Monday, 29 April 2024
Life, the universe, pies, hot-pink bunnies, world domination, and everything
A thread on which Musers who have written, are writing, or want to write books can bounce ideas off others who share that interest.
Continued from v. 2008.2
Date: September 4, 2008
Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction
I’ve hardly written anything lately.
Oh, wait! I have. But it really stinks.
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aaahhhhh…*relaxes* thank you oh great and powerful administrators!*bows*
Anyhoo, I kinda thought of making a journal entry style book of a child or teen who has a fatal, non contagious disease, and his parents are having him cloned. He gets to watch as his parents begin to ignore him before he dies. Wheee. Cruel world. When I think about it, it’s a little similar to AI.
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I would like to write a non-cliche fantasy, just to show the world. But everything I think of sounds cliche. *sigh*
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3-You mean like create an in depth world like J.R.R. Tolkien? With 20 books on history? I wanted to… but how long did it take him? Fifty bazillion years?
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4- Naw, I meant the storyline. You know, in fantasies there’s always prophecies or “The Chosen One” or… I could go on and on.
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I see what you mean. How about observing the chosen one. Being his/her friend? That point of view? Or feeling that he/she is always recognized? Or likely, you respect him/her.
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While it is very difficult for me to sit down and write, I have noticed that the RPG just…flows. I haven’t even met other characters yet, but I could go on and on in the world, with the plot I’m developing. I’m considering seceding from the PRG and going off to write my own novel about my own character.
2- Gr. -hates AI-
5- Wung buttons*. Why do you think I dropped fantasy? Maybe I’ll take up steampunk…
6- -cougholdersistercough- I’m mad that all those books/movies have the annoying angsty misunderstood kid, with the sensible, responsible, normal older sister who gets TOTALLY IGNORED.
Although come to that, Un Lun Dun was about the prophesied sidekick. But then she wasn’t. 
*Exactly
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I’m waiting for NaNo for my book-writing. Other than that, it’s all fanfiction from me. I’m writing a wonderful twilight fanfic right now where Esme finds an orphaned baby and decides to keep it. It’s going along nicely right now.
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-7 Steampunk rocks. I’m going to paint my computer silver with little gargoyle hinges at the fold. 
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I agree with MissSwann. But I do have three novel ideas boiling away in my head, one of which is sure to become my NaNo.
1. Two planets. They revolve around each other as well as revolving around their sun. Everyone on one planet as an emotional and telepathically connected counterpart on the other one. One planet blows up and the citizens of the other one have to deal with having half their “self” torn away abruptly.
2. Teenage genetic experiments are abandoned when their facility is destroyed and their creators are imprisoned by the FBI.
3. A spaceship that has been on course for 500 years finally arrives at its destination planet, only to find that in the time it took them to get there, a hostile race has colonized it first.
Suggestions?
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Sorry for the double post, but:
7- OMG I LOVE THAT BOOK AND I’VE NEVER MET ANYONE WHO’S READ IT!!!! *smile*
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I have been writing my book for several months now, and have about 23 pages. I hope to share it with friends and maybe even publish it in the future. Alright, so here is the main summery:
Andy Steffen is not just a regular kid. Her mom is a archeoligist, and decides to take Andy with her on her latest trip to Egypt. As soon as they get to Egypt, Andy starts learing of the strange tomb of a long forgotten pharao, discovering that it is up to her to find everything out. With the help of several other witty adults, Andy starts to put the pieces together, but will she ever complete the puzzle?
Fellow Musers, please give me your feedback on my idea, even though I already have many pages, pages can be changed!
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Here’s my current dilemma: do I write the first part of the fairy-tale sort of thing I posted the prologue to on the previous thread from the princesses’ POV, or from someone else entirely? And if I go with the princesses, do I write from the snotty, narcissistic one, or the borderline-depressed one? I can’t decide, since I have good openers for both characters… =|
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7-as in don’t write what I suggested?
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11- Isn’t it wonderful?
13- Do omnipotent narrator! Or you could do both princesses, alternating chapters from each POV.
14- No, as in don’t make it as cheesy and stupid as AI.
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Okay, I’ve been on the computer too much today, but I’m going to try and post part 13 of COSMOS tomorrow.
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Thank you GAPAs!!
2 & 10–Wow, those are awesome. Wish I’d thought of them.
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I need to write something. My brain is starting to go crazy with images and I need to pick one.
I think I’m going to make my NaNo 2 months. Last year it died really fast because I didn’t plan anything before it, so I think I’m going to have OctOut. October Outlining. Haha I just made that up.
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18- Oh cool, the thread should be named that.
My NaNo idea is pretty fab at the moment, even if it is pretty hazy and rough on plotline issues. It takes place in the future, and an EVUL DUDE takes over the planet, reinventing monarchy for the world. There are royal families, and then the rest of the people are made to be slaves. There’s a princess, and a slave boy, and they like each other. That’s all I have figured out yet.
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I am determined NOT to plan my NaNo this year. Last year it died about halfway through because I planned to thoroughly.
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Nano Ideas? start with A muse fan fiction about the oasis, a court case with Chris Baty and ninjas, two omnipontent narrator who can’t agree on what story to tell, and a frustrated writer. Throw in a wung, a thing, a kangaroo, a kola bear, and an emu, strange mac/windows/linux people, and robots. mix well. add three fates, a strange mystery, and pirates. add a pinch of salt, and bake well for 30 days. That’s my NaNovel.
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20 – On the other hand, my Screnzy was weird because I planned too little. I think I need to find a good balance for NaNo.
Actually, to be honest, I forgot about NaNo until now. I guess it’s coming up soon, isn’t it?
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22- 55 days, 09 hours, and 36 minutes.
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Oh, yes, NaNo. I’ll be writing Windhenge.
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Meh, NaNo. I don’t even know if I’ll participate. It turned me into a self-pitying wreck last year, but that was because a) I couldn’t get past the beginning and b) I had no computer. I finished my most recent Screnzy but despised it, and the year before that Screnzy ended up driving me into depression. I think NaNo might be a bad idea.
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25- It’s also because of the fire.
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24 – Yay!!!
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26- Quite possibly, but if that’s the case, then why did Screnzy07 have the same effect on me, when I’d been through no recent disaster and never even thought about fires? I think I’m basically a really slow writer, so trying to write 50,000 words and still make it through school is a bad idea if I desire to keep my self-esteem at a normal level.
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28- Because I won so much faster then you? :smirk:
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29- What? No.
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Okay, Tropical Storm Hanna is keeping me inside, so, as promised, here is:
COSMOS, Episode 1, Part 13.
The doctor began walking towards a large globe near the far wall.
“This is the world as the ancients knew it- a tiny, spherical world afloat in an immensity of space and time. We were, at long last, beginning to find our true bearings in the Cosmos. The scientists of antiquity took the first and most important steps in that direction, before their civilization fell apart.”
“But, they rediscovered all this stuff in the Renaissance, right?” I asked
“Yes, that re-learning made the Renaissance possible. By 1600, Johannes Kepler had modeled the motions of the planets. And at night, he dreamt of traveling to the moon.”
“Flying to the MOON? In the SIXTEEN HUNDREDS?!?”
“Dreaming is only the very beginning of doing, Alex. Kepler was committed to the facts, however disquieting they may be.”
“What’s ‘disquieting’ mean?” I asked.
“Strange, scary, uncomfortable.” TASTA said.
(You learn something new everyday, I guess. ‘I found the cafeteria food to be very disquieting.’)
“His story, and the story of those who came after him, are also part of our voyage. The idea arose that the planets were also worlds, governed by natural laws. Voyages of exploration and discovery were undertaken to map THIS planet. And, when the Earth was all explored, new adventurers looked to the planets and the stars. We learned that the entire Universe was expanding. And now, we have begun to plumb the true depths of time and space.” He said, punctuating the statement by opening another portal.
We were in a dark room, a glowing white grid stretched before us, each box with pictures within. Familiar abbreviations written in the boxes made me realize the grid was a calendar.
“Where are we?” I asked
“Back on the Starship, actually. This is something I call the Cosmic Calendar- all time since the Big Bang compressed into the space of one year.”
“13.7 billion years in 12 months? Cool!”
