two hoolagins.
"So, Marc, Susan tells me that you had a pretty interestin' conversation yesterday?" Marcus simply nodded in response to Ted's comment.
"Yea. I'm guessing you want to hear about the attention whore?" Marcus said these words with complete distain, as if the scenerio he had been involved in was annoying for him to think or talk about.
"I wouldn't mind hearing about this weird bitch too, Marcus." Said Steve.For the first time this morning, Steve seemed a bit upbeat. Steve pulled at his collar, Steve sat back a bit too comfortably, and Marcus sighed for the millionth time.
"Alright, fine. Last night, I was driving down the road, and a young lady just so happened to be standing on the corner, doing the whole prostitution thing. Well, upon further inspection, she also had marijuana on her person. So, of course, I handcuff her and take her back to the station, but on the way she started spewing out her life story like some shitty drama movie." For some reason, this elicited a chuckle out of Ted. Marcus just glared at Ted and continued. "Eh, anyway, she started talking about how she was the queen of her high school's social scene, everyone loved her, everyone knew her. She wanted to rich and famous, but hated school, so she dropped out, and moved to LA. The Bitch just kept sobbing and spewing her long list of failures. She moved around with some shithead she had started dating, calling it true love or some shit, and at some point winning the lottery with him. They bought a lottery ticket on new years eve of last year, found out it was a winning ticket, and then they partied. They agreed to cash it in on the morning of the next day, but once the bitch fell asleep, well. Turns out, the asshat boyfriend left her in their motel room, alone. He took the ticket, and drove off. She started crashing with some deadbeat who sold her body so he could pay the bills. She had drugs though, so... yea."
Marcus took a sip of the coffee that had just arrived. Good stuff. Tod just nodded, which was odd for the overly loud fatass. Steve seemed rather interested. "So, that bitch made the mistake of leaving a scumbag alone with a shit ton of free money? What a fucking loser." Steve chuckled at the poor girl's misfortune. "Anyway's, continue, please." Marcus sighed.
"That's really it. Not much else really happened. I took her to the station, did what was needed to be done, and went home for the night." Marcus took out his wallet, so that he could pay for the coffee. As he opened the wallet, a slip of paper fell out.
"What's that?" Said Tod.
"Oh, it's just a suvenier from a crash. Fucker was driving with a bottle of jack under his nose the entire time. He drove off the road, flipped over about 10 times, and ended up dead. He just so happened to be near a winning lottery ticket. It was a good ways from the car itself, so they couldn't say it belonged to him. I took the thing, cashed it in, and called it a night." Marcus smirked as he pulled out 7 dollars from his wallet, and put the ticket back in.
"Wait, could that crash have happened on new years?" Ted leaned in towards Marcus, with a generally curious and suprised look on his face.
"Actually, now that I recall, it may have.. been.. oh fuck." The realization of the situation hit the 3 like a brick wall. They burst out laughing.
Lose Yourself by Eminem
Do you Dare To Win
"This Job isnt worth it" Jack thought to himself as he plummeted towards the Earth from the top of the abandoned flats. "Ok, Doctor Pull him out of the Simulation. He needs more... Training." Said a voice and then the world went dark.
*48 hrs Earlier*
Jack opened his eyes to a blinding light. his room alone was white so bright lights didnt work well with him. He got dressed into his 'Normal' Government issued work uniform. Again Pure white. Jack worked as an Agent for United Union of European and American Countries (or UEAC for short). since the year 2131 the UEAC worked to stop any and all terrorism in Europe and the Americas. Jacks Job was to act as a runner. A runner for the government
is different to that of a runner from the 21st century. these runners didnt deliver letters or messages. no these runners were masters of parkour and were armed with M9s. these Runners were sent to Urban areas to 'Deal' with any Terrorist activity. Jack was called to the board room to discuss his latest mission. "Agent Jack Scott. Take a seat, we have much to discuss." pulling up a chair and taking a seat Jack placed on his ear piece. A scientist walked out into the room and presented jack with a piece of equipment he had not seen in his many years as an operator. "Ah, Jack. This is your Personal Tracking Device or PTD for short. comes with everything a runner such as your self should need. plus it plays angry birds" the director turned and gave the scientist a deathly glare. "ok im sorry for trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation" he said turning and leaving the room "Ok Mr Scott were sending you to down town Detroit for your mission. we have sources that say there are terrorist planing to destroy the power station and plunge detroit into anarchy. your job is to take down the terrorist cell and destroy an evidence of them." said the UEAC Director. Jack looked again at his PTD. he would be taking different equipment than what he was used to with him. SAC-43 Duel weilded pistols. According to his PTD they wouldnt work unless they were close to each other. "Get your Gear together you move in 24 hours"
24 Hrs Later
Jack leaped from the helicopter onto the building, being sure to duck and roll as he landed. he looked around his surroundings. Typical, Detroit looked the same as most of the Urban areas he'd worked in. very genetic. it had the appartment buildings and your low level houses. he drew his pistol from his holster and clicked on his PTD. he was on top of the builing he was supposed to infiltrate.
Meanwhile back at base.
"Doctor, lets give Mr Scott a problem to solve"
An Explosion happened just underneath jack sending him flying off the end of the building
"This Job isnt worth it" Jack thought to himself as he plummeted towards the Earth from the top of the abandoned flats. "Ok, Doctor Pull him out of the Simulation. He needs more... Training." Said the director and then the world went dark.
Do you Dare To Win
"This Job isnt worth it" Jack thought to himself as he plummeted towards the Earth from the top of the abandoned flats. "Ok, Doctor Pull him out of the Simulation. He needs more... Training." Said a voice and then the world went dark.
