These are vague ideas for stories that I had started but quickly abandoned. If you like the ideas of the stories, then let me know if I should try to continue them, or feel free to recreate them as your own!
"The Academy" "Blinding" "Falling Power" "The Girl" "The Hunting Party" "Light" "Mindreader" "New" "Prisoner" "Rain" "A Snowy World and a Glacial Heart" "White"
"The Academy" "Blinding" "Falling Power" "The Girl" "The Hunting Party" "Light" "Mindreader" "New" "Prisoner" "Rain" "A Snowy World and a Glacial Heart" "White"
The Academy
This story revolves around a school that decides who becomes the next emperor. Theoretically, anyone can get in, but not everyone can survive. The students are encouraged to kill each other, and the one who manages to kill the current emperor gets the throne. However, the rule is that you can't get caught killing other students; not by other students, teachers, or the emperor himself. If you're caught (or expertly framed), you die. Girls play the same game in order to gain the title of empress, who has the same power and authority as the emperor. Consequently, girls and boys usually pair up to work together and against everyone else. Students are allowed to begin attempts on the emperor's life by the age of fifteen - if someone manages the feat before then, then he (if found out) is executed and a member of office takes the throne instead. So in between the ages of six and fifteen, students at the academy live in an all-out war zone, doing whatever it takes for the throne. The main character, Lewell, is the son of the emperor. Usually, those in his position don't choose to become the next emperor, since it means killing his own father, and instead leave the palace at fifteen to live among the common people. Lewell's father, however, gives him an ultimatum: either Lewell goes through the academy, aiming for the throne, or Lewell's father kills him as soon as he turns fifteen. Lewell chooses the former option, after some deliberating, but instead of killing others, he chooses to set up a business in selling information to students.
The dim room had one small window, providing barely enough daylight to acknowledge one small person. He sat in a desk by the corner, typing away on several computers that gave off more light than the window. He looked trapped, somehow, sitting there.
Nevertheless, that was where he sat, and he was comfortable there. At least, until the door beyond the clear glass wall creaked open.
The typing stopped at once.
He glanced over to confirm his sudden visitor, and his mouth twisted into a slight frown. She waved a friendly hello.
He sighed. Blacking all his screens, he got up to unlock the glass door.
“You're not helping me by constantly coming back down here,” he said as he opened it.
Passing by him and interrupting his work space – as always – she smirked.
“Am I distracting to you, Wells?” she said.
“I'm saying I'm not your toy, Nelia,” Wells shot back. She sat down in his chair.
“Then whose toy are you?”
“And you?” he retorted, leaning against the glass. “This clearly isn't a social call. You came with a reason today, didn't you?”
Nelia glanced at him. Then, smirking, she replied, “So you have that place wired as well. A bit tasteless, don't you think, Wells?”
“It would be, yes,” he said, hitching on his own smirk.
Her eyes twinkled in the dark. “He cares deeply for you, you know,” she said suddenly, “That's why he wants us to be friends.”
“And I couldn't have asked for better,” he said, “If you hadn't wasted so much of my time this past week, I would have already expressed to him my undying gratitude.”
She swiveled in his chair. “I'll make sure to pass it on in your stead.”
“If it's no trouble.”
“None at all.”
There was a small pause before Wells removed himself from the wall. “So,” he said, walking up behind his chair, “What has his majesty requested of me today?”
She looked up at him with a conspirator's smile. “Like you don't already know.”
“I can guess.”
She seemed to consider him for a moment. Slowly, her hand reached up to touch his face as he stood still, staring down. “You resemble him in many ways,” she said softly, her eyes away from his, “Do you resent that?”
“How could I?”
Her eyes reached his. Just as slowly, she removed her hand.
“He's getting a bit impatient with you,” she said, “He knows you've yet to achieve your first kill.”
“Tell him he's not half so clever as I am.”
“I'm sure he'll be delighted.”
He smiled, still staring. “Is that all?” he said.
She leaned back in his chair. “He does warn you not to forget this month's list.”
“Have I ever?” he said, “Just warn him in turn not to forget my compensation.”
She scoffed. “Has he ever?”
“Once.”
After a small pause, she finally got up from his chair, saying, “I'll leave then, before I overstay my welcome.”
“If it's no trouble.”
“None at all.”
“Not half so clever?”
Nelia smiled at him. “It was his own witty way of avoidance, your majesty.”
Stopping his knife, he looked up from his meal to smile a cold smile. “Not so witty if you could see it for what it was, my dear.”
“Of course not, your majesty,” she said, bowing her head.
“And? Did he say anything else?”
Looking up, she calmly replied, “Yes, your majesty. He wishes to secure his payment for the list this month.”
His face remained blank, but he resumed his meal. “He's careful,” he eventually said, “And clever enough to kill in the discreet methods required at the academy, yet he doesn't. What do you think of this?”
“That it would have been an achievement indeed if he had somehow killed his first already.”
He narrowed his eyes at Nelia's answer. “Indeed.”
“It seems to me,” she continued, “That Lewell is biding his time; perhaps hoping that many will dispose of each other before he chooses to act.”
“That is perhaps a wise decision, if he were anyone other than my son. However, every student is after his head because he chose the academy – ”
Chose? Nelia thought amusedly.
“ – instead of living quietly as my representative. Lewell cannot afford to stay his hand.”
“He will succeed, I assure you, your majesty,” Nelia said, bowing again.
“If you think me a fool, then say so, whore,” he said, wiping his mouth. “When you can give me that assurance as a woman, then I might reconsider your worth. For now, however, keep observing that boy.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
He stood up, their chairs moving elegantly back as she stood as well. Leaving his meal half-finished, he walked over to the door. Once there, he stopped. “And Nelia,” he added, "Remember that your slippery tongue, whatever else it might be good for, is sworn to me and me only. I do not tolerate rats within my walls."
She bowed her head as the door closed behind him.
“Yes, your majesty.”
Their room shone with sunlight streaming in through vaulted windows, each beam glittering on the polished floor. He saw her waiting there for him; as graceful and deadly as a newly forged blade.
“Maia,” the Emperor said.
The beauty turned to him, and her thin lips pull up into a wickedly sharp smile.
“Rayhlen,” she said. “How was the whore?”
“Intelligent and seductive. But a liar.”
She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.
“Very intelligent then.”
“She will do,” Rayhlen conceded. “The problem, however, is that she has not yet allied with anyone in the academy. Or she has managed to do so without our knowledge.”
“She is allied with us.”
Rayhlen looked out the window, past the turrets of their castle to the blackened walls of the distant academy. “That is advantageous only up to the moment I am dead,” he said.
“Are you worried she's targeting me?”
“And if I am?”
Rayhlen looked over to see her ice blue eyes soften. “Then I would ask you to place more confidence in the woman who passed through hell to stand here as your wife.”
“Empress Maia,” he said, smiling, “How could I refuse?” After a moment, however, he sighed. Quietly, he said, “It has not entirely been as we had imagined it would be, has it? Ruling the world. At times, I wish I could take back what I'd said to Lewell and allow him to choose the other path in life.”
“It is a necessary evil, Rayhlen. Without us, the world would crumble. And we know our son, don't we? He can't exist as a commoner. His name was meant to be sung throughout the ages.”
“So you say. Yet it seems that the boy cannot kill.”
“Maybe he's managed to hide it from us. You said yourself that he might be capable of it.”
“In time, perhaps. The whore was suggesting the same thing earlier. But that boy cannot even properly send us a secret list. I am forced to monitor him every time so that it does not fall into the wrong hands.”
“He would be much more discreet with a kill, wouldn't you think?”
“Perhaps.”
She laughed her delicate laugh, and Rayhlen grudgingly smiled.
“It's our job to doubt, Maia,” he said.
She took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Perhaps.”
She strode down the dank hall, the dark as calming as a worn cloak. Maia reached his door. Not bothering to knock, she entered the dimly lit room and reached the invisible wall.
“Mother,” he said, having opened the door for her. “This is a surprise.”
She passed through and looked over the five black screens, the drained cups of coffee, the small cot in the corner. “I'm sorry for the intrusion,” she said, “I know you've been keeping yourself busy.”
“I'm never too busy for family,” he said easily, sitting back in his chair.
She smiled at him, though she doubted he could see it in the settling dark. Maia could see him, however, with his bruised eyes, pale face, and black hair that he'd inherited from her. Seeing him now, he looked like a vampire. Describing any of them as blood-sucking monsters wasn't that much of a stretch, however.
“Have you come for business or for pleasure today, Mother?”
She looked back into his black eyes, which he'd inherited from his father.
“For pleasure, I think,” she answered.
He smiled. “That was a trick question.”
“Really.”
“Anyone that comes down to visit always comes for business, Mother. Family included.”
Sitting herself down on the cot, she said, “You mean family especially.”
“Not really. When was the last time you or Father had visited me here?”
“It has been a while. I see you sleep here now.”
“For safety purposes.”
“Would you think it safe to spend all your time in the one place you're well known to frequent?”
“It's only well known to you and Father. Besides, I've taken measures.”
The dim room had one small window, providing barely enough daylight to acknowledge one small person. He sat in a desk by the corner, typing away on several computers that gave off more light than the window. He looked trapped, somehow, sitting there.
Nevertheless, that was where he sat, and he was comfortable there. At least, until the door beyond the clear glass wall creaked open.
The typing stopped at once.
He glanced over to confirm his sudden visitor, and his mouth twisted into a slight frown. She waved a friendly hello.
He sighed. Blacking all his screens, he got up to unlock the glass door.
“You're not helping me by constantly coming back down here,” he said as he opened it.
Passing by him and interrupting his work space – as always – she smirked.
“Am I distracting to you, Wells?” she said.
“I'm saying I'm not your toy, Nelia,” Wells shot back. She sat down in his chair.
“Then whose toy are you?”
“And you?” he retorted, leaning against the glass. “This clearly isn't a social call. You came with a reason today, didn't you?”
Nelia glanced at him. Then, smirking, she replied, “So you have that place wired as well. A bit tasteless, don't you think, Wells?”
“It would be, yes,” he said, hitching on his own smirk.
Her eyes twinkled in the dark. “He cares deeply for you, you know,” she said suddenly, “That's why he wants us to be friends.”
“And I couldn't have asked for better,” he said, “If you hadn't wasted so much of my time this past week, I would have already expressed to him my undying gratitude.”
She swiveled in his chair. “I'll make sure to pass it on in your stead.”
“If it's no trouble.”
“None at all.”
There was a small pause before Wells removed himself from the wall. “So,” he said, walking up behind his chair, “What has his majesty requested of me today?”
She looked up at him with a conspirator's smile. “Like you don't already know.”
“I can guess.”
She seemed to consider him for a moment. Slowly, her hand reached up to touch his face as he stood still, staring down. “You resemble him in many ways,” she said softly, her eyes away from his, “Do you resent that?”
“How could I?”
Her eyes reached his. Just as slowly, she removed her hand.
“He's getting a bit impatient with you,” she said, “He knows you've yet to achieve your first kill.”
“Tell him he's not half so clever as I am.”
“I'm sure he'll be delighted.”
He smiled, still staring. “Is that all?” he said.
She leaned back in his chair. “He does warn you not to forget this month's list.”
“Have I ever?” he said, “Just warn him in turn not to forget my compensation.”
She scoffed. “Has he ever?”
“Once.”
After a small pause, she finally got up from his chair, saying, “I'll leave then, before I overstay my welcome.”
“If it's no trouble.”
“None at all.”
“Not half so clever?”
Nelia smiled at him. “It was his own witty way of avoidance, your majesty.”
Stopping his knife, he looked up from his meal to smile a cold smile. “Not so witty if you could see it for what it was, my dear.”
“Of course not, your majesty,” she said, bowing her head.
“And? Did he say anything else?”