The doctor smiled.
“It is. If the Universe formed on January 1st, it was not until May that the Milky Way formed. Our sun and Earth formed in mid-September, and life arose soon after. Everything humans have ever done occurred in that bright spot at the end of December 31st.”
“Really?” I looked at the small pink dot. It seemed familiar, somehow.
“Every day is millions of years long. But we can zoom in on any second, like so…” The doctor reached over to the wall and pressed some buttons, making electronic sounds.
Suddenly, I was in the midst of the strangest landscape that I had ever seen.
Above us, orange planets floated in a dark sky, with bright stars beyond them. Near where we stood, a lake glowed a florescent blue. Beneath my feet was what looked like lichen.
“So, you can adjust the environments in this room, like on Star Trek?” I asked
“Essentially, yes.” TASTA said, floating ahead of us, into a thick forest.
I followed, somewhat hesitantly. If the doctor had created the environment, there was no reason for anything dangerous to be in the forest, but the strange landscape had put me on edge.
“We’re at about ten-thirty PM on December 31st, when the first human beings made their debut. And with every passing cosmic minute, we learned more.” The doctor said, as we approached what looked like a campfire pit, with charred wood at the center of a circle of stones.
“Let me guess- the discovery of fire?”
“Yes, at 11:46 PM. 14 minutes ago. 11:59 and 20 seconds-the domestication of animals begins. And, we begin to make…” the doctor bent down to pick up something lying on the ground.
“…tools.” he said, showing me a stone with a cutting edge, the sort you see in National Geographic sometimes.
“11:59:35-settled agricultural comunities become the first cities. We humans evolved so recently that our recorded history fills only these few seconds. In the vast ocean of time, every person you’ve ever heard of-”
“Or robot.” TASTA cut in.
“-or robot, lived in this tiny square. The doctor said, pointing to a glowing orange square on the ground about a foot long and wide.
Holy cow. Just… holy cow.
“All those kings, battles, migrations, inventions, loves, discoveries- all that’s in the history books, happens HERE. In THESE ten seconds. We on Earth have just awakened to the great oceans of space and time from which we have emerged. We are the legacy of these 13 billion years of cosmic evolution. Some of us choose to enhance life and come to know the Universe that made us, others squander this heritage in meaningless, chaotic acts.” He looked me in the eye.
“What happens in the first seconds of the next Cosmic year depends on what we do, here and now, with our intelligence and our knowlege of the Cosmos.”
As he spoke, all the familiar images cascaded through my head.
The bad ones.
The melting Arctic.
Turtles caught in nets, drowning.
People sick and dying.
And the good ones.
Wind farms in Australia.
Scuba divers cutting the turtle free.
Doctors inventing medicines.
“And now, Alex, I trust you have enjoyed your first Cosmic voyage.”
“First?” I asked, hoping the doctor couldn’t see that my eyes were tearing up.
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I will start a collection of short but meaningful stories. Here’s my first one. Oh, this will not be typical, cliche story.
Jessandra Colons was snoring on her homework. It was the middle of the night, and she was just so TIRED. She woke up with a jerk. She sat up in her chair, and picked up her pen. Jess ran her fingers through her long brown hair, and fiddled with her glasses. She shoved them back up the bridge of nose, and looked at her algebra homework. 2x=56y. She knew the answer, it was just… so… late…
Jess was asleep again.
Night faded into nonexistence as light streamed through the windows, straight onto Jessandra’s sleeping figure. She blinked her eyes, and sat up. She looked at the clock. It was 7:20! Jess yelped. She was supposed to be at school at 7:30! She gathered up her homework, and ran out the door.
Jess ran down the street, panting heavily. She looked at her watch. 7:27. She wasn’t even there yet. A small, new voice in the back of her head spoke. “You’re already late, why not relax? Or even better, play hooky?” She didn’t know why, but she obeyed. She ambled over to the park. “No, go to that old lot. Someone’s waiting for you.” the voice said. Jess thought her mother had always told her to stay away from the lot. She turned on her heel to go back to the park, but she was already walking in the direction of the lot! Jess gasped. She wasn’t doing this! But she was! But she didn’t know why! She got to the corner ahead of the lot, and stopped. More likely fell. She got up, rubbing her elbow. She turned around to go to the park, but her feet wouldn’t move. Then she knew the cause. Someone was using Magik on her. Only the Elders of the city knew Magik, and a few others. But the Elders of the city never used Magik to manipulate others. It was against the laws of Magik. So this must be a vagabond. She hyperventilated, and tensed up. She heard the galloping of horse hooves. A horse? Why didn’t that person use cars, like everyone else? The horse came into view. It was completely black. Matching his horse, the rider wore a black hat and a big black billowing cloak. She gasped. The horse had stopped in front of her. The rider said in a deep voice, “I have been watching you. You show signs of Magik.” Jess was bewildered. “Come with me, Jessandra Colon. Come join the Blak Magik guild.” Obediantly, Jess mounted the horse, and it rode off with the two riders.
Jess and the man reached a forest, and rode through it too a large, but completely black, mansion. Jess gazed up in wonder as they went the gates. She didn’t realize that would be the last time she went through as her own person, unconsumed by Blak Magik.
Some time later, Jess was up for inspection by the rest of the guild, even more black coated people. They nodded their approvel, and the man took her into a separate room. He gave her a black drink, and she drank it immediately, because the little voice commanded her to. She vision went fuzzy, and just before she blacked out she felt the man strap her to a chair in some cylinder device.
Jessandra woke up. She easily broke the straps that ound her to the chair, and looked at herself. She was wearing a black cloak, too. But she didn’t find it odd. She felt exhilerated, like she was reborn. She gave a maddish, spine tingling laugh.
Jessandra Colon was no more. Jess, the Blak Magik member, was out to kill the Elders of the city with the rest of the guild.
How’s THAT for non-cliche?
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32- Well, the basic story is great, but the actual writing could use some expansion. It seems sort of like you had the idea and wanted to get it down as fast as possible before you forgot. Maybe that’s the style you were going for, though, so I don’t know.
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33- Remember collection of SHORT stories, and actually, you’re right.
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32 – What Alice said.
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Actually, one of the reasons I’m depressed is that I can’t do anything really special. I’m not the best at the arts except for singing, maybe, but that doesn’t count and heck, I can’t hit low notes. I’m not a person who can fix anything. Crap, I’m only somewhat good at playing soccer!
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36- It doesn’t really matter if you’re good at something, as long as you like that something. I’m not very good at acting, or writing, most of the time, but I enjoy it, so what does it matter if I’m good?
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36 – Like Alice said, it shouldn’t matter whether you’re good at something. Do you like playing soccer? Do you like singing? Then that’s all that matters.
I know for a fact that I’m not the best player on my soccer team, but most of the time I couldn’t care less. I love everything about it, and I’m happiest when I’m on the field. Yeah, I’m not the best, but I still want to get better in every way that I can. And I have so much fun doing it that even the hardest of practices cheers me up.
Sorry. That probably didn’t help much.
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37- I like soccer, but my coach criticizes me (how can I help being paranoid?!) all the time. So that sort of sucks the fun out of it. There really is nothing I enjoy other than coming here. I’ve spent so much time on here I’ve forsakenn everything else.
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39 – I know that I’m not you, but if I was in your situation I would latch onto the criticism my coach had like a little leech and concentrate on doing everything I can to prove him/her wrong. My passes aren’t accurate enough? I’d go outside and practice kicking the ball at the chimney for an hour. My stamina isn’t good enough? I’d go run laps around my backyard for a while. Then you can prove the criticism wrong, and that’s the sweetest revenge of all.
Or, if your coach does that all the time, even when it’s completely unfounded, it might be a good idea to switch teams. One of my friends used to be on a team where the coach yelled at them all the time and made them call him Sir, and it really did suck a lot of the fun out of the game.
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40- Nah, I’m just a paranoid defender.
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29- Why, you impudent little…!
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41 – Well, yeah, that could be part of it too. Being paranoid isn’t necessarily bad though. I think my coach would welcome some more paranoia amongst our defenders. He’s trying to get us to adopt a “no risk” strategy, where we kick the ball out of bounds if we don’t have the numbers behind the ball. Unfortunately, most of our defenders would rather go it alone, even if the odds are against them.