*48 hrs Earlier*
Jack opened his eyes to a blinding light. his room alone was white so bright lights didnt work well with him. He got dressed into his 'Normal' Government issued work uniform. Again Pure white. Jack worked as an Agent for United Union of European and American Countries (or UEAC for short). since the year 2131 the UEAC worked to stop any and all terrorism in Europe and the Americas. Jacks Job was to act as a runner. A runner for the government
is different to that of a runner from the 21st century. these runners didnt deliver letters or messages. no these runners were masters of parkour and were armed with M9s. these Runners were sent to Urban areas to 'Deal' with any Terrorist activity. Jack was called to the board room to discuss his latest mission. "Agent Jack Scott. Take a seat, we have much to discuss." pulling up a chair and taking a seat Jack placed on his ear piece. A scientist walked out into the room and presented jack with a piece of equipment he had not seen in his many years as an operator. "Ah, Jack. This is your Personal Tracking Device or PTD for short. comes with everything a runner such as your self should need. plus it plays angry birds" the director turned and gave the scientist a deathly glare. "ok im sorry for trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation" he said turning and leaving the room "Ok Mr Scott were sending you to down town Detroit for your mission. we have sources that say there are terrorist planing to destroy the power station and plunge detroit into anarchy. your job is to take down the terrorist cell and destroy an evidence of them." said the UEAC Director. Jack looked again at his PTD. he would be taking different equipment than what he was used to with him. SAC-43 Duel weilded pistols. According to his PTD they wouldnt work unless they were close to each other. "Get your Gear together you move in 24 hours"
24 Hrs Later
Jack leaped from the helicopter onto the building, being sure to duck and roll as he landed. he looked around his surroundings. Typical, Detroit looked the same as most of the Urban areas he'd worked in. very genetic. it had the appartment buildings and your low level houses. he drew his pistol from his holster and clicked on his PTD. he was on top of the builing he was supposed to infiltrate.
Meanwhile back at base.
"Doctor, lets give Mr Scott a problem to solve"
An Explosion happened just underneath jack sending him flying off the end of the building
"This Job isnt worth it" Jack thought to himself as he plummeted towards the Earth from the top of the abandoned flats. "Ok, Doctor Pull him out of the Simulation. He needs more... Training." Said the director and then the world went dark.
Song used: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offsrping
World Setting: Kenkou Cross' Monster Girl Enyclopedia
"Haaaah!" A boulder is swiftly and cleanly sliced into two by a woman with a red reptilian tail and a pair of red, scaly ears brandishing a sword. Her skin was dark red and so was her short but unkempt hair but much darker. The only pieces of clothing she wore was a leather vest and a pair brown shorts.
Hehe, yep! I'm the one who sliced that puny rock into two! Vivian Wellington a.k.a. 'The Searing Salamander'. Actually, 'The Searing Salamander' was just a title given to me by my friends which was adopted by other people which was then adopted by my enemies, The Order. Though I really don't see them as enemies since some, if not most, of them have trouble inflicting pain and suffering against Mamono and their partners.
Ever since I was a little kid I dreamt of having a man who could fight well, nothing special considering what I am. However, I vowed that that man must not only fight well but fight extremely well. I'm going to make him earn me. Thus I trained and trained and trained until I became what I am now and set out to find a man who can give me a really pumping fight. Plus, I heard from some guy in a black suit wearing a grey skull over his head that after an intense fight, the fighters' libido should be really high. Don't know if he's telling the truth but it sure would be swell if it was. I could only imagine what we would do after an adrenaline-rushing fight. I grow hot just by thinking about it.
But... it's been three years and no man has beaten me yet, let alone fire me up. All that I've been doing that time was defend villages or travelers from those Order guys. None of whom could stand up to me, not even their so-called 'Heroes'.
Truth be told I was kind of getting desperate. I thought of actually attacking Order towns to find a worthy warrior. Even if that tarnishes my reputation.
That is... until I met one strange fellow named Dirk Willsbury.
--------
Dirk Willsbury was... a tall but quite skinny and slender man with short brown but well-combed hair and black, cowardly eyes. I really don't want to be mean but he looks wimpy.
"Please train me, O great Searing Salamander!" he exclaimed as he threw himself down in front of me. He was wearing a brown shirt and blue pants which lead me to believe he was a commoner.
"Now why would I do that?" I ask him.
"Because.... because..." he starts but took a while to continue. "Because I like you!"
I was struck speechless. Silence overcame the atmosphere as I tried to sink those words into my head. I lost control of my eyes as they widened as if they've seen something so unbelievable. Maybe they did. If this was a surprise attack, I would've taken a serious blow. Never has a man confessed his feelings towards me. I fought many men in the years but none had the bravery to confess to me. Now that I think about it, maybe that's because they didn't have feelings for me at all.
But still, for this man to come up to the renowned Searing Salamander and confessing to her. That takes guts. I regain my composure.
"Hehe. So you think you've got what it takes to become the Searing Salamander's life partner?" I ask him in a taunting manner.
"W-well, that's why I'm a-asking you to train me. So I could become a great fighter worthy for you." Dirk answers meekly but with much determination.
"Mmm." I was sort of impressed by his answer. "Hmm. Let me think." I just stare at him with a smirk and seducing eyes but inside my head, a war had broken out between two sides of my mind. One side was saying no because I would only be wasting time training this man to become a fighter of my caliber. The other side was saying yes because while it would take time to train him, my future with a great warrior is assured. The 'no' side countered that the training might fail. The 'yes' side countered that counter by saying I lose my only chance at getting a man. The 'no' replied that there would be another chance. The 'yes' said that they don't know that.
That kept going on and on until both sides settled on one thing, it was up to the actual me for the final say. "I have gone through the most brutal and hellish training you can imagine. And I'm going to make you go through all that. Is that alright with you?" I told Dirk. Of course my training wasn't that brutal nor hellish. I mean, holding a boulder in air for two hours or blocking attacks while blindfolded isn't that hard.
"Yes! I would brave the depths of Hell just to be with you!" the commoner in love exclaimed.
Those poetic words made my heart skip a beat but I didn't make that obvious. Instead, I responded with a chuckle and a few words. "You're training begins tomorrow, Dirk. You should get some really peaceful rest 'cause it'll be the last peaceful rest you'll have in the next few years." I saw him gulp in fear and I couldn't help but smirk in amusement.
----------
I made my way to the meeting place me and Dirk agreed on. It was a bunch of rock formations near a dense forest which I used as a landmark for my home and training grounds which was inside said forest. I even arranged some of the rocks to point to the right direction. Even if I already memorized the exact location of my home, it would be convenient for the people seeking me.
I arrived at the meeting place and there I found Dirk, sitting and leaning on a rock protrusion and looking at the cerulean sky. It appears he's thinking hard about something. Could he be regretting his decision? Thinking about that made me kind of sad but I really can't stop him if he does back out.