Looking up, she calmly replied, “Yes, your majesty. He wishes to secure his payment for the list this month.”
His face remained blank, but he resumed his meal. “He's careful,” he eventually said, “And clever enough to kill in the discreet methods required at the academy, yet he doesn't. What do you think of this?”
“That it would have been an achievement indeed if he had somehow killed his first already.”
He narrowed his eyes at Nelia's answer. “Indeed.”
“It seems to me,” she continued, “That Lewell is biding his time; perhaps hoping that many will dispose of each other before he chooses to act.”
“That is perhaps a wise decision, if he were anyone other than my son. However, every student is after his head because he chose the academy – ”
Chose? Nelia thought amusedly.
“ – instead of living quietly as my representative. Lewell cannot afford to stay his hand.”
“He will succeed, I assure you, your majesty,” Nelia said, bowing again.
“If you think me a fool, then say so, whore,” he said, wiping his mouth. “When you can give me that assurance as a woman, then I might reconsider your worth. For now, however, keep observing that boy.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
He stood up, their chairs moving elegantly back as she stood as well. Leaving his meal half-finished, he walked over to the door. Once there, he stopped. “And Nelia,” he added, "Remember that your slippery tongue, whatever else it might be good for, is sworn to me and me only. I do not tolerate rats within my walls."
She bowed her head as the door closed behind him.
“Yes, your majesty.”
Their room shone with sunlight streaming in through vaulted windows, each beam glittering on the polished floor. He saw her waiting there for him; as graceful and deadly as a newly forged blade.
“Maia,” the Emperor said.
The beauty turned to him, and her thin lips pull up into a wickedly sharp smile.
“Rayhlen,” she said. “How was the whore?”
“Intelligent and seductive. But a liar.”
She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.
“Very intelligent then.”
“She will do,” Rayhlen conceded. “The problem, however, is that she has not yet allied with anyone in the academy. Or she has managed to do so without our knowledge.”
“She is allied with us.”
Rayhlen looked out the window, past the turrets of their castle to the blackened walls of the distant academy. “That is advantageous only up to the moment I am dead,” he said.
“Are you worried she's targeting me?”
“And if I am?”
Rayhlen looked over to see her ice blue eyes soften. “Then I would ask you to place more confidence in the woman who passed through hell to stand here as your wife.”
“Empress Maia,” he said, smiling, “How could I refuse?” After a moment, however, he sighed. Quietly, he said, “It has not entirely been as we had imagined it would be, has it? Ruling the world. At times, I wish I could take back what I'd said to Lewell and allow him to choose the other path in life.”
“It is a necessary evil, Rayhlen. Without us, the world would crumble. And we know our son, don't we? He can't exist as a commoner. His name was meant to be sung throughout the ages.”
“So you say. Yet it seems that the boy cannot kill.”
“Maybe he's managed to hide it from us. You said yourself that he might be capable of it.”
“In time, perhaps. The whore was suggesting the same thing earlier. But that boy cannot even properly send us a secret list. I am forced to monitor him every time so that it does not fall into the wrong hands.”
“He would be much more discreet with a kill, wouldn't you think?”
“Perhaps.”
She laughed her delicate laugh, and Rayhlen grudgingly smiled.
“It's our job to doubt, Maia,” he said.
She took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Perhaps.”
She strode down the dank hall, the dark as calming as a worn cloak. Maia reached his door. Not bothering to knock, she entered the dimly lit room and reached the invisible wall.
“Mother,” he said, having opened the door for her. “This is a surprise.”
She passed through and looked over the five black screens, the drained cups of coffee, the small cot in the corner. “I'm sorry for the intrusion,” she said, “I know you've been keeping yourself busy.”
“I'm never too busy for family,” he said easily, sitting back in his chair.
She smiled at him, though she doubted he could see it in the settling dark. Maia could see him, however, with his bruised eyes, pale face, and black hair that he'd inherited from her. Seeing him now, he looked like a vampire. Describing any of them as blood-sucking monsters wasn't that much of a stretch, however.
“Have you come for business or for pleasure today, Mother?”
She looked back into his black eyes, which he'd inherited from his father.
“For pleasure, I think,” she answered.
He smiled. “That was a trick question.”
“Really.”
“Anyone that comes down to visit always comes for business, Mother. Family included.”
Sitting herself down on the cot, she said, “You mean family especially.”
“Not really. When was the last time you or Father had visited me here?”
“It has been a while. I see you sleep here now.”
“For safety purposes.”
“Would you think it safe to spend all your time in the one place you're well known to frequent?”
“It's only well known to you and Father. Besides, I've taken measures.”
Blinding
For this story, the main character, Violet, and the guy are part of a secret "world" or society which involves fighting against something, I never thought about the specifics. Anyway, in this I was going to describe how Violet and the guy fell in love the first time, simultaneously creating the story in which they fall in love a second time. The first love, of course, being shattered by that fact that he blinded her (as an order of their superiors, suggesting a conspiracy), and their second growing on their "adventure" where he helps her to avoid the people that are trying to kill her/to find some truth. Violet also has family problems; the reason she was out in the meadow in the first place being that she saw her dad cheating on her mom. Not the most original story - that being part of the reason I didn't want to continue this. A typical love story and all of that gets tiring.
The birds sang; the trees rustled; the wind blew. The flowers scented the air and the animals filled it with sound; everyone out enjoying the shining spring atmosphere. Violet inhaled deeply and opened her eyes to blackness.
Suddenly, she stiffened with surprise. Slowly, her face broke out into a wry smile. Turning her head to her left, she said, "You're getting better - I barely even heard you this time." She heard his low chuckle, and felt the ground tremble infinitesimally as he sat down next to her. She felt his presence disrupt the air, and she casually moved away from it. She didn't need sight to know the face he made at her reaction. She sighed inwardly, wishing she couldn't feel his pain. They sat in silence, her listening to their steady breaths, him wishing and waiting. "Why are you here," she said softly and steadily. He remained silent, but she waited patiently; the pain was something she could handle. She could control her emotions, her expressions, and her body. Sitting there in the meadow with one of the people she hated most in this world was a nonevent; she was completely in control. But she couldn't help tensing and gasping with shock when she felt him reach over and take one of her hands into his. She quickly ripped it out of his grasp. "That's not an answer," she said coldly. "Isn't it?" She could almost see his wry smile - it had a strange quality that reminded her of her own. She couldn't help the steel in her voice, "No, it's not." The ice was tangible as the silence persisted, and she worked hard to lower her heartbeat. "Will you ever forgive me?" he said quietly. "No," she said automatically, instinctively. She felt his shift in weight as he started to move towards her, and she stood up abruptly, hearing him follow her. "Vi, please," he said, his voice laced with deep pain. A hollow echo of her own thudded through her, and she gritted her teeth against it. "Stop," she said with difficulty. He ignored her, "I'm sorry, you know that. You know that. What do I have to say? What do I have to do? Tell me. Tell me, Vi, and I'll do it. I'll do anything, just -" he took a step towards her, and she couldn't move, "just, please, forgive me. I love you-" "You love me?" she interrupted through her sudden surge of absolute fury. Her hands shook, and she stared into nothingness. He lapsed into wary silence. "You love me," she repeated flatly. "Vi-" "If you ever did love me then you'd have nothing to be sorry for! If you were sorry, truly sorry, then you'd understand that you will never be as sorry as I am that I ever loved you. You want to know what you can do? Give me my sight back. Give me my life back. Otherwise get the hell out of here and don't ever come back." She turned to leave, anticipating his movement before he made it. As his hand enclosed her wrist, she was already twisting out of it. Quick upon her prey, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. In the same heartbeat, she had her knife out of her waistband, but before she could reach his throat, he escaped her grasp and knocked it out of her hand. Crying out in frustration, she made to punch him, but he grabbed her wrist and used the same maneuver she had just used on him. She kicked his shins, and slipped out as he cried out in pain. Before she could take another step, before she could sense it, he pulled her towards him, forcing her to face him. Suddenly, they both froze. She felt his lips a hairsbreadth away; too close, so close. His eyes, where were his eyes? A second passed, and she pushed him away. She felt pain sting her hand as she slapped him with anger, frustration, longing and desperation. She had hesitated, and they both knew it. "Vi." She was breathing too heavily, and they both knew it. "Vi?" Her lips were stinging, and they both knew it. "I'm sorry." She stood there with her screaming thoughts, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to feel. Then she heard his hurried whisper in her ears. "They're looking for you. Brace yourself. Leave, if you have to," he paused, and then said with a strain in his voice, "I'm sorry." For his message? Her pain? She knew it was for that and so much more. She took a breath and walked forward, knowing that he was long gone.
The birds sang; the trees rustled; the wind blew. The flowers scented the air and the animals filled it with sound; everyone out enjoying the shining spring atmosphere. Violet inhaled deeply and opened her eyes to blackness.
Suddenly, she stiffened with surprise. Slowly, her face broke out into a wry smile. Turning her head to her left, she said, "You're getting better - I barely even heard you this time." She heard his low chuckle, and felt the ground tremble infinitesimally as he sat down next to her. She felt his presence disrupt the air, and she casually moved away from it. She didn't need sight to know the face he made at her reaction. She sighed inwardly, wishing she couldn't feel his pain. They sat in silence, her listening to their steady breaths, him wishing and waiting. "Why are you here," she said softly and steadily. He remained silent, but she waited patiently; the pain was something she could handle. She could control her emotions, her expressions, and her body. Sitting there in the meadow with one of the people she hated most in this world was a nonevent; she was completely in control. But she couldn't help tensing and gasping with shock when she felt him reach over and take one of her hands into his. She quickly ripped it out of his grasp. "That's not an answer," she said coldly. "Isn't it?" She could almost see his wry smile - it had a strange quality that reminded her of her own. She couldn't help the steel in her voice, "No, it's not." The ice was tangible as the silence persisted, and she worked hard to lower her heartbeat. "Will you ever forgive me?" he said quietly. "No," she said automatically, instinctively. She felt his shift in weight as he started to move towards her, and she stood up abruptly, hearing him follow her. "Vi, please," he said, his voice laced with deep pain. A hollow echo of her own thudded through her, and she gritted her teeth against it. "Stop," she said with difficulty. He ignored her, "I'm sorry, you know that. You know that. What do I have to say? What do I have to do? Tell me. Tell me, Vi, and I'll do it. I'll do anything, just -" he took a step towards her, and she couldn't move, "just, please, forgive me. I love you-" "You love me?" she interrupted through her sudden surge of absolute fury. Her hands shook, and she stared into nothingness. He lapsed into wary silence. "You love me," she repeated flatly. "Vi-" "If you ever did love me then you'd have nothing to be sorry for! If you were sorry, truly sorry, then you'd understand that you will never be as sorry as I am that I ever loved you. You want to know what you can do? Give me my sight back. Give me my life back. Otherwise get the hell out of here and don't ever come back." She turned to leave, anticipating his movement before he made it. As his hand enclosed her wrist, she was already twisting out of it. Quick upon her prey, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. In the same heartbeat, she had her knife out of her waistband, but before she could reach his throat, he escaped her grasp and knocked it out of her hand. Crying out in frustration, she made to punch him, but he grabbed her wrist and used the same maneuver she had just used on him. She kicked his shins, and slipped out as he cried out in pain. Before she could take another step, before she could sense it, he pulled her towards him, forcing her to face him. Suddenly, they both froze. She felt his lips a hairsbreadth away; too close, so close. His eyes, where were his eyes? A second passed, and she pushed him away. She felt pain sting her hand as she slapped him with anger, frustration, longing and desperation. She had hesitated, and they both knew it. "Vi." She was breathing too heavily, and they both knew it. "Vi?" Her lips were stinging, and they both knew it. "I'm sorry." She stood there with her screaming thoughts, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to feel. Then she heard his hurried whisper in her ears. "They're looking for you. Brace yourself. Leave, if you have to," he paused, and then said with a strain in his voice, "I'm sorry." For his message? Her pain? She knew it was for that and so much more. She took a breath and walked forward, knowing that he was long gone.