…
This has nothing to do with Books in Progress, does it?
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Comments on post 31?
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43- No. 
I’m going to write another short story that anyone can adopt and enlarge upon. I just need an idea…
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45 – Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought. 
What sort of idea?
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I have two new ideas, but I don’t really have time to write them now…sigh. I’ll probably ditch homework tomorrow to start them.
Idea #1: A girl gets a new computer for her birthday. She likes to write and begins a new story about a mysterious but handsome young man etc. etc. When she goes to school the next day, there is a new student, and he’s the exact image of her new character. She finds out he has the same name, and that he’s basically her character come to life. She continues to write and as his character develops, the boy’s personality changes to according to what she writes. She finally meets him and falls in love with him. Unfortunately, she’s already written a character for him to fall in love with, and this girl is now at the school. Has to choose whether to fall in love with a “fake†person or give him up to the other character.
Idea #2: A boy is born into a family of superheroes, but he’s the only “normal†one. Tries to become a superhero anyways, keeps on getting in the way. However, at the final showdown, he ends up sacrificing himself because only human blood can save his family (I’m not sure how that’ll work out yet). I’m not sure if he’ll die. Probably. 
Anyhoo, those’ll probably be coming shortly.
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47- #2 sounds like it would be better with magicians or sorcerers, not superheroes, because the whole human blood thing isn’t very, you know, comic book-y. That’s just my two cents, though.
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(48) That raises an interesting question: In the Harry Potter universe, how do wizarding families educate their squibs? (I’m not talking about hardliners like the Malfoys, who would simply drown them at birth, but about compassionate people like the Weasleys.) It’s clear that squibs have special needs, and such in-between people could be useful as bridges to the Muggle world. It would seem a shame just to erase their memories and put them up for adoption by Muggles — yet they certainly would never fit into wizarding society. Does JKR say anything about this?
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I’ve already started writing this, but I could use a little feedback.
Setting- In a different universe, in a small village a few hours away from the base of a mountain.
Plot- In the aforementioned village, every child must go through a coming of age ritual thingie, where they climb up the mountain, say prayers and make offerings to their gods and keep a vigil until down. The main character (a girl, 15 or so) goes to the mountain, etc, but when she goes to go back to her village, sh finds that she can’t leave the mountain (kind of an invisible wall around the base). So she climbs back up and finds a completely different land at the top. She is greeted by a man (technically a god, but she doesn’t know that yet) who tells her that he wants her to be a servant for his daughter. Finds out he is a god and that she is serving a demigoddess. Things happen, and demigoddess is sent to find an injured dragon (or something, I haven’t really figured this part out yet) and servant girl goes along. Demigoddess gets captured by someone, servant has to save her. Get back, finds out that the servant girl is really the demigoddess’s sister, seperated during their childhood, that’s why the god wanted to keep her up on the mountain in the first place.
I’m hoping to expand this idea into a novel. Feedback would be appreciated…
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20- Exactly the opposite happened to me. Last year’s NaNo sucked because, number one, I didn’t outline so I had waaaayyy too many plot flaws, and, number two, I didn’t research enough so it turned out to be a clone of Twilight. Eurgh.
I’ve narrowed it down to the spaceship one or the genetic experiment one, but I’ve decided that if I do do the genetic experiment one, it won’t take place on Earth. Any story with any tiny bit of action on Earth that I write sucks. But of course there’s the chance I’ll come up with something completely new by October 15, which is when I’ve decided to start my OctOut.
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50- Hrrm. I like it.
So last night, I was like, why not revive The Black Lion? Only, you know, completely different. And well-written. With worldbuilding and stuff. So I thought about it for a while, and wrote an opening sentence, and fell asleep. Huzzah etc. And I was thinking about it today, and wondering how I could possibly manage it. I dropped the original because it didn’t work in today’s world. At all. Or any other time period. So I deleted it. And I think I could manage it now, but I just realized that the original TBL, I mean the original, the short story, before I was enough of an idiot to go for a novel, that was the only story I ever wrote that had character development. Winifred started out as a complete brat who couldn’t admit when she was wrong, and then in the end she was, slowly but surely, on her way to being a nicer person. After I finished TBL, I tried The Makepeace War, which actually started out as Sara, a sort of vague, plotless sketch. If I had gone through with TMW as I imagined it, in the very beginning, there would have been character development. But then I got all hung up on worldbuilding and plots, and my characters gathered dust and lost their luster. And when I finally had a plot, the personality of my characters had been forgotten, and had to be made up again hastily from the scraps I could remember. Sara had lost her spunk, Thomasina had lost her sarcasm, and the whole story suffered.
I think I just traced all my problems back to the very beginning of my career as a writer. Gosh! Who knew? Whenever I sit down to write a post on this thread, I always discover some idea or revelation. It’s amazing!
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6- Hmmm. Good idea.
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31? Anyone?
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49) I don’t think JKR wrote anything about that, it would be hard for the Squibs, of course.
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COSMOS, Episode 1, Part 14:
“Why, certainly. You’re an excellent space explorer and I’d be happy to have you on another adventure. Not many people can ponder the nature of the Universe and tackle a robber in the same day.”
“I…I think mom will be working at the University for a while. I could be in the same place tomorrow if you want.”
“Then TASTA and I look forward to seeing you.” The doctor opened one last portal.
“Until then.” I said, stepping through the star gate, almost against my will.
I stepped out, back by the window seat, under the mural of the rainforest, into the Grenville University Library. Everything was as it had been before. Almost as if it had never happened.
But it had, hadn’t it? Of course it had. I reasured myself, looking around.
Grenville isn’t Alexandria, but it’s a nice library, too. I thought.
Cosmos, the book, still lay on the window seat. I looked at the cover again, and idly turned it over. There was a large picture of the doctor on the back, smiling in a garden!
I jumped about three feet in the air.
“Well… of course… Carl Sagan… he wrote… the book… the author’s picture goes on the back… why wouldn’t… I mean really… ha, ha.” I talked to myself, the sort of babbling one does to recover from a shock.
Walking with the book under my arm, I headed back towards the desk, intending to ask the librarian if I could check it out somehow, despite my utter lack of a library card.
I passed a poster showing two kids standing on a book with dragons flying around them
“You never know where a trip to the library will take you.” The poster said.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I muttered.
THE END
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11-I think you’ll find a lot of Musers have read Un Lun Dun, including me. Why? Because IT ROCKS. Apparently you haven’t asked enough people.
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(56) Great story, KaiYves! Any plans for a sequel? With Stephen Hawking, perhaps?
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52–I find that the same thing happens to me occasionally.
56–Yay! Good story. Also good job with actually FINISHING a story (I think you’re one of the first to do so on this thread.) I second Robert’s call for a sequel.
So I just realized that I pretty much always hate my stories when I first write them. I’m not sure why. I think that maybe you improve from story to story, so maybe when you look back, the story before was always worse. Dunno. In any case, it’s fairly depressing.
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58- I’m thinking of doing a whole series based on the show, with every episode a story. Although that will take a REALLY long time.
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I have a desperate need to write a story, but I don’t have any ideas. Suggestions? (sorry for not really being on the topic, but my brain is ready to explode, I’m narrating my day to day life I’m so desperate for a story!) HEEEEEEELLLLLLLLP!!!!!!
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61- How about a stage magician who discovers they have actual magic powers? That could be interesting.
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a friend of mine started writing this one story about a girl who is swimming in a lake and sees this thing on the bottom but when she touches it, she gets sucked into an underground world and she falls in love withthis rich famous guy but then she finds out that she is a lost queen destined to kill him. i think with a bit of work it could be really good but she wrote about 2 chapters and decided it was a bad story.
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63–I don’t know, that sounds kind of intruiging. Maybe you should write it.
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More of The Underclassman’s Guide to Survival:
Chapter 23: The Truth That Sets You Free
January 4th, 9:34 P.m.
PKE (Post-Kiss Era)
I can’t believe what has happened to me.
A few hours ago, I thought that he barely acknowledged my existence. And now he feels like kissing me? Sure, I’m glad it happened. I do like him. He’s kind of nice when he shows his true colors, and he’s a great guitar player. But who would have thought that he liked me? Honestly, I’m either too happy or too confused for words right now. This has been wild. Awkward, I must admit, but totally in a good way.