It appears he does not notice me and I decided to make him regret that. With a small knife, I threw the cutting object at the rock, mere centimeters from his leg. He got startled and he quickly dived away from the knife. Looking at the direction the knife came from, he finally notices me.
"Oh. Master Vivian. That gave me quite the scare. Please don't do that again." he says.
"Well you're gonna have to train hard if you don't like surprises like that." I told him. "And 'Master'?"
"W-well since you're training me, are you not the master and I the student?" he answers as well as explain.
"I see your point." But I don't like the sound of 'Master Vivian'. It makes me sound like a head of a guild or something. "Hmm. Why don't you just call me Vivian-sensei?"
"Vivian-sensei?" Dirk asks in confusion.
"Yeah. Just like how those people in Zipangu does it." I'm not adept in the Zipanguese language but I'm sure that 'master' and 'sensei' means the same.
"Umm... okay. Please help me Vivian-sensei!" he proudly exclaims. Now that sounds better.
-----------
We made our way into the forest, through the uneven terrain filled with numerous twigs, vines, rocks and practically anything that can make you trip or lose your footing. There was no path nor a trail for us to follow but I knew exactly where we're headed but Dirk was a little doubtful.
"Vivian-sensei? Are you sure--"
"Yes I'm sure Dirk. I know where I live." I cut him off. I knew he was gonna ask that since a lot of people did so too when I took them to my home.
"Hey Dirk. Where are you from?" I decide to start a conversation to not make this trek silent and awkward.
"Oh I'm from Deerg." he answers. Never heard of that place before.
"Deerg huh. Where's that?" I continue as I vault over a fallen log.
"It's near... Treppe."
I've heard of Treppe before, it is a coastal fishing town. "I see. So it's safe to assume your fish products comes from Treppe?" I ask.
"I-indeed." Dirk replies.
"Oh we're here." I say as Dirk and I reach a small clearing. A medium-sized hut on one side and various training objects on the other.
I open the door to my hut home and face Dirk. "Dirk Willsbury, welcome to my humble abode." I proudly say. My student tries to enter but I stop him. "Oi oi. No entering without training."
"E-eh?" Dirk sported a confused face.
I grab his hand and lead him to the other side of the clearing. Picking up two wooden swords, I toss him one. Time to test him out. "Let's see how good you are first."
"B-but..." Dirk stutters.
"This is to find out what I should teach you first."
I come at him with a horizontal slash which he evades by arching backward but I follow it with a light, swift kick which knocks him to the ground. Dirk quickly recovers and maintains a defensive stance. I come at him again with a vertical slash and he sidesteps to the left to evade it. He counters with a diagonal slash but I was fast enough to block it. I retaliate by spinning once and followed by a horizontal slash but he evades it that by jumping backwards but then I quickly spin again and followed by a low slash. Apparently he didn't see that coming and he was knocked off his feet. He was going to recover but I place the tip of my wooden sword at his neck.
Dirk sighs in defeat and I help him back up. "You could use training but it seems you know how to fight." I tell him.
"Thank you Vivian-sensei." He nods at me.
And thus our little training adventure started.
-----------
Since that day Dirk and I had been training nonstop, starting from the basics. He learned moves and stances, tricks and techniques very quickly so what I thought to be a few years turned out to be one and a half years. Sure he couldn't hold a boulder in the air for two hours but he certainly could block attacks blindfolded.
It has also gotten us close. Real close. Sometimes our hands would touch when retrieving the same object or we would tumble into a position where our lips were too close for comfort. Also, his kindness had reached inside my chest more than once. It had me thinking. Do I really need an exemplary warrior to be my husband? When my heart is beginning to fall to a person weaker than I am? Well he is not weak per se but I am more superior than he is. At least for now.
I thought all about that while I was taking a bath in the nearby river. In the distance I saw the person whom I would show my naked body to in the future, a few meters upriver. He had brandished a fishing pole and cast a line into the water and simply stared into the other side, contemplating about something. Had he bothered to look at the river's direction, he would have spotted me. A naughty idea formed into my head.
A few moments later, I cover Dirk's eyes from behind and startled him. "Guess who is it~."
"Vivian-sensei." he answers with his voice calming.
"Heehee." I let go of him. He turns to me and gets startled again.
I was only wearing two small towels. One covering my chest and one covering my bottom. Dirk immediately looks away. "V-V-Vivian-sensei! Please puts some clothes on!"
"Nope~!" I hug him from behind. Pushing my breasts against his back. My chest isn't that of a Holstaur's but it would certainly make a Witch mad. Soon, I found myself not letting go as I didn't want this warm feeling I'm having go away.
"U-umm. Can you?"
"No. Let me just stay like this for a while." I said as I rest my head on his back. If only I could stay like this forever. Oh what am I saying? I AM going to stay like this forever as soon as training's over.
I guess there's no fighting it. I love him.
I love Dirk Willsbury.
-----------
Today was the day. The day where I will know if my beloved Dirk had been learning or not. I faced my student opponent with my signature sword planted on the ground. "Are you ready for this Dirk?"
"I won't hold back!" He points his favored weapon, a saber, at me.
"Very well! Let's go!"
I start by going with a horizontal slash but he ducks to evade it and retliates with an upward slash which I quickly block. He breaks off and comes at me with a thrust which I sidestep to and retaliate with a thrust of my own. He turns his body sidewards to narrowly dodge my attack before kicking me away. He came at me with a horizontal slash which I jump backwards to and block his follow up vertical slash. I push him away during the block and spinned into a low horizontal slash which he jumps to evade it. He counters with a slash which I easily block.
After that the fight dragged on and before I knew it I was on fire. I truly have trained a warrior fit to be my partner. I knew I already loved him before but now he is everything I dreamed of. We were equally skilled so now it was a battle of attrition. Who will give in first? Well whoever does, I win. I have decided. I was so happy I couldn't wipe the growing smile on my face.
I caught his hand when he was about to slash and he caught my hand when I was about to. I crushed his puny hand with mine and he let go of his saber. He then headbutted me which made me let go of my weapon. I actually wouldn't if I wasn't so tired. We grabbed the weapons close to us: the saber for me and my sword for Dirk. With powerful swings, our weapons collided and the saber was sent flying. The battle was determined.