Falling Power
The main character is an assassin who is also royalty. In this world, royal families are rampant, and the richer they are, the more assassins they own. The main character, Nayanel, plays the assassin for fun, but then eventually vies for the throne, which she attains.
Here. Here lay the world. It lay in a black of sudden darkness, closed in by four corners, wrested into submission by four walls. Within, hollow, echoing, emptiness had been carved out, leaving nothing behind but faint, screaming imprints of former souls. She sat there; there, in the still power. As calm and steady as death. Her black hair pooled like a chasm beneath her, her ice blue eyes staring sharply into nothing. She wore white, and nothing else.
Suddenly, she stood up, pausing in the empty vastness of which she declared dominion. Walking, her hands examined the rough stone walls. They captured every rise, every fall, as if her skin breathed with the fate of the world. She did not believe this, however. She alone moved in this world, she alone held the awesome power of fate. Only in this truth would she ever trust. And nothing else, nothing else...
The doors burst open in a shower of dust and flame. Armor filled in in it's wake and in the flood of sudden light, each holding their weapons of choice. She had almost finished rounding the whole room, but she stopped at this interruption. Eventually, they too stopped, once the dust had settled and the light had gone. Black suffering breathed in the ensuing silence; excited, expectant.
A woman's voice crept out from the armor and weapons, climbing over the empty screams.
“I can't say I'm sorry for this, Nayanel.”
She, Nayanel, felt her hand twitch against the wall.
A woman walked forward from the wall of people following the voice, her hair just as black and her eyes just as blue as those imprinted into Nayanel's own body. Her hands held a sword dulled by blood and darkness, though her eyes held nothing but sorrow and fear.
“Helena,” she said evenly.
The woman cautiously approached her, her sword limp by her side. “Sister, please,” she said, “You've lost. Please, come with me in peace. We don't have to fight.”
Nayanel dropped her hand from the wall and smiled at her sister, who stopped advancing. Her grip tighten on her sword, and Nayanel observed this bitterly. “This is ironic, isn't it?” she said calmly, “Seeing you now, fully grown with a bloody sword in your hand and an army at your back, pleading for peace. Yes...very ironic.”
Helena ignored the condescension, as she knew she would. “Sister,” she said, “I regret the blood that has been shed between us. After all these years...you can't imagine the pain I feel in having to meet this way. Please, at least for me, don't make me fight you.”
Nayanel stared at her sister, feeling a spark of anguish, or love, or something else entirely. Something she had not felt in a long time. Suddenly, she did not know whether to laugh in her sister's face or to rush into her arms, whether to abandon herself or to grip tighter to the writhing thread of sin. She said nothing, her face impassive. She felt suddenly unsure; doubting again the path that she had chosen, the resolve that had lead to their fateful meeting. Surely, she had not wanted this? To see this pain twisting her sister's once-beautiful face?
She spoke. “There is no need to beg, sister. Clearly, I had no intention of fighting in the first place. I hold no weapons – no bombs, no trickery. Accept what you see. I have already offered you peace.”
Those eyes did not trust her, those eyes that looked just like the ones she always found in the mirror.
Oh, she hadn't changed in the least.
“Then you admit defeat?” Helena said, hopeful; skeptical. “Empress Orean...after nine years of a cruel and corrupted reign...do you finally surrender your throne?”
Nayanel almost scoffed. She heard the weakness in her sister's voice despite the dramatic words, and for a second Helena had shrunk down before her eyes; back into the five year old she truly was...the one Nayanel had once loved, in the world she had once known.
The people were waiting, stilled as if captured in the throes of time, Helena among them. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness, so beautiful, really so different from her own. She felt the world pausing, breathing, looking to her, to their ruler, to determine their fate.
“Yes,” Nayanel said evenly. “I surrender.”
“Naya!” Nayanel had her hand on the handle, just inches away from the free night air. Recognizing the voice, she scowled and turned back around.
“Helena,” she whispered, “What are you doing up?” A miniature version of herself came out from the shadows, this one glaring in the moonlight. “Father said you're not allowed outside,” it said, her arms crossed.
Nayanel sighed, feeling the call of the night. “I know.” Helena frowned at her answer, so much more the disciplinarian than their father actually was. “Then you can't go outside,” she said, “Mother gets upset when you disobey him.”
Mother's not here, is she?
Nayanel just rolled her eyes, tightening her grip on the door's handle. “It doesn't have anything to do with you,” she said, “Go back to bed.”
“Don't go, Naya,” Helena said back to her, “Mother will be home within the fortnight. She'll know about this.”
Do you think I don't know that?
Nayanel did not respond. With only a small smile, she quickly twisted the handle and stole out into the night, safe with the knowledge that Helena would not dare to follow her.
Stupid girl.
The grounds were calm tonight, as they were most every night. Nayanel rushed through this hush stillness with adrenaline singing in her veins. Any lingering thoughts of Helena or their mother were ripped away into oblivion by the faint, cool breeze, by the steady hand of night's darkness. Tonight, the world yielded to her.
Nayanel reached the castle walls, where she met the familiar face. The faint clink of coins accompanied the exchange, and soon after her body was moving through the sliver crack of the gates, escaping its confines at last.
The creaking gates closed behind her, but Nayanel did not wait for that muffled thump. She set out immediately, breathing in the midnight blue of the rushing waters below. The wood of the bridge clanked softly beneath her feet as she walked farther and farther from her home. It loomed forlorn by the edges of the ocean, yet impressive in the shadows of the moon. Nayanel hid in those shadows, not out of fear, but as an unconscious drift, as natural as ocean waves.
Soon, she reached the edges of the forest, and she entered with the unhesitating grace of old habit. Sharp shadows of trees flitted by as she moved through the black woods, a shadow herself. Any noise she made was not heard, any blur of movement was not noticed. Nayanel absorbed the cloak of nature's night, and she was rendered nothing more than a ghost.
Silently, she emerged from this shadowy realm, putting up her hood and covering her face as she approached a person, his figure imprinted into the sheet of black. “Styne?” she said, the word muffled by her veil. He spun around and she saw his eyes glint in fear. “Yes,” he said, “Are you Asmodeus?”
“Yes.”
He relaxed slightly at this, though she knew his fear remained. “Kie Sier,” he said. Nayanel stiffened in surprise – was it possible her reputation had already reached royal ears? “The prince?” she said quietly. She could almost feel his curling smile. “Yes. But I assure you, the reward certainly matches the prize.”
For a prince?
“How much?” she asked. He answered immediately, “800 in gold.” He moved, and a bag skidded over to her feet, clinking with that familiar sound. “The first half.”
Nayanel bent down to retrieve it, stupefied. Opening it, the pile of dull gold within almost pulled forth a gasp of disbelief. Her mind, however, quickly confirmed his royalty, and she felt as if a chasm had ripped open its maw before her, beckoning her into the abyss. Should she jump? Beneath the veil, her lips curled into a wry smile.
Of course. It was where she belonged anyway.
“I'll send for you when it's done,” she said, tucking away the bag, slipping away. As she left, she heard him say back to her, but more to himself, “Make sure that you do.”
Here. Here lay the world. It lay in a black of sudden darkness, closed in by four corners, wrested into submission by four walls. Within, hollow, echoing, emptiness had been carved out, leaving nothing behind but faint, screaming imprints of former souls. She sat there; there, in the still power. As calm and steady as death. Her black hair pooled like a chasm beneath her, her ice blue eyes staring sharply into nothing. She wore white, and nothing else.
Suddenly, she stood up, pausing in the empty vastness of which she declared dominion. Walking, her hands examined the rough stone walls. They captured every rise, every fall, as if her skin breathed with the fate of the world. She did not believe this, however. She alone moved in this world, she alone held the awesome power of fate. Only in this truth would she ever trust. And nothing else, nothing else...
The doors burst open in a shower of dust and flame. Armor filled in in it's wake and in the flood of sudden light, each holding their weapons of choice. She had almost finished rounding the whole room, but she stopped at this interruption. Eventually, they too stopped, once the dust had settled and the light had gone. Black suffering breathed in the ensuing silence; excited, expectant.
A woman's voice crept out from the armor and weapons, climbing over the empty screams.
“I can't say I'm sorry for this, Nayanel.”
She, Nayanel, felt her hand twitch against the wall.
A woman walked forward from the wall of people following the voice, her hair just as black and her eyes just as blue as those imprinted into Nayanel's own body. Her hands held a sword dulled by blood and darkness, though her eyes held nothing but sorrow and fear.
“Helena,” she said evenly.
The woman cautiously approached her, her sword limp by her side. “Sister, please,” she said, “You've lost. Please, come with me in peace. We don't have to fight.”
Nayanel dropped her hand from the wall and smiled at her sister, who stopped advancing. Her grip tighten on her sword, and Nayanel observed this bitterly. “This is ironic, isn't it?” she said calmly, “Seeing you now, fully grown with a bloody sword in your hand and an army at your back, pleading for peace. Yes...very ironic.”
Helena ignored the condescension, as she knew she would. “Sister,” she said, “I regret the blood that has been shed between us. After all these years...you can't imagine the pain I feel in having to meet this way. Please, at least for me, don't make me fight you.”
Nayanel stared at her sister, feeling a spark of anguish, or love, or something else entirely. Something she had not felt in a long time. Suddenly, she did not know whether to laugh in her sister's face or to rush into her arms, whether to abandon herself or to grip tighter to the writhing thread of sin. She said nothing, her face impassive. She felt suddenly unsure; doubting again the path that she had chosen, the resolve that had lead to their fateful meeting. Surely, she had not wanted this? To see this pain twisting her sister's once-beautiful face?
She spoke. “There is no need to beg, sister. Clearly, I had no intention of fighting in the first place. I hold no weapons – no bombs, no trickery. Accept what you see. I have already offered you peace.”
Those eyes did not trust her, those eyes that looked just like the ones she always found in the mirror.
Oh, she hadn't changed in the least.
“Then you admit defeat?” Helena said, hopeful; skeptical. “Empress Orean...after nine years of a cruel and corrupted reign...do you finally surrender your throne?”
Nayanel almost scoffed. She heard the weakness in her sister's voice despite the dramatic words, and for a second Helena had shrunk down before her eyes; back into the five year old she truly was...the one Nayanel had once loved, in the world she had once known.
The people were waiting, stilled as if captured in the throes of time, Helena among them. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness, so beautiful, really so different from her own. She felt the world pausing, breathing, looking to her, to their ruler, to determine their fate.
“Yes,” Nayanel said evenly. “I surrender.”
“Naya!” Nayanel had her hand on the handle, just inches away from the free night air. Recognizing the voice, she scowled and turned back around.
“Helena,” she whispered, “What are you doing up?” A miniature version of herself came out from the shadows, this one glaring in the moonlight. “Father said you're not allowed outside,” it said, her arms crossed.
Nayanel sighed, feeling the call of the night. “I know.” Helena frowned at her answer, so much more the disciplinarian than their father actually was. “Then you can't go outside,” she said, “Mother gets upset when you disobey him.”
Mother's not here, is she?
Nayanel just rolled her eyes, tightening her grip on the door's handle. “It doesn't have anything to do with you,” she said, “Go back to bed.”
“Don't go, Naya,” Helena said back to her, “Mother will be home within the fortnight. She'll know about this.”
Do you think I don't know that?
Nayanel did not respond. With only a small smile, she quickly twisted the handle and stole out into the night, safe with the knowledge that Helena would not dare to follow her.
Stupid girl.