More to come later. We’ll see how things work out. Night, night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the writer’s block bugs bite.
I shut my journal and lay on the bed, spread out on my back and thinking about the rest of that glorious ski club trip.
After the hilltop encounter, Trey and I went down the path and found Isabelle and Mitch sitting on a bench near a black diamond hill. Isabelle was gushing to Mitch, evidently about something Mitch didn’t find quite as intriguing. But he listened anyway, smiling and nodding like nobody’s business. When Isabelle saw Trey and I walking so close together, she raised her eyebrows, as if to say ‘Where have you been?’ Then, she bit her lip and grinned, eyes narrowing in a sickeningly assuming way. ‘Oh no’, I said silently to myself. ‘This is not going to end well…’
“So, you guys, where have you been? You were up on that hill for an awfully long time.†Isabelle grinned, and Mitch looked at Trey with a slightly edgy glance. He returned this glance with a full-on glare, and Mitch backed off. We all went up to the lodge to get hot chocolate before the bus left, in which time Trey and I had plenty of time to act awkward around one another and Isabelle frantically tried to pry information out of me. I didn’t tell a thing.
I found myself on the stoop of my door with a pair of skis, a very overdressed figure and a furtive smile that could only come from something special. And I knew it. My mother didn’t understand why I was so happy, but seeing the look on my face, she evidently didn’t want to ruin the moment. And I was grateful for it.
Chapter 24: The Spoiler to a Perfect Evening
Story Of My Life
Written by none other than Kaitlin Greyson
Scene 1: A classroom, early morning
(Kat, the main character, walks into the room to find a boy who appears to be aquainted with her, Mitch.)
Mitch: So, how’s Trey?
Kat: So, how’s Isabelle?
Mitch: Shut up.
Kat: I will if you will. (grins as if she has something to hide)
Mitch: Ok, cut it out. I know what happened.
Kat: Well then, what happened? Tell me, I’m clueless.
Mitch: You and Trey had a little make-out session on the hill last night, hm?
Kat: It was NOT a make-out session, it was one kiss! Now leave me alone!
Mitch: (triumphantly) Hah! You admit it!
Kat: Fine. Whatever. You and Isabelle seemed pretty close, though.
Mitch: (looks downcast) I don’t want to talk about it.
Kat: Well, SHE seemed to want to talk about something a lot.
Mitch: More like someone. Her stupid boyfriend doesn’t deserve that much attention, honestly.
Kat: (looks sorry) Oh, no…Mitch, I feel so bad for you.
Mitch: Don’t. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t like me, and that’s the end of it.
(teacher comes into classroom, class begins)(fade out)
Scene Two: A hallway
(A group of girls approaches Kat)
Madison: Hey there, dork. Been getting friendly with that goth dork, I hear. (Other girls titter and giggle.)
Kat: Don’t call me a dork.
Madison: I don’t call people names, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I only address them by their real names. Besides, what does that have to do with Trey?
Kat: Look, I’m sure I could fault you for ‘getting friendly’ with a ton of guys. But see, I’m not rude enough to dig into other peoples’ business.
Madison: Whatever. You and your boyfriend are going to be the highlight of the week. I’ll make sure of it. Come on, girls. (walks away)
Grace: (walks up to Kat) Hey, there. Don’t listen to Madison, she’s such a creep.
Kat: Glad to hear you think so.
Grace: So about you and Trey…
Kat: Is that all anybody wants to talk to me about today?!? Sheesh, you’d think that we were the only gossip in the school!
Grace: As it comes, you’re pretty close.
Kat: Perfect. Just perfect. I think I’ll go to lunch now, if you don’t mind.
Grace: Okay, okay. I can take a hint. (walks off)
Kat: Grace… (sighs) Oh well, I guess she’ll cool down eventually.
(heads to lunchroom) (scene fades)
Scene Three: In the school lunchroom
(Kat enters the lunchroom, stage left. Everyone in the room stops talking to stare at her and whisper as she walks past.)
Kat: (sits at lunch table next to Trey) (all people at the next table began to point and laugh)
Kat: Hey.
Trey: Hey. (takes bite from sandwich)
Kat: (opens geography book) So, how’s life?
Trey: You’re seriously asking me that?
Kat: Yes, I seriously am.
Trey: Nobody will give me a minute of my own without asking me how you are.
Kat: Me neither. Please don’t tell me Madison Stedman came up to you, too.
Trey: No.
Kat: Lucky.
Trey: (chews) So, about yesterday…
Kat: Yeah?
Trey: Look, I’m really sorry if it was too sudden or anything.
Kat: You’re fine.
Trey: Oh. Um, good.
Kat: Yeah, great. (smiles)
Trey: Hm. (half smiles)
Kat: So, how’s your music career been?
Trey: Good, actually. I’ve gotten a gig from this café downtown.
Kat: That’s great! Maybe I could come hear you play sometime.
Trey: Sounds good. You should do that.
Kat: I will.
(first bell rings)
Trey: Oh, I’d better go. I’ll talk to you later, all right?
Kat: Yeah. See you.
Trey: See ya. (leaves)
(Grace and Jay enter scene, walk over and sit at table. Speak about a movie they saw last night as they begin to eat. Isabelle enters after them and sits by Kat.)
Isabelle: So…?
Kat: So…what?
Isabelle: Oh, come on Kat. You can’t deny it.
Kat: And what am I supposedly denying?
Isabelle: You like him, don’t you?
Kat: Well, yeah. That would be why I kissed him.
Isabelle: (raises eyebrows)
Kat: What?
Isabelle: Why him? He’s not exactly a saint, if you know what I mean.
Kat: Yeah, and?
Isabelle: Out of all the guys you could have had wrapped around your finger, honestly.
Kat: Believe it or not, he actually has a soul under all that disguise. Not like most of the other boys at this school. He cares, he really does. I know he does.
Isabelle: Oh well. I can’t say I blame you. In a world gone soft, someone’s got to be bad.
Kat: (grins) You got that right. So…what did you and Mitch talk about yesterday?
Isabelle: Oh, the usual.
Kat: Really? Because…he didn’t seem to interested or happy or anything.
Isabelle: What? Wow, that’s weird. He was really into the conversation. (looks at watch).Well, I’m gonna go now. I promised Jim I’d watch him play football at rec, and I wouldn’t want to miss that. (winks)
Kat: Hmm. Bye then.
Isabelle: Bye. (walks away)
(scene fades out)
Chapter 25: A Peculiar Change of the Heart
The rest of my day was crowded with furtive stares, multiple bouts of giggles whenever I passed a group of girls, and a very unfortunate math test that I didn’t pass. However, every time I passed Trey, he smiled at me, and I smiled back. I swear, that must have been the most times I’d ever seen him smile, much less in just one day. It was so strange, and yet it felt so good.
I passed Madison in the hall several times, many of which I suspected she had planned, and all of which involved her being surrounded by haughty looking people ordered to look down on me with skepticism and smirking looks. I thought that it might be the same for Trey as well. It turned out I was right. I saw a couple of boys heckling him by his locker before sixth hour, but he didn’t seem to care. Eventually, they walked away. I was both amazed and proud of him for being so strong. It made me want to be strong too, but for some reason I just couldn’t. With every stare, every stifled laugh, every pointing, accusing finger that poked me straight through to my heart, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a mistake. Heck, I was sure I had made a mistake. But when Trey looked me in the eyes, it didn’t matter. Everything floated away, the chains of the world faded into dust, and I was free. I was free for the first time, and I loved it.
After school, I waited under the stairs with him for his father to come and pick him up. Play practice was running slowly, and I wasn’t going to be needed until later. I had gotten a background role, whereas Grace had gotten one of the lead roles in the play. She was Ado Annie, and her understudy was the new girl, Sami, who evidently did not appreciate this disappointing fact. In fact, she spoke about it to everyone whom she could force to lend an ear. “That little weirdo!†she would say, flinging her arms every which way and yelling like a crazy person. “Why should she get the part and not me? I’m a better actress than she could ever hope to be!†When, actually, everyone knew that this was the other way around. But her friends just stood there and nodded, especially Madison, who even went along with it for a bit.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get a main roleâ€, lamented Trey as we sat close together under the stairs.