"Haa... haa... you... you won." I panted with a smile. Dirk has beaten me. He has defeated the 'Searing Salamander'. I was his by Salamander tradition and I was happy with that. The fires on my body raged and I wanted to jump him so we could do it right here, right now. I took a deep breath and stood up. I would congratulate him then kiss him passionately and stroke his manhood to get him aroused. Whatever happens next I don't know but I'm sure I'll like it.
"Dirk. I--" I was cut off when I feel something go through me. I look down and see my sword embedded on my stomach. I saw blood drip to the ground. My blood. My strength also dropped and I fell to my knees. I was too shocked and confused to feel the pain. I looked at my beloved and he sported a sinister smile I thought he could never sport. "Wha... What?..."
"You gullible, gullible lizard. It's amazing how mighty warriors like you can be fooled by colorful words." he said to me. His voice no longer the voice I knew. It sounded more... flamboyant. "But I should thank you really. If it weren't for you, El Cero would still be a defenseless young chap."
So it was all just an act? To make me train him? No. His confession. His actions. They were all too real. "You... you're not Dirk... What have you done to him?!" I ask as I cough up blood and feel the pain creep up.
"Oh my. Was El Cero's acting so convincing you refuse to grasp the truth?" 'Dirk' smiled at me. "That Dirk you knew never existed. It was all just a lie."
"N-no!" I muttered in disbelief. So my feelings for him...
"In reality I hate monsters such as you and I loathed every second I spent with you. But since I had a close encounter with one, I decided to take some fighting lessons. And where to get higher quality training than the 'Searing Salamander'?" Dirk tells me his heinous but well thought out plan. "I was going to get lessons from the Order but that would cost me. So I decided to learn from a monster who was not only going to train me but will cost me nothing and I get to off a monster. All in all, El Cero managed to kill three birds with one stone."
I was used? I was used to train a maniac how to properly fight? Raged welled within me as I looked at Dirk with pure anger. "You... You bastard..." I gripped my sword in my stomach. "I'LL KILL YOU!" I pull out my sword into the air and brought it down upon him but he catches my hands with his and I felt my leg get stabbed. "Gah!" I drop my sword as I saw Dirk's shoe with a bloodied knife attached to it. The trickster then headbutted me into the ground.
Dirk looked down on me as I placed my hands on the hole in my abdomen. The pain now overwhelming my senses. He giggles victoriously at me. "And for the record, I hate Zipangu. Their wholehearted acceptance of monsters churns El Cero's stomach."
So he was Order all along. I never thought somebody could succeed in its zealous ideals. "O-Order... scum!..." I let out as I gasp for air in my mouth that was leaking blood."
"Order? They worship the Chief God. Another person I hate." The trickster responds. "No. I am human." He then walks away from my view.
How could this have happened? How could he have acted all that? Nobody can be that sinister. That evil. Can there? I need to stop him. But how? I am mortally wounded. Lying on my back and staring at the cerulean sky, gasping for air as life seep from me as well as tears of anger and sadness. Has all my life been leading up to this moment? No. Fate can't be that cruel? Can it? The pain has began to subside but I knew that was a sign of death coming.
I don't want to die. I want a warrior husband and three children. I want a happy family where me and my husband would cuddle up at the bed and tell each other compliments and how we love each other. I want to see my children grow up and find other great warriors and I'd be there cheering for them along with my husband. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die....
World Setting: Kenkou Cross' Monster Girl Enyclopedia
"Haaaah!" A boulder is swiftly and cleanly sliced into two by a woman with a red reptilian tail and a pair of red, scaly ears brandishing a sword. Her skin was dark red and so was her short but unkempt hair but much darker. The only pieces of clothing she wore was a leather vest and a pair brown shorts.
Hehe, yep! I'm the one who sliced that puny rock into two! Vivian Wellington a.k.a. 'The Searing Salamander'. Actually, 'The Searing Salamander' was just a title given to me by my friends which was adopted by other people which was then adopted by my enemies, The Order. Though I really don't see them as enemies since some, if not most, of them have trouble inflicting pain and suffering against Mamono and their partners.
Ever since I was a little kid I dreamt of having a man who could fight well, nothing special considering what I am. However, I vowed that that man must not only fight well but fight extremely well. I'm going to make him earn me. Thus I trained and trained and trained until I became what I am now and set out to find a man who can give me a really pumping fight. Plus, I heard from some guy in a black suit wearing a grey skull over his head that after an intense fight, the fighters' libido should be really high. Don't know if he's telling the truth but it sure would be swell if it was. I could only imagine what we would do after an adrenaline-rushing fight. I grow hot just by thinking about it.
But... it's been three years and no man has beaten me yet, let alone fire me up. All that I've been doing that time was defend villages or travelers from those Order guys. None of whom could stand up to me, not even their so-called 'Heroes'.
Truth be told I was kind of getting desperate. I thought of actually attacking Order towns to find a worthy warrior. Even if that tarnishes my reputation.
That is... until I met one strange fellow named Dirk Willsbury.
--------
Dirk Willsbury was... a tall but quite skinny and slender man with short brown but well-combed hair and black, cowardly eyes. I really don't want to be mean but he looks wimpy.
"Please train me, O great Searing Salamander!" he exclaimed as he threw himself down in front of me. He was wearing a brown shirt and blue pants which lead me to believe he was a commoner.
"Now why would I do that?" I ask him.
"Because.... because..." he starts but took a while to continue. "Because I like you!"
I was struck speechless. Silence overcame the atmosphere as I tried to sink those words into my head. I lost control of my eyes as they widened as if they've seen something so unbelievable. Maybe they did. If this was a surprise attack, I would've taken a serious blow. Never has a man confessed his feelings towards me. I fought many men in the years but none had the bravery to confess to me. Now that I think about it, maybe that's because they didn't have feelings for me at all.
But still, for this man to come up to the renowned Searing Salamander and confessing to her. That takes guts. I regain my composure.
"Hehe. So you think you've got what it takes to become the Searing Salamander's life partner?" I ask him in a taunting manner.
"W-well, that's why I'm a-asking you to train me. So I could become a great fighter worthy for you." Dirk answers meekly but with much determination.
"Mmm." I was sort of impressed by his answer. "Hmm. Let me think." I just stare at him with a smirk and seducing eyes but inside my head, a war had broken out between two sides of my mind. One side was saying no because I would only be wasting time training this man to become a fighter of my caliber. The other side was saying yes because while it would take time to train him, my future with a great warrior is assured. The 'no' side countered that the training might fail. The 'yes' side countered that counter by saying I lose my only chance at getting a man. The 'no' replied that there would be another chance. The 'yes' said that they don't know that.