The grounds were calm tonight, as they were most every night. Nayanel rushed through this hush stillness with adrenaline singing in her veins. Any lingering thoughts of Helena or their mother were ripped away into oblivion by the faint, cool breeze, by the steady hand of night's darkness. Tonight, the world yielded to her.
Nayanel reached the castle walls, where she met the familiar face. The faint clink of coins accompanied the exchange, and soon after her body was moving through the sliver crack of the gates, escaping its confines at last.
The creaking gates closed behind her, but Nayanel did not wait for that muffled thump. She set out immediately, breathing in the midnight blue of the rushing waters below. The wood of the bridge clanked softly beneath her feet as she walked farther and farther from her home. It loomed forlorn by the edges of the ocean, yet impressive in the shadows of the moon. Nayanel hid in those shadows, not out of fear, but as an unconscious drift, as natural as ocean waves.
Soon, she reached the edges of the forest, and she entered with the unhesitating grace of old habit. Sharp shadows of trees flitted by as she moved through the black woods, a shadow herself. Any noise she made was not heard, any blur of movement was not noticed. Nayanel absorbed the cloak of nature's night, and she was rendered nothing more than a ghost.
Silently, she emerged from this shadowy realm, putting up her hood and covering her face as she approached a person, his figure imprinted into the sheet of black. “Styne?” she said, the word muffled by her veil. He spun around and she saw his eyes glint in fear. “Yes,” he said, “Are you Asmodeus?”
“Yes.”
He relaxed slightly at this, though she knew his fear remained. “Kie Sier,” he said. Nayanel stiffened in surprise – was it possible her reputation had already reached royal ears? “The prince?” she said quietly. She could almost feel his curling smile. “Yes. But I assure you, the reward certainly matches the prize.”
For a prince?
“How much?” she asked. He answered immediately, “800 in gold.” He moved, and a bag skidded over to her feet, clinking with that familiar sound. “The first half.”
Nayanel bent down to retrieve it, stupefied. Opening it, the pile of dull gold within almost pulled forth a gasp of disbelief. Her mind, however, quickly confirmed his royalty, and she felt as if a chasm had ripped open its maw before her, beckoning her into the abyss. Should she jump? Beneath the veil, her lips curled into a wry smile.
Of course. It was where she belonged anyway.
“I'll send for you when it's done,” she said, tucking away the bag, slipping away. As she left, she heard him say back to her, but more to himself, “Make sure that you do.”
The Girl
The essence of this story is the fact that the girl is supposed to be one that is reincarnated with the same body and memories every time that she dies. She is known as a myth in various stories and such in this story's world, and an ancient group survives with the sole purpose of bringing about her final end. The girl had been "alive" for thousands of years and when the boy found her in that situation she had either been trying to kill herself or someone else and been trying to kill her. The story was supposed to be of the boy and the girl trying to find the way to finally end her life while that ancient group hunts them, including, of course, the boy and the girl falling in love. The ending was to be the girl finally dying for the last time.
What the --; his first thought. All he could do was stand there at stare at it. Call the police, what is she doing there, is she alright, none of that came to mind. All he could do was stare. Well, it wasn’t every day that someone found a girl roped to a tree. She was three feet off the ground and tied pretty securely. After the initial shock, details of her condition started to penetrate his mind. She was dangerously skinny, and her tattered clothes exaggerated the effect by limply hanging on her small frame. He could see a tangle of long black hair sticking out from under the bag over her head. She wasn’t moving. For all he knew she could be dead. He tentatively inched closer; unwillingly intrigued. When he was within arms’ reach, out of impulse, he quickly ripped the bag off her head. She moaned. He stared, not even sure he had heard her. Her mouth was duct taped, he noted with a mild curiosity. Then she made another noise. It was faint and weak but he could hear her muffled voice. He took a step forwards and cautiously moved her lank hair out of her face. Her eyes were closed, but he could hear her faint breathing in the deadened woods. “H-hello?” he said hoarsely. She didn’t respond. With sweat beading down his forehead, he carefully peeled the tape off her mouth. And for reasons unknown to himself, he proceeded to try and untie the ropes around her wrist, ankles, and those around her waist. They were knotted professionally and it took him almost three hours to get his fumbling fingers to finally loosen the last knot. He caught her when she fell and gently laid her on the ground. Then he was at a loss. He sat there next to the godforsaken tree considering this bizarre situation. Prolonging the verdict, he noticed that her lips were incredibly dry and flaky. Immediately, he grabbed his water bottle from the floor and lifted her head to pour some of its contents into her mouth. Suddenly, her eyes opened a fraction, and he froze in his actions. He noticed she had violet eyes that might have been bright and vibrant once, but was now gaunt. “Hello?” he said almost whispering. “I don’t understand,” she said, but he almost didn’t catch her faint and wispy voice. “What don’t you understand?” he said as if humoring her. She gave him a weak, but discernibly wry smile. “Why I’m alive.” He stared at her until she closed her eyes once again. He started to panic but then heard her shallow breaths and relaxed. He slowly poured some water into her mouth, and he heard the faintest of sighs come from her before he was positive that she had fallen asleep. Without another thought, he picked her up and walked back home.
He cared for her, feeding her, giving her water and company, for two weeks. Then she died. He knew it would happen, though he dreaded it. Her immune system was so low from lack of food and water for who knows how long and she had developed an apparently fatal disease. He would never forget the last words she had spoken to him. She had smiled up at him with cracked lips and hair sticking to her forehead, looking almost if not exactly the same way he had found her. She lifted her thin arm to stroke his face, her fingers as light as feather. “Don’t be sad,” she said her voice noticeably stronger than before. ”This may be my deathbed, but I’m not one to die; never forget that. And neither should you forget that I will always remember you.” Her fingers trailed to his heart. “And what you have done for me.” And he watched with a sad acceptance as she slowly closed her eyes, listened in the dead silence as she took her last breath, and finally, watched her disappear.
5 years
There she was, right in front of him. He stared in disbelief, thinking she’s alive! But no, memories came back to him; he had watched this beautiful creature die. Yet here she was, smiling and looking radiantly divine. They were in the most breathtaking atmosphere, so beautiful that it seemed almost unreal. Millions of flowers splashed the expanding ocean of grass with floating colors, and among them, she walked toward him, completing this image of beauty. She looked as he had never seen her before; gloriously healthy. Her violet eyes shone with life, and he ached to reach out and hold her in his arms; only then would he know she was safe. But then she slowed, and gave him a look of sadness. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice aching with compassion, but she stood there, with sadness in her eyes. And he too stood, staring, and waiting for the answer that was never to come.
He woke up, half-surprised to see his room laid out before him. He groaned and rolled over reluctant to start the day, and even more so as the details of his dream seeped back into his mind.
What the --; his first thought. All he could do was stand there at stare at it. Call the police, what is she doing there, is she alright, none of that came to mind. All he could do was stare. Well, it wasn’t every day that someone found a girl roped to a tree. She was three feet off the ground and tied pretty securely. After the initial shock, details of her condition started to penetrate his mind. She was dangerously skinny, and her tattered clothes exaggerated the effect by limply hanging on her small frame. He could see a tangle of long black hair sticking out from under the bag over her head. She wasn’t moving. For all he knew she could be dead. He tentatively inched closer; unwillingly intrigued. When he was within arms’ reach, out of impulse, he quickly ripped the bag off her head. She moaned. He stared, not even sure he had heard her. Her mouth was duct taped, he noted with a mild curiosity. Then she made another noise. It was faint and weak but he could hear her muffled voice. He took a step forwards and cautiously moved her lank hair out of her face. Her eyes were closed, but he could hear her faint breathing in the deadened woods. “H-hello?” he said hoarsely. She didn’t respond. With sweat beading down his forehead, he carefully peeled the tape off her mouth. And for reasons unknown to himself, he proceeded to try and untie the ropes around her wrist, ankles, and those around her waist. They were knotted professionally and it took him almost three hours to get his fumbling fingers to finally loosen the last knot. He caught her when she fell and gently laid her on the ground. Then he was at a loss. He sat there next to the godforsaken tree considering this bizarre situation. Prolonging the verdict, he noticed that her lips were incredibly dry and flaky. Immediately, he grabbed his water bottle from the floor and lifted her head to pour some of its contents into her mouth. Suddenly, her eyes opened a fraction, and he froze in his actions. He noticed she had violet eyes that might have been bright and vibrant once, but was now gaunt. “Hello?” he said almost whispering. “I don’t understand,” she said, but he almost didn’t catch her faint and wispy voice. “What don’t you understand?” he said as if humoring her. She gave him a weak, but discernibly wry smile. “Why I’m alive.” He stared at her until she closed her eyes once again. He started to panic but then heard her shallow breaths and relaxed. He slowly poured some water into her mouth, and he heard the faintest of sighs come from her before he was positive that she had fallen asleep. Without another thought, he picked her up and walked back home.
He cared for her, feeding her, giving her water and company, for two weeks. Then she died. He knew it would happen, though he dreaded it. Her immune system was so low from lack of food and water for who knows how long and she had developed an apparently fatal disease. He would never forget the last words she had spoken to him. She had smiled up at him with cracked lips and hair sticking to her forehead, looking almost if not exactly the same way he had found her. She lifted her thin arm to stroke his face, her fingers as light as feather. “Don’t be sad,” she said her voice noticeably stronger than before. ”This may be my deathbed, but I’m not one to die; never forget that. And neither should you forget that I will always remember you.” Her fingers trailed to his heart. “And what you have done for me.” And he watched with a sad acceptance as she slowly closed her eyes, listened in the dead silence as she took her last breath, and finally, watched her disappear.
5 years
There she was, right in front of him. He stared in disbelief, thinking she’s alive! But no, memories came back to him; he had watched this beautiful creature die. Yet here she was, smiling and looking radiantly divine. They were in the most breathtaking atmosphere, so beautiful that it seemed almost unreal. Millions of flowers splashed the expanding ocean of grass with floating colors, and among them, she walked toward him, completing this image of beauty. She looked as he had never seen her before; gloriously healthy. Her violet eyes shone with life, and he ached to reach out and hold her in his arms; only then would he know she was safe. But then she slowed, and gave him a look of sadness. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice aching with compassion, but she stood there, with sadness in her eyes. And he too stood, staring, and waiting for the answer that was never to come.
He woke up, half-surprised to see his room laid out before him. He groaned and rolled over reluctant to start the day, and even more so as the details of his dream seeped back into his mind.
The Hunting Party
This story is based on an apocalyptic kind of world, though instead of a barren wasteland, the world is now a giant jungle. The Capital is the one remaining human "city", and I use that term loosely because that "city" is actually the size of a large state, as it holds most of the remaining human population. In this world, nature is on its way back to dominance over the homo sapiens, and this is the world that Eva is born in; outside the Capital as pointed out in the beginning by Ash. The people outside the Capital, in the jungle, are people that are born into it, that are outcast, or that simply venture forth in search of adventure. In the beginning Eva, on the hunt, is so shocked because she sees humans - something that she has not seen a lot of, if any; other than her mother.
Eva lay in wait, crouching upon the branch of a large oak. From the shadows appeared a mountain lion, cautiously slinking towards the smell of a deceased rabbit. She swiftly notched two arrows, and silently took aim. Closer, closer, then suddenly, the magnificent beast stopped. It looked to its left and her arrows lodged in its throat just as a spear sprouted from its head. She froze, unsure of how to approach this new phenomenon. The new arrival however, quickly slunk towards the twitching lion, silenced it, and began to drag it towards the bushes. Then as if that wasn’t surprising enough, another human emerged from the trees, leaving her absolutely flabbergasted. But when the boy dragging the wild cat told the other girl to collect her rabbit, she began to stir. Pushing her thoughts aside, Eva skillfully slipped down the tree, and landed catlike into the clearing.
“Those are my kills.”