“You know, I think I’m okay with thatâ€, I replied. “Besides, now I can be happy for Grace.â€
“That’s trueâ€, he said. “I know Jay’s proud of her.â€
“They’ve been doing well, I seeâ€, I commented, taking a bite out of a sugar cookie I had bought at lunch. It was very interesting how good the school cookies were, seeing how bad of cooks the lunch ladies were.
“Yeah, they seem to have a lot in common. Hey can I have some of that?†Trey pointed at the cookie.
“Okay, fine!†I joked, reluctantly handing it over. He took a big bite out of it. “Yummyâ€, he grinned.
“You can have itâ€, I said, waving my hand dismissively. He scarfed down the rest of the cookie hungrily. “What’s with you?†I asked. “You look like you haven’t eaten in years!â€
“No, I’m just REALLY hungryâ€, he said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. Then, I heard a faint voice calling my name. “Kat?†It cried. “Kat, where did you go?â€
“Uh ohâ€, I said. “I’d better go. I’ll see you soon, all right?â€
“Yeah, great. Byeâ€, he replied, not looking up. I sighed, and ducked back out from under the stairs with a surprisingly heavy heart. I trod slowly back to the cafeteria, where the numerous chairs and tables had been cleared aside to form a large space in which to dance and sing.
“WHERE have you been?” cried Mr. Langloch, bushy eyebrows almost completely disappearing into his hair in angst and surprise at my sudden arrival. “We’ve been waiting for you to get here! Now, let’s try this again!”
Madison leaned over as I passed by. “Try not to mess up so much, Kat”, she said, grinning spitefully.
“Yeah, don’t be such a sore thumb”, said another girl whose name was Janet, and who gave me the same stare as Madison had. They both turned away from me and laughed loudly. I turned red.
Grace, who had not seen nor heard the commotion in front of her, motioned to me to come over. I did, standing beside her. Mrs. Phelps played a note on the piano.
“All right, okay, okay, all right!” she called, clapping her hands. “Let’s try the chorus again, shall we? And a one, and a two, and a one two three…”
“OOOOOKLAHOMA, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain!” Everyone broke into song, holding their chorus books in their hands and standing upright like the Mormon tabernacle choir. I sighed, singing along with the rest of them.
“We know we belong to the land, and the land we belong to is grand…”
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65- YES! most excellent. Write more? Please? *bambi eyes*
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I am trying to write a book I have a story line and everything,
but whenever i sit down to try to write i don’t have the attention span or i come up blank.
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Neeeeeeeewwwww story!
I love the title.
Cradleflame
or
The Conspicuously Absent Goddess
About a mage’s apprentice and a rebel angel and a depressed mage and a shapeshifting demigod and a rite of passage gone wrong and an evil guardian of the sacred. All that jazz. Trying to be anti-cliche here! (Oh and also a runaway goddess.)
In more understandable terms, it’s about a girl, Kerynne, who sees horrible visions and experiences pain after a seemingly normal cliff-jumping rite of passage thingy. It is then determined that to cure her visions, she is to be apprenticed to the local (and slightly incompetent) mage of the town, Maxemedras. After a few months of learning magic, etc., a messenger angel is sent down to the capital to warn the city-state of impending doom brought on by the disappearance of the patron goddess of magic, order, and fertility, Caia. But instead of reaching Fe Ryma, the angel, Benevolence, (Lennie for short) (she’s a rebel) flies in the opposite direction, into a storm, and falls into Kerynne’s town. The news gets delivered to Maxemedras & Co, and so they take it upon themselves to embark on a quest to the Gaze, the home of the Cradleflame, the source of all magical power, to draw upon that pure magic to rescue Caia. Except it turns out she doesn’t exactly want to be rescued. MORAL COMING! And so, it turns out, as pointless as their quest was, they did some major character developement along the way.
I Like!
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Bleah, I’ve had almost no time to write, although I suppose I didn’t really have much to write about. I’ve finally had some time, though, so here’s more Trystan Evander.
We reached the dining hall shortly, and wound our way through the corridors until a dark, cavernous room came into view. The walls were draped in purple, red, and gold, the colors of the three dormitories. Bianca led the way to a table in the front of the room, and her coterie quickly arranged themselves in the seats around her. Then the food was brought out, and we began to eat.
Bianca’s friends showed a healthy interest in me, something which their queen didn’t take so kindly. It didn’t help that I already knew several of them; many of those present were children of my father’s associates. One, a sandy-haired boy with a smirking smile, seemed particularly keen on my attention; I couldn’t be sure if it was my looks or my father’s high standing that caused him to continuously engage me in conversation, while a disgruntled Bianca looked on.
I’d just finished my dinner (a rubbery imitation of chicken marsala) when I happened to look up and catch the delinquents filing past the open door. They all wore the standard school uniform—navy blue blazers for the boys, grey skirts for the girls—but what intrigued me was the level of individuality they expressed, even while dressed identically. I caught flashes of dyed hair, red ties, and dress shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest, things that would be unthinkable amongst the people in this room. Moreover, the delinquents, rather than being depressed, chattered and laughed happily, until a guard silenced them. Even once they were gone, I could hear their merry conversation echoing down the hall.
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(cont.)
Luri looked around. She was outside, in a dark alleyway. She knew when she made herself disappear (which she did rarely) she could end up anywhere. Maybe a few miles away, or maybe a few hundred miles away. She checked her surroundings, and realized it was the same exact temperature as it had been outside of the auditorium. She probably hadn’t gone far. She could see the castle, bright and cheery against the cold, dark winter sky. She heard the wind howling, and the trees scraping roofs and windows. She heard some dogs barking far away, and saw some drunken men coming down the alley, so she set off, towards the castle. The festival was being held at the bottom of the hill on which the castle stood. As she was turning onto a lamp lit street, she heard a familiar voice call out, “Luri!â€. It was her friend, the silver smith. “Hello Oswald! How are you?†Luri yelled back.
“I’ve got the staff ready for you!â€
“You do?â€
“Yes! Would you like to see it?†he asked. “Of course I would,†she said as she walked toward his shop with him, “Has my master seen it yet?†Luri asked. “No, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I even asked the landlady where he was, and she had no idea at all.†Luri cursed under her breath. Finally, they arrived at the smithy. “Where is it?†She asked. He motioned toward a long, wooden table. On it, was a wooden staff, decorated with jewels. Luri caught her breath. “It’s beautiful!†she picked it up, and saw words engraved in silver on it. Specto subitus. ‘Expect the unexpected.’
Luri stopped staring at it, and looked up at Oswald. “Once I find him, I’ll make sure to come back and pick it up. I don’t have your pay yet.â€
“Ok than. Do you have any idea where he might be?†Luri shrugged. Most of the time, she had no idea where her master was. She usually found him in the forest, sitting in the high branches of a tree.
“I will be back soon.†Luri promised the old silver smith. She left the warm room, and walked out into the chilly night. Why would her master leave the inn when it was so cold outside? He was not old, but anyone sane would stay inside if they had the chance that night. She smiled to herself. But her master wasn’t sane. The officers thought him insane, but the townsfolk believed he was wise. He wasn’t all that insane
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ANOTHER neeeeewwwww story. (Novella actually)
About a ship and a secret agency and a musical prodigy and a machine and a shadowy agent and traitors and lots and lots of MacGuffins.
MACGUFFINS!
MacGuffins in this story: A file, the name of the Agency, a secret room and a dog. All fodder for character development.
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what’s a NaNo.
what’s a Macguffin?
I’m writing a story set partially in a D&D world (version 3.5 greyhawk rules, classes, and races)
it’s about a ninja. he’s sort of an assassin.
My friends and I are always writing stories nonstop and never finishing them. I hope to finish this one though.
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72- I have a similar problem I come up with a big idea then start to write and i cant finish.
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Yet another new one, thought this one isn’t as good as the other ones. Well, the other ones weren’t good at all. But still, this one is a bit more suckish.