That kept going on and on until both sides settled on one thing, it was up to the actual me for the final say. "I have gone through the most brutal and hellish training you can imagine. And I'm going to make you go through all that. Is that alright with you?" I told Dirk. Of course my training wasn't that brutal nor hellish. I mean, holding a boulder in air for two hours or blocking attacks while blindfolded isn't that hard.
"Yes! I would brave the depths of Hell just to be with you!" the commoner in love exclaimed.
Those poetic words made my heart skip a beat but I didn't make that obvious. Instead, I responded with a chuckle and a few words. "You're training begins tomorrow, Dirk. You should get some really peaceful rest 'cause it'll be the last peaceful rest you'll have in the next few years." I saw him gulp in fear and I couldn't help but smirk in amusement.
----------
I made my way to the meeting place me and Dirk agreed on. It was a bunch of rock formations near a dense forest which I used as a landmark for my home and training grounds which was inside said forest. I even arranged some of the rocks to point to the right direction. Even if I already memorized the exact location of my home, it would be convenient for the people seeking me.
I arrived at the meeting place and there I found Dirk, sitting and leaning on a rock protrusion and looking at the cerulean sky. It appears he's thinking hard about something. Could he be regretting his decision? Thinking about that made me kind of sad but I really can't stop him if he does back out.
It appears he does not notice me and I decided to make him regret that. With a small knife, I threw the cutting object at the rock, mere centimeters from his leg. He got startled and he quickly dived away from the knife. Looking at the direction the knife came from, he finally notices me.
"Oh. Master Vivian. That gave me quite the scare. Please don't do that again." he says.
"Well you're gonna have to train hard if you don't like surprises like that." I told him. "And 'Master'?"
"W-well since you're training me, are you not the master and I the student?" he answers as well as explain.
"I see your point." But I don't like the sound of 'Master Vivian'. It makes me sound like a head of a guild or something. "Hmm. Why don't you just call me Vivian-sensei?"
"Vivian-sensei?" Dirk asks in confusion.
"Yeah. Just like how those people in Zipangu does it." I'm not adept in the Zipanguese language but I'm sure that 'master' and 'sensei' means the same.
"Umm... okay. Please help me Vivian-sensei!" he proudly exclaims. Now that sounds better.
-----------
We made our way into the forest, through the uneven terrain filled with numerous twigs, vines, rocks and practically anything that can make you trip or lose your footing. There was no path nor a trail for us to follow but I knew exactly where we're headed but Dirk was a little doubtful.
"Vivian-sensei? Are you sure--"
"Yes I'm sure Dirk. I know where I live." I cut him off. I knew he was gonna ask that since a lot of people did so too when I took them to my home.
"Hey Dirk. Where are you from?" I decide to start a conversation to not make this trek silent and awkward.
"Oh I'm from Deerg." he answers. Never heard of that place before.
"Deerg huh. Where's that?" I continue as I vault over a fallen log.
"It's near... Treppe."
I've heard of Treppe before, it is a coastal fishing town. "I see. So it's safe to assume your fish products comes from Treppe?" I ask.
"I-indeed." Dirk replies.
"Oh we're here." I say as Dirk and I reach a small clearing. A medium-sized hut on one side and various training objects on the other.
I open the door to my hut home and face Dirk. "Dirk Willsbury, welcome to my humble abode." I proudly say. My student tries to enter but I stop him. "Oi oi. No entering without training."
"E-eh?" Dirk sported a confused face.
I grab his hand and lead him to the other side of the clearing. Picking up two wooden swords, I toss him one. Time to test him out. "Let's see how good you are first."
"B-but..." Dirk stutters.
"This is to find out what I should teach you first."
I come at him with a horizontal slash which he evades by arching backward but I follow it with a light, swift kick which knocks him to the ground. Dirk quickly recovers and maintains a defensive stance. I come at him again with a vertical slash and he sidesteps to the left to evade it. He counters with a diagonal slash but I was fast enough to block it. I retaliate by spinning once and followed by a horizontal slash but he evades it that by jumping backwards but then I quickly spin again and followed by a low slash. Apparently he didn't see that coming and he was knocked off his feet. He was going to recover but I place the tip of my wooden sword at his neck.
Dirk sighs in defeat and I help him back up. "You could use training but it seems you know how to fight." I tell him.
"Thank you Vivian-sensei." He nods at me.
And thus our little training adventure started.
-----------
Since that day Dirk and I had been training nonstop, starting from the basics. He learned moves and stances, tricks and techniques very quickly so what I thought to be a few years turned out to be one and a half years. Sure he couldn't hold a boulder in the air for two hours but he certainly could block attacks blindfolded.
It has also gotten us close. Real close. Sometimes our hands would touch when retrieving the same object or we would tumble into a position where our lips were too close for comfort. Also, his kindness had reached inside my chest more than once. It had me thinking. Do I really need an exemplary warrior to be my husband? When my heart is beginning to fall to a person weaker than I am? Well he is not weak per se but I am more superior than he is. At least for now.
I thought all about that while I was taking a bath in the nearby river. In the distance I saw the person whom I would show my naked body to in the future, a few meters upriver. He had brandished a fishing pole and cast a line into the water and simply stared into the other side, contemplating about something. Had he bothered to look at the river's direction, he would have spotted me. A naughty idea formed into my head.
A few moments later, I cover Dirk's eyes from behind and startled him. "Guess who is it~."
"Vivian-sensei." he answers with his voice calming.
"Heehee." I let go of him. He turns to me and gets startled again.
I was only wearing two small towels. One covering my chest and one covering my bottom. Dirk immediately looks away. "V-V-Vivian-sensei! Please puts some clothes on!"
"Nope~!" I hug him from behind. Pushing my breasts against his back. My chest isn't that of a Holstaur's but it would certainly make a Witch mad. Soon, I found myself not letting go as I didn't want this warm feeling I'm having go away.
"U-umm. Can you?"
"No. Let me just stay like this for a while." I said as I rest my head on his back. If only I could stay like this forever. Oh what am I saying? I AM going to stay like this forever as soon as training's over.