Immediately, the pair reached for their weapons, and in less than a heartbeat, all three were armed. Eva's arrow pointed straight at the boy’s heart as she spoke, “Those are mine.” There was silence as each person examined the other, instinctively searching for ways to kill. “Who are you?” the boy called out, causing her to tighten the grip on her bow, but this question threw her off. Eva furrowed her brows after a few seconds of thought, and then said, “That’s a stupid question.” The boy glanced at the other girl, and both burst out laughing. Bewildered, she could only assume an expression of shock as she watched the two before her scream out with laughter. As she contemplated shooting them just to shut them up, their laughter died out into mere chuckles.
“Am I right in guessing that you were not born in the Capital?” the other girl called out to her, with laughter still in her tone. Eva bristled at her mockery, but simply stated, “Yes.” The girl had a strange accent, but the boy spoke in one closer to Eva's, “You can put your bow down, we won't harm you.” They seemed amiable to her, despite the girl's teasing, but only a fool would trust so easily. “I'll put it down when you two leave, with my kills at my feet,” she responded icily. They hardened at her tone, and she saw them glance at each other uneasily.“Look-” the boy took a step towards her, and she shot him.
“Agh!” He crumpled to the floor in agony with an arrow in his leg, and as the girl started towards her in sudden fury, Eva quickly reloaded her bow. “Take one more step and you die,” she said evenly to the other girl as the boy slowly stood up on one leg, leaning heavily on a nearby tree.“Ash,” he said to the girl, his teeth gritted against the pain,“Don't. She's not worth it, let's just go and get this cleaned up.” Indecision warred on her face for a few moments, but then she looked Eva straight in the eye and said, “Don't shoot. I'm just going to walk over to him, okay?” She just gave her a quick nod. Slowly, the girl, Ash, traveled over to the boy that was now breathing rather heavily.
Suddenly, with a movement that even Eva scarcely noticed, the girl threw a knife that whistled towards her with deadly accuracy. Almost instantaneously Eva released an arrow straight towards the girl's heart, but both knife and arrow missed their mark. The girl rolled over to the side dodging Eva's arrow, and revealed two knives, one in each hand, while Eva moved a hairsbreadth away from the knife as it passed by and lodged itself into the tree behind her. The girl charged her, knocking aside the two arrows that Eva managed to release before she was upon her. Eva hit the girl with the flat side of her bow, then jumping backwards, dropped it, as the girl slashed viciously at her side. While the girl's arm continued to move in her swing, Eva saw an opening, and kicked the girl's stomach, quickly, but not powerfully. She merely stumbled backwards, but it gave Eva enough time to take out her own knife. She moved towards the girl, and both entered a dance in which they dodged, evaded, parried, and stabbed, neither conquering the other. They were both eventually rendered weaponless, and Eva found herself sitting on top of the girl repeatedly punching with bloodied knuckles when suddenly, a great force lifted her off the ground and flung her onto her back.
All the breath rushed out of her in a great “Oomph!”, and gasping for breath, she struggled into a sitting position. But almost immediately, a shadow crossed her vision and pinioned her down. She struggled fruitlessly, and cried out in frustration, “Let me go!” She heard a man's voice above her respond with controlled fury, “I ought to kill you for what you did to Ash.” It was the boy. She attempted to lunge at him, but he held her in check. She stared up at him, and said, “She threw an effing knife at me! What the hell was I supposed to do?!” His face loomed above her as he answered saying, “You shot me. What the hell was she supposed to do?” Eva exhaled in exasperation and said, “Did I kill you? No. But that knife would've gone straight through my heart!” “And that arrow would've gone straight through hers!” he burst out. He took a deep breath, and she saw him recollect himself with visible strain. “Look, just promise me you won't try and kill us once I let you go, and we'll leave in peace.”
She eyed him cautiously, looking for any signs of deceit. She could hear his even heartbeat through his shirt, and she could feel his steady, dry hands gripping her arms. He made his statement with no tell, and straightforward, if fierce. His eyes, darkened with hate, bored through her, unwavering. “How did you lift me like that? I shot you,” she asked in sudden curiosity, with not as much suspicion as she would like. His face remained stony, and he answered flatly,“I recover fast.” She felt his heart speed up infinitesimally at his lie, but she chose to ignore it. “I get to keep the kills,”she conditioned. He remained silent for a few heartbeats, then said,“Just the rabbits. You didn't kill the lion - I did.” She narrowed her eyes, “My arrows are in its throat.” His hands tightened - she was sure to have a bruise there tomorrow - and he responded in the same tone, “My spear is in its head.”
She heard the girl groan off somewhere to her right as she started to regain consciousness, and Eva felt renewed fear in a match of two to one. He felt the rush of her blood, and she saw on him a grim smile, “Don't worry, with what you did to her, Ash won't be able to move anywhere for a while.” Despite the grimness of it, Eva felt reassured and relaxed back into the ground with relief. However, she still felt a piercing pang of guilt at the bloodied face of the girl knocked unconscious by her hand.
Suddenly, she felt him lift one of his hands off her arm, gathering her wrists together with the other, and gently touch her furrowed brows. Her brows remained furrowed, but this time in confusion, as his fingers trailed down her face to gently rub her bottom lip away from her teeth. She couldn't explain the wonder in his eyes as he lightly ran one of his fingers over the shape of her mouth, nor could she explain the wonder that this action brought to her. She didn't even realize he had all but released her hands.
“Who are you?” he asked again, but this time in a voice as soft and warm as the breeze around them. He seemed to ask it without wont for an answer, but she looked into his eyes flecked with green and gold, and replied quietly, “I don't know.” He shifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes, and each stared at the other, enveloped in a moment muted of all else but them.
She was the first to shatter it. Once realizing that her arms were free, she immediately acted upon it and punched him in the face. As he cried out, she pushed him off of her, freeing herself, and turned on the ground so that she could kick his side, propelling him further away from her. But as she was regaining her breath, he grabbed her foot, and dragged her towards him. She kicked towards his face with her other foot, and though he managed to dodge it, he loosened his grip enough that she could escape from his hold. She scrambled backwards and onto her feet, finding solid ground. He instantly rushed forward onto the offensive, but she managed to keep up until she tried to kick him. She was too slow in snapping it back, and he grabbed her leg, pulling her to the ground. Then, before she could even think about her next move, he slammed her head onto the floor, making spots dance across her vision. She screamed as he brought her head down a second time and all was extinguished into blackness.
Eva lay in wait, crouching upon the branch of a large oak. From the shadows appeared a mountain lion, cautiously slinking towards the smell of a deceased rabbit. She swiftly notched two arrows, and silently took aim. Closer, closer, then suddenly, the magnificent beast stopped. It looked to its left and her arrows lodged in its throat just as a spear sprouted from its head. She froze, unsure of how to approach this new phenomenon. The new arrival however, quickly slunk towards the twitching lion, silenced it, and began to drag it towards the bushes. Then as if that wasn’t surprising enough, another human emerged from the trees, leaving her absolutely flabbergasted. But when the boy dragging the wild cat told the other girl to collect her rabbit, she began to stir. Pushing her thoughts aside, Eva skillfully slipped down the tree, and landed catlike into the clearing.
“Those are my kills.”
Immediately, the pair reached for their weapons, and in less than a heartbeat, all three were armed. Eva's arrow pointed straight at the boy’s heart as she spoke, “Those are mine.” There was silence as each person examined the other, instinctively searching for ways to kill. “Who are you?” the boy called out, causing her to tighten the grip on her bow, but this question threw her off. Eva furrowed her brows after a few seconds of thought, and then said, “That’s a stupid question.” The boy glanced at the other girl, and both burst out laughing. Bewildered, she could only assume an expression of shock as she watched the two before her scream out with laughter. As she contemplated shooting them just to shut them up, their laughter died out into mere chuckles.
“Am I right in guessing that you were not born in the Capital?” the other girl called out to her, with laughter still in her tone. Eva bristled at her mockery, but simply stated, “Yes.” The girl had a strange accent, but the boy spoke in one closer to Eva's, “You can put your bow down, we won't harm you.” They seemed amiable to her, despite the girl's teasing, but only a fool would trust so easily. “I'll put it down when you two leave, with my kills at my feet,” she responded icily. They hardened at her tone, and she saw them glance at each other uneasily.“Look-” the boy took a step towards her, and she shot him.
“Agh!” He crumpled to the floor in agony with an arrow in his leg, and as the girl started towards her in sudden fury, Eva quickly reloaded her bow. “Take one more step and you die,” she said evenly to the other girl as the boy slowly stood up on one leg, leaning heavily on a nearby tree.“Ash,” he said to the girl, his teeth gritted against the pain,“Don't. She's not worth it, let's just go and get this cleaned up.” Indecision warred on her face for a few moments, but then she looked Eva straight in the eye and said, “Don't shoot. I'm just going to walk over to him, okay?” She just gave her a quick nod. Slowly, the girl, Ash, traveled over to the boy that was now breathing rather heavily.
Suddenly, with a movement that even Eva scarcely noticed, the girl threw a knife that whistled towards her with deadly accuracy. Almost instantaneously Eva released an arrow straight towards the girl's heart, but both knife and arrow missed their mark. The girl rolled over to the side dodging Eva's arrow, and revealed two knives, one in each hand, while Eva moved a hairsbreadth away from the knife as it passed by and lodged itself into the tree behind her. The girl charged her, knocking aside the two arrows that Eva managed to release before she was upon her. Eva hit the girl with the flat side of her bow, then jumping backwards, dropped it, as the girl slashed viciously at her side. While the girl's arm continued to move in her swing, Eva saw an opening, and kicked the girl's stomach, quickly, but not powerfully. She merely stumbled backwards, but it gave Eva enough time to take out her own knife. She moved towards the girl, and both entered a dance in which they dodged, evaded, parried, and stabbed, neither conquering the other. They were both eventually rendered weaponless, and Eva found herself sitting on top of the girl repeatedly punching with bloodied knuckles when suddenly, a great force lifted her off the ground and flung her onto her back.
All the breath rushed out of her in a great “Oomph!”, and gasping for breath, she struggled into a sitting position. But almost immediately, a shadow crossed her vision and pinioned her down. She struggled fruitlessly, and cried out in frustration, “Let me go!” She heard a man's voice above her respond with controlled fury, “I ought to kill you for what you did to Ash.” It was the boy. She attempted to lunge at him, but he held her in check. She stared up at him, and said, “She threw an effing knife at me! What the hell was I supposed to do?!” His face loomed above her as he answered saying, “You shot me. What the hell was she supposed to do?” Eva exhaled in exasperation and said, “Did I kill you? No. But that knife would've gone straight through my heart!” “And that arrow would've gone straight through hers!” he burst out. He took a deep breath, and she saw him recollect himself with visible strain. “Look, just promise me you won't try and kill us once I let you go, and we'll leave in peace.”
She eyed him cautiously, looking for any signs of deceit. She could hear his even heartbeat through his shirt, and she could feel his steady, dry hands gripping her arms. He made his statement with no tell, and straightforward, if fierce. His eyes, darkened with hate, bored through her, unwavering. “How did you lift me like that? I shot you,” she asked in sudden curiosity, with not as much suspicion as she would like. His face remained stony, and he answered flatly,“I recover fast.” She felt his heart speed up infinitesimally at his lie, but she chose to ignore it. “I get to keep the kills,”she conditioned. He remained silent for a few heartbeats, then said,“Just the rabbits. You didn't kill the lion - I did.” She narrowed her eyes, “My arrows are in its throat.” His hands tightened - she was sure to have a bruise there tomorrow - and he responded in the same tone, “My spear is in its head.”