I stared blankly at the piece of paper in front of me. Ok, so, what traits do of good student have? Well that’s easy, all the traits I don’t have. I smiled to myself. My teacher saw me smile and tapped my desk. “40 minutes.†She said. My smile immediately changed to a frown. I glanced at the score sheet, and picked up my pencil, already sticky with sweat. I stared blankly at the ceiling. This was going to be a long day.
It was September 2nd. The first day of prison. Oh sorry, I meant school. We were supposed to write an essay about what traits a good students has, why you need to be prepared, and blah blah blah. 5 paragraphs in all. I mean come on; it wasn’t even for a grade! It was just some random thing to show our ignorant teachers how good we were at writing.
Now of course I would just go with it and go for maybe a C-, but I was angry. We had 40 minutes to finish 5 PARAGRAPHS. I decided for this one I should go for an F. No, I shouldn’t write anything. But than it hit me. I should go for an A+. In fact, an A++ if that was possible, which of course wasn’t. I should startle them. Throw them off balance. The last year (4th grade) I got a C+ for writing, I made sure it was around average, (But of course I couldn’t do that, because the average was and F. But who cares.) And all my other grades were around the same too.
So, I picked up my #2 Ticonderoga pencil, and started writing, while jotting a few annoying comments at the side of the paper. The new kid next to me was confidently writing, his pencil never left the paper. He looked a bit too confident. My teacher glared at me. She must’ve thought I was trying to cheat, so I quickly looked back at my own paper. Time had gone by so fast; I was already on my third page, last paragraph. I thought for a moment what I should write, and started to write without stopping.
I brushed off my paper and took one final look at it when my teacher, Ms. Simmons, said it was time to turn them in. She came around and collected all of them while I sat in my seat looking at all the posters hung up in the room. She finally returned back to her desk, with all the papers in her hands. “Ok everyone! Now, you are going to gym right now, after that you go to the library. So be good when Mrs. Smith send you to the library. I will be informed if there is any misbehaving.†And with that, we lined up at the door, and were marched off down the stairs and into the gym. We jogged for a while and played basketball. Then we were marched off again to the library. I breathed a sigh of relief and trotted to the fantasy section I knew so well. The school librarian came over to me. She was a tall woman, with brown and red curls. She looked like I imagined a librarian to be like, but much younger I’d say. “Hello Luri!â€
“Hello Ms. Roberts! Read any good books lately?†I asked her, my face turned from neutral to happy.
“Yes, in fact I have, have you ever read William Morris’s ‘The Well at the World’s End?’ I finished it last night.â€
“Actually, I have. Did you like it?†I asked, anxious to get another person’s opinion on it, she hadn’t met many people who had read it.
“It was wonderful, but that’s not what I came over here for sadly, we’ve got some books in! I was wondering if you could help me sort them real quick, Mr. Jenkins is working in the computer lab.â€
“Certainly!â€
“Thank you very much!†she led me to the checkout counter where a pile of books lay. One was a thin picture book, three were fat, hard backed, fancy ones, one looked like an ordinary book, and another, a paperback that was torn and dirty, was a fair size. “That one doesn’t look so new. I wonder what happened to it?†she picked it up and opened it. The pages, luckily, were in perfect condition. She read a passage and couldn’t pull herself away from it. “This one’s fantasy, the author is Jacklyn Williams. It’s called “Expect the Unexpectedâ€. And this one is realistic fiction, called “Beyond the Williow†by Bill Haraway, and this is,†she said while picking up the ordinary book, “Is ‘Jackson’ by John Simm, a biography.†I stopped looking at the books, because my class was leaving. “I’ll see ya around, Ms. Roberts!†I said. I walked quickly into my class’s line. It had been 2 hours since I had done the essay. Just 3 more hours to go until I am free, I thought as we climbed the stairs. They looked like prison stairs. Metal, with white brick walls, no windows, no light.
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Now continuing… Pantagruel’s Ring!!
Marcus finished his breakfast, eating the bland eggs without further comment, and walked out of the door.
The square, so empty the previous night, was a riot of sound and color. A troop of gnomes, wearing falchions and carrying a heavy chest between them, barged through the center of the crowd, armor clinking. An affable, toothless human roasted sausages over a grill heated by the molten-metal skin of a juvenile salamander. An elf wearing the red jacket of a courier sprinted past the inn, ducking around and under passersby when necessary.
Marcus avoided the thickest areas of the throng, skirting the buildings until he reached the main road. He attracted a few unpleasant stares, and he was sure at least one of the elbows in his ribs hadn’t been entirely accidental. He was beginning to see what Saraswati meant – the attitude toward Dark creatures in Wunsaponna was definitely hostile. He was relieved when he finally left Crossroads behind and stepped onto the Westward Road.
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74–Nicely written. I might suggest making the dialogue a bit less stiff, but on the whole it flows very nicely.
75–Hooray! Nice comeback. I’ve always enjoyed the imagination you put into this, it’s really good.
More Trystan Evander (continued from post 69)
Contrary to what I would expect, they were happy, too; even once they’d passed, I could still hear their merry chatter echoing down the hall.
Bianca caught me watching them. “Don’t worry about them,†she said, taking my fixation for fear. “The School keeps them under control. I don’t know why they’re here, really–our tuition finances Jefferson now.â€
“Why are they here, then? How did we get put with them?â€
She sniffed, looking disgruntled. “Without them, the state wouldn’t force the school security to be state-of-the-art. And then we wouldn’t be here, either.â€
I went back to my food without comment. Such an odd situation—if there were no delinquents, we wouldn’t need the security. But because they were here, we were safe, imprisoned together.
After the meal, I excused myself and walked back to the dormitories alone, leaving Bianca to say what she would about me behind my back. I wasn’t overly-concerned about making or keeping friends in this place; I was a solitary creature, and if everyone was more interested in my money or beauty than in me—I could manage better on my own.
Once in my dorm, I undressed and slipped between the violet satin sheets, pulling off enough quilts and comforters to make up another bed. I sighed and looked up at the canopy above me; for all my talk of independence, beneath it all, I was lonely. My mother had died when I was twelve, about the time of the Ahriman coup; my father, embroiled in business and politics as he was, rarely spoke to me as a father should to his daughter. To him, I was the future, his business partner and later replacement.
And as for my so-called childhood friends…Bianca was only the start of the sorts of children I’d grown up with. Most found my interest in old movies only faintly understandable, and my love for antique books completely inexplicable. I’d grown up cocooned in the books I so loved, surrounded by the only things that didn’t call me a freak in an otherwise respectable trillionaire family…
I closed my eyes, shutting out the memories. That was enough for one night. I sighed, and turned out the light.
The next morning, I woke early and got dressed quickly. I thought ruefully of all the fine clothes I’d brought—they were useless here, where a uniform was required. Although the pleated skirt and navy sweater did suit me…but then, most clothes did.
I brushed my thick auburn hair slowly, taking my time to work out the kinks and tangles. My hair was my best feature; it fell softly about my shoulders, complementing my naturally pale skin and green eyes. I suppose that was the Irish of my mother coming out in me; I certainly hadn’t inherited any of my father’s looks, just his icy silences and imposing height.
I met Bianca in the hallway, and we went to the dining hall once again, with her chattering about the latest gossip. I gathered that her friends liked me very much (her jealous overtones did not go by unnoticed) but that they thought me quiet. So be it; I would rather be called odd than some of the names other girls were called here.
Breakfast was a passable imitation of a mushroom-and-olive omelet; after downing it with a swig of synthetic orange juice, I hurried to my first class: Chemistry. The sandy-haired boy–Chase was his name–wished me luck on the way out.
Walking down the hallways of Jefferson School was a strange experience. Clumps of delinquents and wealthy children floated down the corridors to their destinations, talking and laughing; yet in the five minutes I roamed the hallways, searching for my class, I did not see a single exchange between the two groups. Not a glance or word was spoken by either side. It was as if they were invisible to each other.
Even inside the Chemistry class, the room was segregated, with my kind on one side, delinquents on the other. The teacher, Mr. Robbins, sat me dead center, front row, so that I was right on the line between the two groups. As the bell rang and class started, I sighed, sat up straight, and tried very hard to look neither right nor left.
Comments on this or the last post? I need some critiques. Thanks!
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76- Nthanda- Ooh, intriguing. Have you posted the rest of it anywhere?