I guess there's no fighting it. I love him.
I love Dirk Willsbury.
-----------
Today was the day. The day where I will know if my beloved Dirk had been learning or not. I faced my student opponent with my signature sword planted on the ground. "Are you ready for this Dirk?"
"I won't hold back!" He points his favored weapon, a saber, at me.
"Very well! Let's go!"
I start by going with a horizontal slash but he ducks to evade it and retliates with an upward slash which I quickly block. He breaks off and comes at me with a thrust which I sidestep to and retaliate with a thrust of my own. He turns his body sidewards to narrowly dodge my attack before kicking me away. He came at me with a horizontal slash which I jump backwards to and block his follow up vertical slash. I push him away during the block and spinned into a low horizontal slash which he jumps to evade it. He counters with a slash which I easily block.
After that the fight dragged on and before I knew it I was on fire. I truly have trained a warrior fit to be my partner. I knew I already loved him before but now he is everything I dreamed of. We were equally skilled so now it was a battle of attrition. Who will give in first? Well whoever does, I win. I have decided. I was so happy I couldn't wipe the growing smile on my face.
I caught his hand when he was about to slash and he caught my hand when I was about to. I crushed his puny hand with mine and he let go of his saber. He then headbutted me which made me let go of my weapon. I actually wouldn't if I wasn't so tired. We grabbed the weapons close to us: the saber for me and my sword for Dirk. With powerful swings, our weapons collided and the saber was sent flying. The battle was determined.
"Haa... haa... you... you won." I panted with a smile. Dirk has beaten me. He has defeated the 'Searing Salamander'. I was his by Salamander tradition and I was happy with that. The fires on my body raged and I wanted to jump him so we could do it right here, right now. I took a deep breath and stood up. I would congratulate him then kiss him passionately and stroke his manhood to get him aroused. Whatever happens next I don't know but I'm sure I'll like it.
"Dirk. I--" I was cut off when I feel something go through me. I look down and see my sword embedded on my stomach. I saw blood drip to the ground. My blood. My strength also dropped and I fell to my knees. I was too shocked and confused to feel the pain. I looked at my beloved and he sported a sinister smile I thought he could never sport. "Wha... What?..."
"You gullible, gullible lizard. It's amazing how mighty warriors like you can be fooled by colorful words." he said to me. His voice no longer the voice I knew. It sounded more... flamboyant. "But I should thank you really. If it weren't for you, El Cero would still be a defenseless young chap."
So it was all just an act? To make me train him? No. His confession. His actions. They were all too real. "You... you're not Dirk... What have you done to him?!" I ask as I cough up blood and feel the pain creep up.
"Oh my. Was El Cero's acting so convincing you refuse to grasp the truth?" 'Dirk' smiled at me. "That Dirk you knew never existed. It was all just a lie."
"N-no!" I muttered in disbelief. So my feelings for him...
"In reality I hate monsters such as you and I loathed every second I spent with you. But since I had a close encounter with one, I decided to take some fighting lessons. And where to get higher quality training than the 'Searing Salamander'?" Dirk tells me his heinous but well thought out plan. "I was going to get lessons from the Order but that would cost me. So I decided to learn from a monster who was not only going to train me but will cost me nothing and I get to off a monster. All in all, El Cero managed to kill three birds with one stone."
I was used? I was used to train a maniac how to properly fight? Raged welled within me as I looked at Dirk with pure anger. "You... You bastard..." I gripped my sword in my stomach. "I'LL KILL YOU!" I pull out my sword into the air and brought it down upon him but he catches my hands with his and I felt my leg get stabbed. "Gah!" I drop my sword as I saw Dirk's shoe with a bloodied knife attached to it. The trickster then headbutted me into the ground.
Dirk looked down on me as I placed my hands on the hole in my abdomen. The pain now overwhelming my senses. He giggles victoriously at me. "And for the record, I hate Zipangu. Their wholehearted acceptance of monsters churns El Cero's stomach."
So he was Order all along. I never thought somebody could succeed in its zealous ideals. "O-Order... scum!..." I let out as I gasp for air in my mouth that was leaking blood."
"Order? They worship the Chief God. Another person I hate." The trickster responds. "No. I am human." He then walks away from my view.
How could this have happened? How could he have acted all that? Nobody can be that sinister. That evil. Can there? I need to stop him. But how? I am mortally wounded. Lying on my back and staring at the cerulean sky, gasping for air as life seep from me as well as tears of anger and sadness. Has all my life been leading up to this moment? No. Fate can't be that cruel? Can it? The pain has began to subside but I knew that was a sign of death coming.
I don't want to die. I want a warrior husband and three children. I want a happy family where me and my husband would cuddle up at the bed and tell each other compliments and how we love each other. I want to see my children grow up and find other great warriors and I'd be there cheering for them along with my husband. I don't want to die.
I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die....
Story based on the song ‘La voce del silenzio’ by Andrea Bocelli
Youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddge0PA2VKA
Link to lyrics + translation: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/la-voce-del-silenzio-voice-silence.html-1#songtranslation#ixzz3Nm35tecP
Clear your head and open your heart
Grey clouds completely covered the sky and were being rushed forward by a strong wind coming from the sea. The same wind made the otherwise gentle waves more violent as the rolled on to the beach. A drizzling rain fell down on the sand below and onto the lone figure dressed in a light-grey raincoat that was standing on the beach, with his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. The young man, somewhere in his early twenties, pulled up his shoulders and braced himself when a chilly gust of wind pushed against him from the sea. Only few people ventured on the beach during the autumn and even fewer came out with this weather, but he needed it. The greenish-brown eyes that were focussed on the continuously rolling waves had a gloomy expression. The few chestnut-coloured hairs visible from underneath the cap of the raincoat were wet and stuck to his forehead. He didn’t bother wiping them away.
It was cold, it really was, but he needed it. He needed a moment to be alone and to think. And what better place then this turbulent wind and rolling waves? It was as if the weather matched the storm inside of him, the doubt and the fear that whirled inside which he tried so desperately to control. And even though the weather could be classed as an autumn storm, it was peaceful here. The only sounds he could hear were coming from the howling wind and the rolling waves, not even the seagulls disrupted the silence around him. He was alone, undisturbed by anyone or anything and that was what he needed. A beach was never truly silent, especially with a strong wind like the one that was blowing right now, but what place was ever truly silent? There were no other noises, besides the one nature produced on a continuous basis, and it allowed him to think.