She heard the girl groan off somewhere to her right as she started to regain consciousness, and Eva felt renewed fear in a match of two to one. He felt the rush of her blood, and she saw on him a grim smile, “Don't worry, with what you did to her, Ash won't be able to move anywhere for a while.” Despite the grimness of it, Eva felt reassured and relaxed back into the ground with relief. However, she still felt a piercing pang of guilt at the bloodied face of the girl knocked unconscious by her hand.
Suddenly, she felt him lift one of his hands off her arm, gathering her wrists together with the other, and gently touch her furrowed brows. Her brows remained furrowed, but this time in confusion, as his fingers trailed down her face to gently rub her bottom lip away from her teeth. She couldn't explain the wonder in his eyes as he lightly ran one of his fingers over the shape of her mouth, nor could she explain the wonder that this action brought to her. She didn't even realize he had all but released her hands.
“Who are you?” he asked again, but this time in a voice as soft and warm as the breeze around them. He seemed to ask it without wont for an answer, but she looked into his eyes flecked with green and gold, and replied quietly, “I don't know.” He shifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes, and each stared at the other, enveloped in a moment muted of all else but them.
She was the first to shatter it. Once realizing that her arms were free, she immediately acted upon it and punched him in the face. As he cried out, she pushed him off of her, freeing herself, and turned on the ground so that she could kick his side, propelling him further away from her. But as she was regaining her breath, he grabbed her foot, and dragged her towards him. She kicked towards his face with her other foot, and though he managed to dodge it, he loosened his grip enough that she could escape from his hold. She scrambled backwards and onto her feet, finding solid ground. He instantly rushed forward onto the offensive, but she managed to keep up until she tried to kick him. She was too slow in snapping it back, and he grabbed her leg, pulling her to the ground. Then, before she could even think about her next move, he slammed her head onto the floor, making spots dance across her vision. She screamed as he brought her head down a second time and all was extinguished into blackness.
Light
The future is uncertain, but if the present can be defined as the choices you make and the future can be defined by the present, then your choices define your future. A certain choice makes a certain future, making your future certain. Choosing to not choose is a choice that can unravel your certain future, making your future uncertain. Certain and uncertain - choose your choice. Choose a choice that decides what you will be and who you will become.
Black eyes. Black hair. Black bones. Black heart. I could see it all; all I had to do was step in front of the mirror. Bizarre, to say the least, but seventeen years gives you just about enough time to get over it. An oddity? I wish. True, I’m not the most abnormal creature out there, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that I am abnormal. Just last year I mastered the art of appearing mundane. Relief is not the word, more like the world was lifted off my shoulders and I saw the light. Literally, I did. See, in my world, and I use that in a figurative sense, we are surrounded by black - day and night. Actually, there is no day and night; just night, except, without a moon. How do we see? It’s really simple actually, we use fire. You can find one burning every few feet wherever you go. It really is a wonder buildings don’t burn down more often. However, this life of darkness is reserved to people who pose a danger to society by being abnormal - people like me. I’ve lived my whole life around people with tentacles on their face, horns on their body, more hair than skin, and even with something as simple as having a tail. And don’t get me wrong - I love these people. Tentacle guy? He was my first kiss. But even among the abnormal, I am abnormal. Everyone here is different. Everyone here is a creature.
There is another world. It is the one where every single one of us had been born. It is the one where every single one of us had been removed, cast away, ostracized from the picture perfect creature called society. We call it Light - just as we call our world Dark. Not the most imaginative of names, but it is true in that Light has never seen true night, and Dark has never seen true day. We are opposites, like yin and yang. But by the age of seventeen, you get sick of it. You get sick of living in the darkness, the supposed yin. I needed the true balance of yin and yang, and to do so, I needed the yang, I needed the light.
Black eyes. Black hair. Black bones. Black heart. I could see it all; all I had to do was step in front of the mirror. Bizarre, to say the least, but seventeen years gives you just about enough time to get over it. An oddity? I wish. True, I’m not the most abnormal creature out there, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that I am abnormal. Just last year I mastered the art of appearing mundane. Relief is not the word, more like the world was lifted off my shoulders and I saw the light. Literally, I did. See, in my world, and I use that in a figurative sense, we are surrounded by black - day and night. Actually, there is no day and night; just night, except, without a moon. How do we see? It’s really simple actually, we use fire. You can find one burning every few feet wherever you go. It really is a wonder buildings don’t burn down more often. However, this life of darkness is reserved to people who pose a danger to society by being abnormal - people like me. I’ve lived my whole life around people with tentacles on their face, horns on their body, more hair than skin, and even with something as simple as having a tail. And don’t get me wrong - I love these people. Tentacle guy? He was my first kiss. But even among the abnormal, I am abnormal. Everyone here is different. Everyone here is a creature.
There is another world. It is the one where every single one of us had been born. It is the one where every single one of us had been removed, cast away, ostracized from the picture perfect creature called society. We call it Light - just as we call our world Dark. Not the most imaginative of names, but it is true in that Light has never seen true night, and Dark has never seen true day. We are opposites, like yin and yang. But by the age of seventeen, you get sick of it. You get sick of living in the darkness, the supposed yin. I needed the true balance of yin and yang, and to do so, I needed the yang, I needed the light.
Mindreader
Royal renaissance furniture spaced themselves out in a cluttered room. Among them were a deep crimson bed, fake crystal lamps, an impressive oak wardrobe, and a dainty dining table. The place was dimmed, lowering the mess of furniture, books, cards, easels, exercise machines, and instruments to the forms of shadowy monsters in the dark.
Despite this less-than-welcoming appearance, the sound of delicate piano keys drifted through the room. They traveled out from somewhere within the shadows: content, melancholy, indifferent, passionate, hollow.
Or perhaps that's simply what he attributed to the straying notes, knowing the one responsible for them. The man finally stepped away from the door, pulling his baggage along with him. It stumbled to its knees.
And the man called out to the monstrous space.
“This dark, creepy atmosphere doesn't suit you, Will. Stop your playing already and turn on the lights.” The playing stopped.
“Does it scare you, Cain?” came Will's voice.
Then suddenly Will himself appeared a few feet in front of him, looking the same as ever, if not a bit taller. His white hair had the ruffled look of someone just out of bed, and he wore a red robe that matched perfectly with his room. It made him look even paler than usual; or maybe because it had been almost two years. Cain had even been slightly startled by his eyes, which surprised him more than anything else. He never used to give Will's snow-white eyes a second glance, having known them for all his life. Today, however, they seemed to glow in the darkness, giving his best friend the look of a haunted ghost doused in blood.
He mentally shook away the thought, glad, once again, that Will had no access to them.
“Hardly,” Cain said, scoffing at Will's jab, “But you're not some demon creeping in the ruins. You should lift the mood when people come to visit or they'll start to get the wrong idea.”
Smiling, Will passed him to reach the lights, and he almost sighed with relief when they finally turned on. He hated coming here.
“'Visit' might be the wrong word to use,” Will said, leaning against the wall. “They never come to see me, do they?”
“Who else would they be seeing all the way down here?” Cain asked, perplexed.
Will just shrugged. “Anyway, this one seems innocent to me,” he said, “He really has no idea why he's here.” Cain looked down at his baggage, the one quivering at his side. He sighed. Putting his hands in his pockets, he said, “Really? That's too bad. We went through so much effort this time too.” He didn't miss the look of annoyance that flashed across Will's face.
“That's why I told you, you should hand them to me first,” Will said, calmly masking the slip of emotion, “I don't see why torture has to be involved at all.”
“You think you'll get anywhere saying that to me? I'm just a lackey, Will.”
Will simply stared at him, his face blank. Cain hated it when he did that. “Look,” he continued, moving over to the table, away from Will's white eyes, “It's just a safety measure, you know that. And you know there's no way in hell a country's going to entrust all their prisoners to one person, even if it is you.”
“You mean especially since it is me?”
The question pierced him like a physical pain. “No,” was all he could say as he sat himself down into one of the ornate golden chairs.
Will gave him a reluctant smile.
“Well now I'm convinced.”
He bristled. “There's no reason to it, Will,” he said, rolling his eyes, “It's just fact. It's exactly like how two plus two cannot equal five. William Bryan Hughes just cannot equal traitor.”
“Ah, don't use my full name, Cain. You might fool me into thinking you're serious.”
Cain laughed because that was what he was supposed to do, but in truth, his friend's attitude on the matter irritated him. Will was important. Much more so than he himself would ever be, and he needed to know that.
Because everyone else did.
Mentally, Cain sighed, deciding to drop it for now.
“Anyway, you know I'm here on business today, Will. My boss won't be happy if we spend much more time goofing off. He's not the sympathetic type.”
“Yeah,” said Will, his smile faltering.
Cain hated seeing it.
Afterwards, Cain walked out of the room, saying goodbye to his best friend. He promised to visit him again soon.
“Yeah,” Will said back.
Will couldn't see into his mind, but they both remembered the last time he had promised that. Two years ago.
Cain walked down the bleak tunnel, immersed back into the darkness. He cursed silently as he went, trying to ignore the soft sobs coming from the baggage. It had burst into tears at Will's unconditional belief in its words and had been nothing short of a waterfall ever since. It annoyed him to no end. Finally, they reached the door. He looked back at the tied up thing, at the bag over its head.
He could tell by the color that it was thoroughly soaked. Closing his eyes, Cain reached out his hand.
Yup, the bag was completely damp. Cain felt a strange twinge in his chest that he stamped on savagely. There was no use for it here.
Sighing, he sent the familiar current of electricity up through his arm, his hand, and into the body before him. That body quickly left his touch as it collapsed like a useless sack. Cain opened his eyes. Routinely, he twisted a key drilled into the rocky wall, and he heard more than felt the rush of accompanying heat. Cain then opened the metal door before him, feeling absurdly like a mailman. He heaved the thing down the shoot. He closed the door.
Sighing, Cain started back down the tunnel, alone.
He hated coming here.
Will closed his eyes as he felt another of a hundred presences abruptly disappear. It had, at least, gone before it had reached the terrifying tunnel and the fiery depths below. That was the least Cain could do, and he felt grateful. But had he done it for the victim or for him? Or for both?
The man had been crying. Will could still hear his last choking sobs of life. It made a needle of sharp pain pierce through his already throbbing brain, and he quickly moved to dim the lights.
Why had Cain come today of all days?
He desperately hoped Cain had not noticed.
Exhausted, Will sank into the soft carpeted floor as he tried not to think about the last two days. If he ignored them, they would eventually cease to have ever existed. Just like everything else.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out his hand for some kind of distraction. He smiled grimly as it found nothing to grab except for the woolly red hairs of the carpet. So he had managed to find a rare empty space in his pig sty of a room. Cain would've applauded the discovery.
But now he had nothing to release him of his thoughts, those things that haunted his empty, utterly meaningless days. After all these years, one would've thought they'd learned how to entertain him a little better. Hadn't he already had enough?
The echo of those pounding voices circled through his head again: the only thing he remembered from his one breath of the outside world. That and the raw, ripped feeling that remained in his throat after screaming for so long. He wondered if they had simply allowed him to escape for that very reason. The thought made him sick.
Despite this less-than-welcoming appearance, the sound of delicate piano keys drifted through the room. They traveled out from somewhere within the shadows: content, melancholy, indifferent, passionate, hollow.
Or perhaps that's simply what he attributed to the straying notes, knowing the one responsible for them. The man finally stepped away from the door, pulling his baggage along with him. It stumbled to its knees.
And the man called out to the monstrous space.
“This dark, creepy atmosphere doesn't suit you, Will. Stop your playing already and turn on the lights.” The playing stopped.
“Does it scare you, Cain?” came Will's voice.