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77–yep, on the past BiP thread, here:
https://musefanpage.com/blog/?p=1381#comments
Post 13 has a basic synopsis, although I’ve changed it a bit since then. 238, 250, and 281 are the first bits of what I’ve posted here.
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Kyrra Nyx…
Best. Name. Ever.
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79- Olivia Park. I like the name.
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79–Isn’t it, though? I was so happy when I found those names. And it looks awesome when you write it by hand, with all the y’s.
80–That’s a good one. Where’s it from?
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Yet another story of my sister’s. This is the best part. It’s not finished yet, but I’d think you’ll like it. ^-^
They paused at the edge of the forest. Darion gazed out at the field filled Voldemort’s camp. “This is where I must leave you now.†He looked back at them, and his green eyes found Ginny’s brown ones. She felt something wash over her, emotion that she hadn’t felt in some time. “Stay hidden. I will provide you with some enchantments to help you not be noticed.†He raised an arm towards them and mumbled under his breath. A chilled wind raced over Ginny, but then the feeling passed. Darion took a step away, but then Ginny called out quickly, “Darion, wait!†She had a dreadful sense of foreboding, that this would be the last time she saw him.
He turned, and she opened her mouth but quite forgot what she was going to say. His voice cracked as he said “I – I must go.†Then, with a desperate longing clawing at her heart, and though she didn’t know what possessed her, Ginny stepped forward, put her hands on his shoulders, pulled him towards her, and kissed him hard, on the mouth. Darion’s eyes widened in surprised. It was not an innocent kiss. It was a blazing, searing kiss, full of passion and life. At first, he didn’t know what to make of it, but then, remembering this self-same pair of lips on his all those years ago, he fell into it, kissed back, and lost himself completely within it. Ginny, slightly surprised at the speed with which he kissed back, found herself thinking that these lips were very familiar. Too familiar. It was almost as if Darion had kissed her before. But when…?
Then, quite suddenly, he pulled away. Darion reached beneath his robes and pulled out something with his fist around it. It was attached to a long, golden chain that was around his neck. Darion carefully took off the necklace and pressed it into her palm, and at the same time wound her fingers around it so finny couldn’t see what was in her hand. His breath was ragged from the intensity of their kiss, as she spoke to her. “It is highly unusual for a seeker to catch two snitches in the same hand, and even more so that they turn out to be the same snitch. You however, have mastered the art.†there was a small, sad smile on his face. “I love you Ginny Weasley, I always have, I always will. As both of me.â€
And then, Darion stepped back out onto the field, a new purpose in his step. He had been wanting to say those words fro such a long time, it was a relief to finally get the truth off his chest. Ahh, the truth. What a golden thing! But Darion had somehow gotten his wish. He had kissed Ginny Weasley one last time before he had to die. And she deserved to know how he felt about her before he left forever. He strode purposefully onward to his arch-enemy’s camp, not once glancing back, lest he give away the girls’ location.
Hermione broke out of her shock. “Wow, Gin.â€
Wow, indeed. mused Ginny, a fingertip unconsciously tracing where on her lips Darion’s had been. She followed his form with her eyes as he walked away fro them. “Why do I have to fall in love with stupid, noble prats of men?†Ginny moaned.
“Darion is doin exactly the sort of thing Harry did before he disappeared and we went to the founders.†Hermione thought out loud for Ginny’s benefit. “Maybe it’s you that make them be stupid? Because the only person this self-sacrificing I’ve ever met was Harry.â€
“No, that was just Harry’s personality.â€
“What did he give to you anyway?†asked Hermione, pointing to Ginny’s clenched fist, “It looked like something really important to him.â€
Ginny slowly opened her hand, almost scared of what it would reveal. It was the necklace Ginny had given Harry on his seventeenth. Attached to the golden chain, the golden snitch sill fluttered slightly. Both Hermione and Ginny gasped.
“What, what was it he said about you and the snitches?†asked Hermione, shocked.
“‘It is highly unusual for a seeker to catch two snitches in the same hand, and even more so that they turn out to be the same snitch.’†Ginny recited slowly, “’You however, have mastered the art.’†her voice wavered. “’I love you Ginny Weasley, I always have, I always will. As both of me.’â€
“You don’t suppose –“
But Hermione was cut of by Ginny. “Look, Darion has reached Tom’s camp!â€
Sure enough, Darion had attracted Voldemort’s attention. His magic was glowing green outside him. The girls watched as he stood there for a moment, then pulled the magic back inside him. He continued to stare at the Dark Lord calmly, sadly, with something like a cross between a smile and a frown on his face.
A howl and a gibber of dismay went up from the Death Eaters and the other creatures in Voldemort’s service when they first saw Darion Elddir striding towards them, and for a moment even Voldemort himself seemed to be struck with fear, at the aura of power emanating from Darion. Then he recovered himself and gave a high, cold, unnatural laugh.
“The fool!†he hissed, “The fool has come. Bind him.â€
Ginny and Hermione held their breaths waiting for Darion’s spell or drawing of his knives upon his enemies. But it never came. Darion just stood there, calmly meeting Voldemort’s eyes. Four hags, grinning and leering, yet also (at first) hanging back and half afraid of what they had to do, had approached him. All the Death Eaters knew that if that green glow was released, it would kill anything it touched. But Voldemort had no such cares or concerns. “Bind him, weak ones!†repeated the Dark Lord. The hags darted forward and shrieked in triumph when they found he made no resistance at all. The others – evil dwarfs and apes – rushed in to help them, and between them they drug Darion Elddir in front of Voldemort and tied his feet and hands together, shouting and cheering as if they had done something brave, though had the youth chosen, one of those palms could have been the death of them all. But Darion made no noise, even when the enemies, straining and tugging, pulled the cords so tight that they cut into his flesh. Then they began to levitate him up onto the platform on which Voldemort was standing.
“Stop!†whispered Voldemort, malicious pleasure on his face. “I have never liked his hair like that; long. Let us get him a proper haircut.â€
Another roar of laughter, mean and cruel, went up from his followers. Fenrir Greyback bared his teeth in what was obviously supposed to be a smile and walked over to the bound Darion. Darion stared up at Remus’s killer with deep hate in his eyes. But still he did not move. Someone handed Greyback a pair of shears while the werewolf leered at him. Greyback cut the band holding Darion’s long hair and it fanned along his face. Snip-snip went the blades and raven black hair began to fall to the ground. Darion could smell the stench wafting from the Death Eater, dried blood and rotting flesh. The smell alone made him want to puke. When he was finished, Greyback stepped away and the girls from their hiding place could see Darion in a traditional men’s cut. They gasped in unison. The enemy also saw the difference. They hushed. Whispers broke out in the crowd.
“Is that…?â€
“No, it can’t be.â€
“I thought he was dead.â€
“What the…?â€
Someone, Ginny and Hermione couldn’t see who, thrust Darion on his knees and yanked his head back with unneeded force. In the near silence, everyone heard the clatter as something fell from Darion’s robes to land at Voldemort’s feet. Voldemort bent over slowly and picked up a pair of circular, wire-rimmed glasses. One on the lenses was cracked down the middle, and the frame was slightly bent. Voldemort stared down at the glasses fro an indeterminate amount of time, his expression unreadable. Then a small smile appeared on his face, and Voldemort took out his wand and gently tapped the glasses. The frames unbent themselves and the lens sealed up again. Voldemort got down on one knee, and gently pushed the glasses on Darion’s nose. His expression was thoughtful as he brush the bangs aside on his captive’s face and searched amid all the scars on the right side of Darion’s face for one particular one on his forehead.
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SFTDP.
81- A girl who I know/knew. Her real name is really something in Korean.
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~~~
The air grew hot and muggy as he walked on, and soon Marcus was perspiring beneath his dark cloak. He unfastened it and slung it over his arm, resolving to find some lighter clothes as soon as possible. Black might look good, but it was far from practical outside the shadowy heart of Deepforest.
Sara continued sleeping. Even when Marcus pulled his cloak out from under her talons, she shifted her weight, grumbled and fell quiet again. I suppose it’s a good thing she can sleep so deeply in the circumstances, he thought. I’m going to be traveling a lot during the day.