He had given up, he had decided it had been enough months ago. If she didn’t want him, then he didn’t want her. If she didn’t need him, he didn’t need her. If he was dead to her, she would be dead to him. It had been painful to come to that decision, but it had been for the best. For years he had tried his best for her, being a son his mother could be proud of, giving her love in the hopes to receive it as well, but that had never worked. She had made it clear she didn’t care for him, but he had reached out to her. Countless times he had reached out to her. It had been in vain every time and that had hurt every single time. That was why he had come to this decision, it had been too hard to deal with the disappointments and in order to protect his heart he had to close it to her. The months that had followed the decision had been good, as if a weight had dropped from his shoulders. He hadn’t seen his mother since he had made that decision, he hadn’t felt the need to try and make things right. He had come to terms with how his relationship with his mother was and that it would simply never get better. And that in itself had been a relief. A melancholic smile appeared, he could have known it would not be that simple. His father had called, telling him his mother needed him. Those words had given a feeling of hope he had learned to fear, because never before had that hope become reality, time and time again he had seen it shatter, leaving him sad and depressed and that was exactly what he didn’t want anymore. He closed his eyes and shook his head, why did he come? It would just end the same way, he would reach out to her and she would turn her back at him. Wasn’t that how it always went?
Wind was blowing some sand over the beach and he watched it silently as he took out his cellphone. He read the text message from his father for the tenth time already. It said: ‘Mike, we’re at the Sunset’. A simple message which had quite an impact every time he read it, it gave him a mixture of hope and fear.
Mike put his cellphone away again and he turned his head to look at the buildings at the edge of the beach. He had been standing in front of the bar mentioned in the text, but he hadn’t been able to go inside. Instead he had walked on to the beach, where he was standing now. He still didn’t know if he could enter the bar. The hands in the pockets of his raincoat had turned to fists and he bit his teeth. He was afraid, he really was. He couldn’t face another disappointment, it was why he had turned away from his mother, like she had done years before. Mike raised his head and looked at the sky, the drizzling rain fell on his face as he looked at the clouds who moved through the sky, relentlessly driven forward by the wind. He stood there for a moment, before he sighed and looked at the waves once more.
They had been to this beach often during his childhood. He recalled they had eaten ice-cream in the Sunset. He recalled how he had build sand-castles with his father and how he had played in the sea while his parents were watching, smiling. He recalled how she had been a mother and they had been a family. He could almost see it, in the rain, as he recalled it, how he had ran up to his mother and she had hugged him and rubbed him in with sunblock. It was the kind of hug he had missed, one he had often longed back for, but at one time she had stopped hugging him. What had changed? He had never been able to figure that out. How old was he during that particular summer? Six? The trips to the beach after that had been different, he had played with his father, but his mother had barely looked at him. What had changed? Mike frowned when he thought about that. In the very least he wanted to figure that out.
After taking a deep breath, Mike turned around and walked away from the sea, straight to the bar where he knew his parents would be.
The bar was as Mike remembered, the wooden chairs and tables, the various nautical decorations on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. It brought back memories for sure, good ones. He pushed the cap of his raincoat down as he stepped inside. The last time they had eaten ice-cream here, his mother had smiled at him. It pained him to think about how long it had been since he had seen her smile at him like that.
It didn’t take him long to locate his parents and they were looking at him as well. For a moment he looked at his mother. Then he turned around and left, leaving the dry and warm place and switched it for the cold wind and drizzling rain he had just left behind seconds ago.
At first Mike walked, but his steps grew larger and faster until he was running. He ran back onto the beach, where he fell on his knees in the sand. He covered his face with a hand, while supporting himself with the other. He couldn’t, he just couldn’t bring himself to face her. He couldn’t deal with another disappointment. It had been too much, it was enough, wasn’t that what he had decided months ago? Why was he even here?
The drizzling rain had made his hair wet and it stuck to his head, but he barely even noticed that. Mike slowly lowered his hand and looked at the sea ahead, his eyes were moist with tears. The sea never changed, it was a continuous flow of waves rolling over the sand. Why would he expect his mother would change? But she had already changed once, why couldn’t that happen for a second time? One thing had truly never changed though, he had always loved her as a son should love his mother. And he still did. That place in his heart where he had hold her as a child was still there, like a table in a restaurant with a silver plaque on top if it and in golden letters the word ‘reserved’ on it, waiting for her to sit down. He wanted to work it out, he longed for a motherly embrace he had to miss for so long, but he couldn’t get himself to try, the fear for another disappointment had made him turn around and leave even before his parents could explain why they had asked him to come all of the sudden.
Lost in thoughts he didn’t notice how someone walked up to him. He didn’t notice until an umbrella above his head shielded him from the rain that had relentlessly fallen down on him. He turned his head and noticed his mother with a sad look in her green eyes. She crouched down next to him, holding the umbrella above both their heads.
“If you can’t do this, I understand,” she said to him. “There are some things we have to work out. I realize I haven’t been a good mother to you, but...”
Mike shook his head and wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck, this was already more then he had gotten in years, he would not walk away now and destroy what could very well be the last chance they had to make things right. “It’s not too late,” he whispered, “you’re my mother, you always have been and you always will be. I still need you and I want things to be better between us.”
For the first time in years he felt the arm of his mother around his shoulders, holding him in a motherly embrace. It didn’t matter it was cold and wet outside on the beach, right now Mike didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddge0PA2VKA
Link to lyrics + translation: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/la-voce-del-silenzio-voice-silence.html-1#songtranslation#ixzz3Nm35tecP
Clear your head and open your heart
Grey clouds completely covered the sky and were being rushed forward by a strong wind coming from the sea. The same wind made the otherwise gentle waves more violent as the rolled on to the beach. A drizzling rain fell down on the sand below and onto the lone figure dressed in a light-grey raincoat that was standing on the beach, with his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. The young man, somewhere in his early twenties, pulled up his shoulders and braced himself when a chilly gust of wind pushed against him from the sea. Only few people ventured on the beach during the autumn and even fewer came out with this weather, but he needed it. The greenish-brown eyes that were focussed on the continuously rolling waves had a gloomy expression. The few chestnut-coloured hairs visible from underneath the cap of the raincoat were wet and stuck to his forehead. He didn’t bother wiping them away.