Then suddenly Will himself appeared a few feet in front of him, looking the same as ever, if not a bit taller. His white hair had the ruffled look of someone just out of bed, and he wore a red robe that matched perfectly with his room. It made him look even paler than usual; or maybe because it had been almost two years. Cain had even been slightly startled by his eyes, which surprised him more than anything else. He never used to give Will's snow-white eyes a second glance, having known them for all his life. Today, however, they seemed to glow in the darkness, giving his best friend the look of a haunted ghost doused in blood.
He mentally shook away the thought, glad, once again, that Will had no access to them.
“Hardly,” Cain said, scoffing at Will's jab, “But you're not some demon creeping in the ruins. You should lift the mood when people come to visit or they'll start to get the wrong idea.”
Smiling, Will passed him to reach the lights, and he almost sighed with relief when they finally turned on. He hated coming here.
“'Visit' might be the wrong word to use,” Will said, leaning against the wall. “They never come to see me, do they?”
“Who else would they be seeing all the way down here?” Cain asked, perplexed.
Will just shrugged. “Anyway, this one seems innocent to me,” he said, “He really has no idea why he's here.” Cain looked down at his baggage, the one quivering at his side. He sighed. Putting his hands in his pockets, he said, “Really? That's too bad. We went through so much effort this time too.” He didn't miss the look of annoyance that flashed across Will's face.
“That's why I told you, you should hand them to me first,” Will said, calmly masking the slip of emotion, “I don't see why torture has to be involved at all.”
“You think you'll get anywhere saying that to me? I'm just a lackey, Will.”
Will simply stared at him, his face blank. Cain hated it when he did that. “Look,” he continued, moving over to the table, away from Will's white eyes, “It's just a safety measure, you know that. And you know there's no way in hell a country's going to entrust all their prisoners to one person, even if it is you.”
“You mean especially since it is me?”
The question pierced him like a physical pain. “No,” was all he could say as he sat himself down into one of the ornate golden chairs.
Will gave him a reluctant smile.
“Well now I'm convinced.”
He bristled. “There's no reason to it, Will,” he said, rolling his eyes, “It's just fact. It's exactly like how two plus two cannot equal five. William Bryan Hughes just cannot equal traitor.”
“Ah, don't use my full name, Cain. You might fool me into thinking you're serious.”
Cain laughed because that was what he was supposed to do, but in truth, his friend's attitude on the matter irritated him. Will was important. Much more so than he himself would ever be, and he needed to know that.
Because everyone else did.
Mentally, Cain sighed, deciding to drop it for now.
“Anyway, you know I'm here on business today, Will. My boss won't be happy if we spend much more time goofing off. He's not the sympathetic type.”
“Yeah,” said Will, his smile faltering.
Cain hated seeing it.
Afterwards, Cain walked out of the room, saying goodbye to his best friend. He promised to visit him again soon.
“Yeah,” Will said back.
Will couldn't see into his mind, but they both remembered the last time he had promised that. Two years ago.
Cain walked down the bleak tunnel, immersed back into the darkness. He cursed silently as he went, trying to ignore the soft sobs coming from the baggage. It had burst into tears at Will's unconditional belief in its words and had been nothing short of a waterfall ever since. It annoyed him to no end. Finally, they reached the door. He looked back at the tied up thing, at the bag over its head.
He could tell by the color that it was thoroughly soaked. Closing his eyes, Cain reached out his hand.
Yup, the bag was completely damp. Cain felt a strange twinge in his chest that he stamped on savagely. There was no use for it here.
Sighing, he sent the familiar current of electricity up through his arm, his hand, and into the body before him. That body quickly left his touch as it collapsed like a useless sack. Cain opened his eyes. Routinely, he twisted a key drilled into the rocky wall, and he heard more than felt the rush of accompanying heat. Cain then opened the metal door before him, feeling absurdly like a mailman. He heaved the thing down the shoot. He closed the door.
Sighing, Cain started back down the tunnel, alone.
He hated coming here.
Will closed his eyes as he felt another of a hundred presences abruptly disappear. It had, at least, gone before it had reached the terrifying tunnel and the fiery depths below. That was the least Cain could do, and he felt grateful. But had he done it for the victim or for him? Or for both?
The man had been crying. Will could still hear his last choking sobs of life. It made a needle of sharp pain pierce through his already throbbing brain, and he quickly moved to dim the lights.
Why had Cain come today of all days?
He desperately hoped Cain had not noticed.
Exhausted, Will sank into the soft carpeted floor as he tried not to think about the last two days. If he ignored them, they would eventually cease to have ever existed. Just like everything else.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out his hand for some kind of distraction. He smiled grimly as it found nothing to grab except for the woolly red hairs of the carpet. So he had managed to find a rare empty space in his pig sty of a room. Cain would've applauded the discovery.
But now he had nothing to release him of his thoughts, those things that haunted his empty, utterly meaningless days. After all these years, one would've thought they'd learned how to entertain him a little better. Hadn't he already had enough?
The echo of those pounding voices circled through his head again: the only thing he remembered from his one breath of the outside world. That and the raw, ripped feeling that remained in his throat after screaming for so long. He wondered if they had simply allowed him to escape for that very reason. The thought made him sick.
New
Assassins. Again.
The night hung black with bruised clouds and hidden stars. It threatened rain in the deep but distant rumbles of thunder that racked through the empty streets. The streetlights were cracked or nonexistent, but the muffled light of covered windows gave them enough to see by, being what they were. She was the first to arrive, as always, but the boys were equally as always punctual.
“Hello,” she said.
His blonde head bobbed up and down in response as he walked onto the roof. “Is Jack late?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, but almost immediately, someone else spoke from the shadows.
“Don't be stupid,” Jack said. His pale little figure appeared onto the rooftop as if it had been there for hours, his eyes as dark as the alley below.
“Well, I was given an assignment today,” Teal retorted, “That almost made me late, so it could've happened to you too.”
“What are you trying to say?” Jack said testily, his eyes narrowed.
“Nothing. So, did you have an assignment today?”
Jack glared at Teal, who smiled lazily. “No,” he said curtly, “I already filled up the quota for this term.”
“'Quota',” the girl suddenly interrupted, scoffing. She rolled her pale violet eyes as Jack shifted his glare over to her.
“Did you say something, Claire?”
“Your people are weird, you know,” she said, playing with a lock of short silver-blonde hair, “Why do you have to kill this amount of people in this amount of months? I get to kill whoever I want whenever I want.”
“That's why everyone calls you guys savages,” Teal said, laughing.
“And it's not like your people get free reign,” Jack added, “It's not like you can kill anyone.”
“I can kill you.”
Jack smiled at that, his black eyes wicked. “You can try.”
They started to move towards each other, playful fire in their eyes, but abruptly, Teal held up his hand, stopping them.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
They did. In the sudden silence, a small noise had emerged; soft, human, and close. Glancing at each other, the three started creeping towards it, curious and afraid. The dark cloaked them, made them invisible as it always did, so that they could move as ghosts.
Eventually, they saw the source of the noise. Again, they glanced at each other, as if confirming that this couldn't be a dream.
Then they looked back at the girl.
She was crying, which they had all done too many times before. Why this clearly normal, relatively unharmed girl was crying, however, none of them could understand. Slowly, her sobs subsided as she looked up at the three of them.
“H-hi,” she said, sniffing.
“Hello,” they each muttered back.
“Who are you guys?” she asked.
They hesitated. Finally, in as clear a voice as she could manage, Claire said, “Who are you?
The girl rubbed her eyes. “I'm Penny.”
“Why're you here, Penny?” Jack asked, his own eyes narrowed.
“I-I dunno,” she said, “I was running, cuz-cuz my mommy...she told me to, so- but-but I dunno where Mom is, and I dunno where I am, so-so I dunno.”
Teal crouched down, so that he was eye-level with Penny. “Where do you live? I'll take you there.”
She stared at him. “You're not gonna kill me? I heard you guys talking. You said you kill people.”
Teal laughed, his green eyes warm. “We only kill big people,” he said, smiling, “We're all small, so it's okay.”
Penny looked at the other two. “Really?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
Her eyes lit up, as pale as thin ice. Standing up, she gave them all a radiant smile.
“Then let's go!” she said.
They watched from a distance as policemen entered the building and bystanders began to gather. Jack leaned against one wall of the alleyway as Claire leaned against the other, each staring and frowning.
“I can't believe you took my kill,” Claire said.
Jack sighed, tearing his eyes away from the scene. “If you wanted it so badly,” he said, “You should've tried harder.”
She scowled, looking away too. “What, kill you?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging.
Claire blushed slightly, but otherwise ignored Jack's answer. “Have you seen Penny lately?” she asked instead.
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “You should. She always complains about how you never go to visit her.”
“Yeah right,” he said, smirking, “Penny doesn't complain over stuff like that.”
“What, you think I'm lying?”
“Yes.”
She scoffed, “Well, I don't lie over stuff like that.”
“I know you lie over stuff like that.”
“I see you're as condescending as ever, Jack,” Claire spat.
Black eyes glittering, Jack replied, “Look who's talking.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Anyway,” she said, picking at her nails, “I heard you got yourself a girlfriend.”
She noticed the corner of his mouth turn down an almost imperceptible amount before it vanished completely.
“And where did you hear that, I wonder?” he replied stoically.
“A little bird told me,” Claire said. She glanced at him, smirking, and he took the chance to ostentatiously roll his eyes.
“You really are a bad liar, aren't you?” he drawled.
Claire felt her eye twitch. What it would feel like to strangle that slim little throat until those beady, condescending eyes popped out. Claire swallowed down the thought, and simply said, “So is it true?”
He sighed, glancing idly over at the distant crowd before looking back at her. “No,” he replied, “But you wouldn't believe me either way.”
She felt the urge to smile, suddenly, though no enemy other than Jack appeared in her sight. He had always had that skill, inexplicable though it may be. That skill that made her smile in even the most unexpected situations.
“You're right,” she said, playing with her hair as she tried to hide her smile, “I don't believe you.”
“When did you go to visit Penny?” he said.
The night hung black with bruised clouds and hidden stars. It threatened rain in the deep but distant rumbles of thunder that racked through the empty streets. The streetlights were cracked or nonexistent, but the muffled light of covered windows gave them enough to see by, being what they were. She was the first to arrive, as always, but the boys were equally as always punctual.
“Hello,” she said.
His blonde head bobbed up and down in response as he walked onto the roof. “Is Jack late?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, but almost immediately, someone else spoke from the shadows.
“Don't be stupid,” Jack said. His pale little figure appeared onto the rooftop as if it had been there for hours, his eyes as dark as the alley below.
“Well, I was given an assignment today,” Teal retorted, “That almost made me late, so it could've happened to you too.”
“What are you trying to say?” Jack said testily, his eyes narrowed.
“Nothing. So, did you have an assignment today?”
Jack glared at Teal, who smiled lazily. “No,” he said curtly, “I already filled up the quota for this term.”
“'Quota',” the girl suddenly interrupted, scoffing. She rolled her pale violet eyes as Jack shifted his glare over to her.
“Did you say something, Claire?”
“Your people are weird, you know,” she said, playing with a lock of short silver-blonde hair, “Why do you have to kill this amount of people in this amount of months? I get to kill whoever I want whenever I want.”
“That's why everyone calls you guys savages,” Teal said, laughing.
“And it's not like your people get free reign,” Jack added, “It's not like you can kill anyone.”
“I can kill you.”
Jack smiled at that, his black eyes wicked. “You can try.”
They started to move towards each other, playful fire in their eyes, but abruptly, Teal held up his hand, stopping them.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
They did. In the sudden silence, a small noise had emerged; soft, human, and close. Glancing at each other, the three started creeping towards it, curious and afraid. The dark cloaked them, made them invisible as it always did, so that they could move as ghosts.
Eventually, they saw the source of the noise. Again, they glanced at each other, as if confirming that this couldn't be a dream.
Then they looked back at the girl.