It was cold, it really was, but he needed it. He needed a moment to be alone and to think. And what better place then this turbulent wind and rolling waves? It was as if the weather matched the storm inside of him, the doubt and the fear that whirled inside which he tried so desperately to control. And even though the weather could be classed as an autumn storm, it was peaceful here. The only sounds he could hear were coming from the howling wind and the rolling waves, not even the seagulls disrupted the silence around him. He was alone, undisturbed by anyone or anything and that was what he needed. A beach was never truly silent, especially with a strong wind like the one that was blowing right now, but what place was ever truly silent? There were no other noises, besides the one nature produced on a continuous basis, and it allowed him to think.
He had given up, he had decided it had been enough months ago. If she didn’t want him, then he didn’t want her. If she didn’t need him, he didn’t need her. If he was dead to her, she would be dead to him. It had been painful to come to that decision, but it had been for the best. For years he had tried his best for her, being a son his mother could be proud of, giving her love in the hopes to receive it as well, but that had never worked. She had made it clear she didn’t care for him, but he had reached out to her. Countless times he had reached out to her. It had been in vain every time and that had hurt every single time. That was why he had come to this decision, it had been too hard to deal with the disappointments and in order to protect his heart he had to close it to her. The months that had followed the decision had been good, as if a weight had dropped from his shoulders. He hadn’t seen his mother since he had made that decision, he hadn’t felt the need to try and make things right. He had come to terms with how his relationship with his mother was and that it would simply never get better. And that in itself had been a relief. A melancholic smile appeared, he could have known it would not be that simple. His father had called, telling him his mother needed him. Those words had given a feeling of hope he had learned to fear, because never before had that hope become reality, time and time again he had seen it shatter, leaving him sad and depressed and that was exactly what he didn’t want anymore. He closed his eyes and shook his head, why did he come? It would just end the same way, he would reach out to her and she would turn her back at him. Wasn’t that how it always went?
Wind was blowing some sand over the beach and he watched it silently as he took out his cellphone. He read the text message from his father for the tenth time already. It said: ‘Mike, we’re at the Sunset’. A simple message which had quite an impact every time he read it, it gave him a mixture of hope and fear.
Mike put his cellphone away again and he turned his head to look at the buildings at the edge of the beach. He had been standing in front of the bar mentioned in the text, but he hadn’t been able to go inside. Instead he had walked on to the beach, where he was standing now. He still didn’t know if he could enter the bar. The hands in the pockets of his raincoat had turned to fists and he bit his teeth. He was afraid, he really was. He couldn’t face another disappointment, it was why he had turned away from his mother, like she had done years before. Mike raised his head and looked at the sky, the drizzling rain fell on his face as he looked at the clouds who moved through the sky, relentlessly driven forward by the wind. He stood there for a moment, before he sighed and looked at the waves once more.
They had been to this beach often during his childhood. He recalled they had eaten ice-cream in the Sunset. He recalled how he had build sand-castles with his father and how he had played in the sea while his parents were watching, smiling. He recalled how she had been a mother and they had been a family. He could almost see it, in the rain, as he recalled it, how he had ran up to his mother and she had hugged him and rubbed him in with sunblock. It was the kind of hug he had missed, one he had often longed back for, but at one time she had stopped hugging him. What had changed? He had never been able to figure that out. How old was he during that particular summer? Six? The trips to the beach after that had been different, he had played with his father, but his mother had barely looked at him. What had changed? Mike frowned when he thought about that. In the very least he wanted to figure that out.
After taking a deep breath, Mike turned around and walked away from the sea, straight to the bar where he knew his parents would be.
The bar was as Mike remembered, the wooden chairs and tables, the various nautical decorations on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. It brought back memories for sure, good ones. He pushed the cap of his raincoat down as he stepped inside. The last time they had eaten ice-cream here, his mother had smiled at him. It pained him to think about how long it had been since he had seen her smile at him like that.
It didn’t take him long to locate his parents and they were looking at him as well. For a moment he looked at his mother. Then he turned around and left, leaving the dry and warm place and switched it for the cold wind and drizzling rain he had just left behind seconds ago.
At first Mike walked, but his steps grew larger and faster until he was running. He ran back onto the beach, where he fell on his knees in the sand. He covered his face with a hand, while supporting himself with the other. He couldn’t, he just couldn’t bring himself to face her. He couldn’t deal with another disappointment. It had been too much, it was enough, wasn’t that what he had decided months ago? Why was he even here?
The drizzling rain had made his hair wet and it stuck to his head, but he barely even noticed that. Mike slowly lowered his hand and looked at the sea ahead, his eyes were moist with tears. The sea never changed, it was a continuous flow of waves rolling over the sand. Why would he expect his mother would change? But she had already changed once, why couldn’t that happen for a second time? One thing had truly never changed though, he had always loved her as a son should love his mother. And he still did. That place in his heart where he had hold her as a child was still there, like a table in a restaurant with a silver plaque on top if it and in golden letters the word ‘reserved’ on it, waiting for her to sit down. He wanted to work it out, he longed for a motherly embrace he had to miss for so long, but he couldn’t get himself to try, the fear for another disappointment had made him turn around and leave even before his parents could explain why they had asked him to come all of the sudden.
Lost in thoughts he didn’t notice how someone walked up to him. He didn’t notice until an umbrella above his head shielded him from the rain that had relentlessly fallen down on him. He turned his head and noticed his mother with a sad look in her green eyes. She crouched down next to him, holding the umbrella above both their heads.
“If you can’t do this, I understand,” she said to him. “There are some things we have to work out. I realize I haven’t been a good mother to you, but...”
Mike shook his head and wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck, this was already more then he had gotten in years, he would not walk away now and destroy what could very well be the last chance they had to make things right. “It’s not too late,” he whispered, “you’re my mother, you always have been and you always will be. I still need you and I want things to be better between us.”
For the first time in years he felt the arm of his mother around his shoulders, holding him in a motherly embrace. It didn’t matter it was cold and wet outside on the beach, right now Mike didn’t want to be anywhere else.
HANG ON WE'RE NOT DONE YET! Because of character-count limitations, I need one more post to finish out all the entries, DON'T MISS THE LAST FEW!! THEY'RE GOOD!
2x Thank