She was crying, which they had all done too many times before. Why this clearly normal, relatively unharmed girl was crying, however, none of them could understand. Slowly, her sobs subsided as she looked up at the three of them.
“H-hi,” she said, sniffing.
“Hello,” they each muttered back.
“Who are you guys?” she asked.
They hesitated. Finally, in as clear a voice as she could manage, Claire said, “Who are you?
The girl rubbed her eyes. “I'm Penny.”
“Why're you here, Penny?” Jack asked, his own eyes narrowed.
“I-I dunno,” she said, “I was running, cuz-cuz my mommy...she told me to, so- but-but I dunno where Mom is, and I dunno where I am, so-so I dunno.”
Teal crouched down, so that he was eye-level with Penny. “Where do you live? I'll take you there.”
She stared at him. “You're not gonna kill me? I heard you guys talking. You said you kill people.”
Teal laughed, his green eyes warm. “We only kill big people,” he said, smiling, “We're all small, so it's okay.”
Penny looked at the other two. “Really?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
Her eyes lit up, as pale as thin ice. Standing up, she gave them all a radiant smile.
“Then let's go!” she said.
They watched from a distance as policemen entered the building and bystanders began to gather. Jack leaned against one wall of the alleyway as Claire leaned against the other, each staring and frowning.
“I can't believe you took my kill,” Claire said.
Jack sighed, tearing his eyes away from the scene. “If you wanted it so badly,” he said, “You should've tried harder.”
She scowled, looking away too. “What, kill you?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging.
Claire blushed slightly, but otherwise ignored Jack's answer. “Have you seen Penny lately?” she asked instead.
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “You should. She always complains about how you never go to visit her.”
“Yeah right,” he said, smirking, “Penny doesn't complain over stuff like that.”
“What, you think I'm lying?”
“Yes.”
She scoffed, “Well, I don't lie over stuff like that.”
“I know you lie over stuff like that.”
“I see you're as condescending as ever, Jack,” Claire spat.
Black eyes glittering, Jack replied, “Look who's talking.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Anyway,” she said, picking at her nails, “I heard you got yourself a girlfriend.”
She noticed the corner of his mouth turn down an almost imperceptible amount before it vanished completely.
“And where did you hear that, I wonder?” he replied stoically.
“A little bird told me,” Claire said. She glanced at him, smirking, and he took the chance to ostentatiously roll his eyes.
“You really are a bad liar, aren't you?” he drawled.
Claire felt her eye twitch. What it would feel like to strangle that slim little throat until those beady, condescending eyes popped out. Claire swallowed down the thought, and simply said, “So is it true?”
He sighed, glancing idly over at the distant crowd before looking back at her. “No,” he replied, “But you wouldn't believe me either way.”
She felt the urge to smile, suddenly, though no enemy other than Jack appeared in her sight. He had always had that skill, inexplicable though it may be. That skill that made her smile in even the most unexpected situations.
“You're right,” she said, playing with her hair as she tried to hide her smile, “I don't believe you.”
“When did you go to visit Penny?” he said.
Prisoner
The Nexus, a complete blackness stretching out before her, and throughout the blackness, only she moved, breathed, lived. Her footsteps did not echo; her breath was not heard as she walked among the pathways of the universe. She looked back at the faint yellow glow in the distance, marking the portal to Len, her home world. Sadness and despair threatened to break her, but she quickly detached herself from the heart-tearing torture that was both emotion and memory. She closed her luminous green eyes, and opened them once the stain of yellow had vanished from her sight. She stared at the nothingness of her surroundings, then, taking a deep breath, she continued to step forward, searching endlessly for the blue glow of Earth.
***
She felt his arms around her, warmth that she could recognize even in her nightmares. “Keelah,” she whispered, and when she opened her eyes, she saw her own name on his lips. “Mel,” he said with both love and despair. “Mel, Mel, Mel, Amella…” he held her so tightly it hurt, and they both shook as sobs overcame him. Finally, she knew where she must be. The pure whiteness pierced her eyes, and she knew that the blank walls contained the bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of both dead and criminal alike.
She was one of them.
Anger and shock poured through her body as she realized what must have happened, and hurt turned quickly into blinding hate. She ripped his body away from her, and stood up, staring with hatred that stained her gaze with red. “Mel,” he said hoarsely before she said anything, "Mel, I am so sorry-“ “SORRY?!” she screeched, and without thinking, she lunged at him. Anger filled her with an unmatched need to break him, hurt him; destroy him. He didn’t fight back. Her fists were slick with his blood once the guards finally came, but she didn’t stop. Her gaze became a mass of bodies as the guards struggled to contain her, and all the while the red haze became more and more pronounced. She fought with this foreign madness, but the guards far outnumbered her. As she felt a bone break under her fingers, a guard lifted her up from behind, and she screamed as they shoved her into what she could recognize as her compartment - her prison. “NO!” she screamed, “I’LL KILL HIM! I’LL -“the door slid into place and she fell into blackness.
***
She felt his arms around her, warmth that she could recognize even in her nightmares. “Keelah,” she whispered, and when she opened her eyes, she saw her own name on his lips. “Mel,” he said with both love and despair. “Mel, Mel, Mel, Amella…” he held her so tightly it hurt, and they both shook as sobs overcame him. Finally, she knew where she must be. The pure whiteness pierced her eyes, and she knew that the blank walls contained the bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of both dead and criminal alike.
She was one of them.
Anger and shock poured through her body as she realized what must have happened, and hurt turned quickly into blinding hate. She ripped his body away from her, and stood up, staring with hatred that stained her gaze with red. “Mel,” he said hoarsely before she said anything, "Mel, I am so sorry-“ “SORRY?!” she screeched, and without thinking, she lunged at him. Anger filled her with an unmatched need to break him, hurt him; destroy him. He didn’t fight back. Her fists were slick with his blood once the guards finally came, but she didn’t stop. Her gaze became a mass of bodies as the guards struggled to contain her, and all the while the red haze became more and more pronounced. She fought with this foreign madness, but the guards far outnumbered her. As she felt a bone break under her fingers, a guard lifted her up from behind, and she screamed as they shoved her into what she could recognize as her compartment - her prison. “NO!” she screamed, “I’LL KILL HIM! I’LL -“the door slid into place and she fell into blackness.
Rain
There are people, I think as I walk around in my room. Where was I? Right. There are people. Hmm. What can I say about people?
Why...nothing at all. What's the point, really?
Oh yes, to fix them, to right them, to normalize them.
Normal people then.
What's the point of asking about normal people? Nothing, really, if curiosity is nothing.
There are people. Just people.
I stop thinking at this point, and see my room. It's a normal room. I have my bed (blue – there by the corner), a lamp (white), a window (currently gray), a dresser (black), and a dwarf of a bookcase (also black). It's arranged quite well if I do say so myself, though a bit empty, seeing it now. Like this.
I suddenly don't really want to be in here. I leave my room and find the hallway closet. I'll need a jacket. It's raining.
I step outside into the mist, the adventurous heroine. I put my hood up. Now I'm walking again, though the scene morphs with every step here. I listen as the water thunders through the world, masking house, tree, car, street, sky. It's beautiful, really, the silence.
But that's not what I'm seeking now. What I'm seeking is something quite different. I walk faster, trying to ignore the gray walls of water marching down to the depths of earth. I'm almost running, feeling, hearing, no breaths, no songs of peace.
I'm running, trying to escape.
BAM. AH! I slip. Shit. Damn. Ow. Stupid. Shit. Dammit. Ow. Damn. Damn this. Damn the world. Damn. Ow.
“Hey, are you alright?” Damn.
“Yeah.” I wince. “I just, uh, slipped. Nothing major. I'm fine.” I see a hand. I take his hand.
“Are you sure? You're bleeding.”
Thanks. “Yeah...I clean up nice. I'll be fine. Thanks anyway.”
Why...nothing at all. What's the point, really?
Oh yes, to fix them, to right them, to normalize them.
Normal people then.
What's the point of asking about normal people? Nothing, really, if curiosity is nothing.
There are people. Just people.
I stop thinking at this point, and see my room. It's a normal room. I have my bed (blue – there by the corner), a lamp (white), a window (currently gray), a dresser (black), and a dwarf of a bookcase (also black). It's arranged quite well if I do say so myself, though a bit empty, seeing it now. Like this.
I suddenly don't really want to be in here. I leave my room and find the hallway closet. I'll need a jacket. It's raining.
I step outside into the mist, the adventurous heroine. I put my hood up. Now I'm walking again, though the scene morphs with every step here. I listen as the water thunders through the world, masking house, tree, car, street, sky. It's beautiful, really, the silence.
But that's not what I'm seeking now. What I'm seeking is something quite different. I walk faster, trying to ignore the gray walls of water marching down to the depths of earth. I'm almost running, feeling, hearing, no breaths, no songs of peace.
I'm running, trying to escape.
BAM. AH! I slip. Shit. Damn. Ow. Stupid. Shit. Dammit. Ow. Damn. Damn this. Damn the world. Damn. Ow.
“Hey, are you alright?” Damn.
“Yeah.” I wince. “I just, uh, slipped. Nothing major. I'm fine.” I see a hand. I take his hand.
“Are you sure? You're bleeding.”
Thanks. “Yeah...I clean up nice. I'll be fine. Thanks anyway.”
A Snowy World and a Glacial Heart
The dazzling white puffs whipped through her hair, into her eyes, as the night descended upon them. No one could ever distinguish the snow from her. The white was her soul. The beckoning warmth of the crackling fire and the laughing murmurs echoed in the cave behind her but held no power. Outside, the wind lashed color to her cheeks, pulsing through to make her own warmth, her own family. This was where she belonged. A shadow of white prowled up beside her and she rested on her a slight hand. The wolf's breaths huffed with hers, her colorless fur dancing with her colorless hair. The black night had finally come. They stood as two angels in the moonless void; fierce, untouchable, beautiful. "Do you see it?" the human said, breaking through the night. The wolf just gave a soft whine. A moment later, a voice answered. "I see nothing, Aya," it said. She sighed and said quietly, "I didn't ask to get an answer." The man emerged from the warmth behind them with a look of disapproval. "Come inside and eat, Aya, it's too cold out here." She crouched down to the wolf, burying her face in her fur. "For you," she said. "You are human," he replied sternly.
White
Emptiness. The world was emptiness, filled to its very four corners with nothing, nothing but the all-consuming whiteness. The world had everything, but she was nothing. She had no ears to hear with; no mouth to speak with; no body to feel with. Were her eyes gone too? The whiteness, that blank whiteness, was all she saw - if she did see. Was she dead? She couldn’t be. She didn’t want to have died. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be.
Suddenly, instantaneously, she could see. It was a mirror, just a few feet away from her - if there was a her. But there was. She could walk, and the feet she did not see, feel, or hear carried her to the developing figure in the miraculous mirror. She took a breath she did not know she could take as a woman appeared, painted, on the mirror. Hair black as the void between worlds, and a red dress brighter than the whiteness; that was what the woman wore. She looked at the eyes, the hair and the dress did not match these eyes; they were soft and sparkling yet sad and darkened. They were not polished or of a generic make like the body of their owner. They spoke of life - of love and loss, of happiness and despair. Those eyes - those aged eyes - were hers.
Suddenly, instantaneously, she could see. It was a mirror, just a few feet away from her - if there was a her. But there was. She could walk, and the feet she did not see, feel, or hear carried her to the developing figure in the miraculous mirror. She took a breath she did not know she could take as a woman appeared, painted, on the mirror. Hair black as the void between worlds, and a red dress brighter than the whiteness; that was what the woman wore. She looked at the eyes, the hair and the dress did not match these eyes; they were soft and sparkling yet sad and darkened. They were not polished or of a generic make like the body of their owner. They spoke of life - of love and loss, of happiness and despair. Those eyes - those aged eyes - were hers.