He’d only been walking half an hour before he heard hoofbeats behind him. He turned around and spotted a small, dark shape steadily approaching on a side path – one of the forks that led farther north, probably. The Westward Road branched like a river delta, leading to all parts of Deepforest. Although if he thought about it like that, it was really more the Eastward Road, as the creatures of Light called it. Funny, how the same thing could be seen as so dissimilar from a different angle…
“Curse you, let me go!! You’ll pay for what you did to Szarraxan, I swear!”
“Rest easy, love, you’ve obviously been enchanted. They do that, you know, one look in those great green gem-eyes of theirs and you’re captivated. Nasty, vicious things… Well, it came to a deserved end on the point of my sword, and now we can live happily ever after… as soon as your father and I have agreed on a dowry, of course. Half the kingdom’s standard in such cases, isn’t it?”
“You want land? You’re welcome to it. I’ll have you tossed into the cesspit when we return, you drunken, delusional, murdering son of a weretoad!”
Marcus squinted. The shape was a horse, a horse with two riders embroiled in an argument. One of them was belaboring the other with a helmet.
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When I was about ten years old, I wrote a few stories that were the literary equivalent of the “Tyrannosaurus in F-14s!” game from Calvin and Hobbes. Time travelers, super technology, psychic powers, ancient magic and absolutely no continuity between them except the main characters. But now I’ve rehabilitated those characters and I’m going to try and bring them back.
What if you discovered that you could see ghosts?
What if you weren’t the only one who could?
What if they recruited you into a secret organization?
What if you were sent on dangerous missions around the world?
You’d be Stephanie Stone.
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The actual story, a crossover with the show Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego, begins here:
If you’ve got to make an important decision, you might as well make it next to a grizzly bear.
The Hall of North American Mammals was relatively empty that afternoon, perfect for an off-duty camp councilor.In fact, the whole Museum of Natural History has a quality that makes you almost forget New York is outside. But even though I was off-duty, I could still hear the voice of my boss, Dr. Dryson in my head.
“We need a new trip for our Young Explorers camp ASAP, Stephanie. The Board of Directors just loved the publicity we got from the last one.” He had told me, earlier.
“But what could possibly top that last one to Turkey?” I’d asked.
“I don’t know, think of something!” Dryson had shouted, shooing me out. How a grouchy guy like him ever got to be Curator of Earth and Space, I’ll never know.
I hadn’t been able to think of anything then, and, as I sat under the grizzly bear diorama, I still couldn’t think of any ideas for trips.
It was almost relieving to feel a familiar vibration in my jeans pocket. Looking around to make sure nobody was watching, I removed a slim white case from my pocket, pulled out the stylus, and turned it on. Anybody walking by would assume I was a stupid kid and the case was a portable video game. But it was not a video game, but something far, far more.
All agents of The Agency were issued minicomputers such as the one I held in my hand. Capable of surfing the web, communicating with others and translating hundreds of languages, the minicomp, as I called it, was a masterpiece of programing.
Upon turning the minicomp on, the face of Sandy, my supervising agent and the mimicomp’s designer, appeared on the top screen.
“Hey, Sandy, what’s up?” I whispered.
“I’ve got some news that I think you’ll enjoy.” He said, in his British accent. “As part of The Agency’s crosstraining program, I’ve arranged for you to accompany agents from the law-enforcement organization ACME on a mission.”
“ACME?” I asked, in shock. From what I’d read in newspaper headlines, ACME agents focused on capturing high-profile international criminals like Carmen Sandiego. And Sandy wanted me to team up with them?
“Flamabulatious!”
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Comments?
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“You need to meet them at United Nations Plaza in 45 minutes, near the statue that looks like a gun bent into a knot. One of the agents will ask you ‘Have you seen my dog?’, to which you must reply ‘A little brown dog?'” Sandy informed me.
“No problem, I’m off duty. I’ll catch a bus.”
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I’ll have more of the Stephanie Stone/Carmen Sandiego crossover soon.
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An interesting concept. I like it so far.
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New story (Hooray!)
Detective Ace Nicholson walked down the dim alley, his measured footsteps echoing off the dingy walls. The rain poured down in stinging droplets, but he ignored them; his wide-brimmed fedora and trenchcoat staved off the worst of the moisture.
A figure stood at the end of the alley. In spite of the shadows, Ace could see that it was distinctly feminine, and somehow familiar…
He stopped. “Marguerite,†he said. “I shoulda known it was you.â€
The woman stepped forward. She was dressed in a stunning red evening gown despite the rain; it accented the shining black hair that waved across her face. “Yes, Ace,†she said. “You should have known.†She pulled out a gun. “You know, darling,†she said, stepping closer. “I just hate to do this to you. But when EVIL gives the word…â€
“ACME gives the answer!†said Ace, drawing his trusty Webley-Fosbury. Both guns blazed, the sound ricocheting off the narrow walls…
“Bernhard. Bernhard!â€
Hector Bernhard started at the sound of his name, sloshing coffee across the papers littering his desk. Captain Lemont himself was standing in front of him, not in the best of moods.
“Daydreaming again, eh? You’re on a thin line as it is, Bernhard. Keep falling asleep at the desk and you’ll be off the force.â€
Hector sat up a little straighter. As much as he hated being a petty officer, he could not afford to lose his job.
“I’m giving you your last chance, Bernhard. I’ve got an assignment here for you. Do it right and we’ll see about keeping you on the force.†He tossed a piece of paper on the desk.
Illegal human genetic experiments, it read. Obtain warrant and investigate. An address followed.
Hector gaped. “B-but this is detective work! I’m just a petty enforcer!â€
“Aren’t you always blathering on about wanting to be a detective?†said Lemont with a nasty glint in his eye. “Do it or you’re fired.†And he walked away.
Hector stood up and pulled on his jacket with a heavy heart. Human genetic experiments, he thought. Why do I always get stuck with these assignments?
But of course he knew why. Since his arrival at the force, Lemont had born a special grudge against Hector; he regarded him as little better than an idiot. Ironically, Hector felt much the same way about his superior. He sighed, stuck his gun in his holster, and lumbered off to the warrants department.
His warrant was waiting for him—a small stroke of good luck—and he stuffed it in his jacket pocket before escaping out a side door. One stuffy elevator ride later, he was walking free out the front doors of the police station.
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I like yours, too.
Here’s the next installment, which ends at the clue. Feel free to guess the answer:
Two men in suits walked by, speaking what sounded like Hindi. I kept on the lookout for the ACME agents, not that I had any idea what they might look like. A security guard looked at me strangely. Loitering in UN Plaza wasn’t exactly normal behavior.
A red-haired woman who looked about eighteen years old tapped the guard on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from me. She removed a badge from her denim jacket and showed it to the guard, who let her through the checkpoint without even having to go through the metal detector.
“She must be a big shot, it seems.” I muttered.
A blond boy who looked around fifteen followed her through.
The woman looked around, as if searching for somebody in particular. She approached the statue and looked at me.
“Have you seen my dog?” She asked, in a California accent.
That’s her! She’s the agent! Cake, what were those code words again…
“A… a… little brown dog?” I stuttered.
“Glad you made it. I’m Ivy, and this is my little bro, Zack.” she said, gesturing to the boy.
“I’m Stephanie, but my friends all call me Steph.” I answered, following Ivy as she walked towards one of the buildings. Another flash of the badge got us inside, and soon we were walking down a long hallway decorated with a photomosaic depicting alternative energy sources.
Zack stopped at a door and pulled out a key card, which he swiped through the scanner, causing a small green light to appear. He twisted the handle and led us into what looked like a conference room at my school.
Except that it was in the United Nations building and required two security checkpoints and a key card to enter.
Ivy shut the door behind us.
“This room is soundproof, we can speak freely now.”
“So, you guys are really ACME detectives? Awesome! I read about your organization in the paper all the time!” I blurted out, then realized that I should probably be acting more professional.
“It has its benefits. Travel the world, chase bad guys…” Zack answered.
All of a sudden, a large glowing pink screen popped up in the air in front of us, bearing the holographic image of a man with wild, Elvis-like blond hair.
I jumped about two feet in the air.
“Sooooo… you’re Zack and Ivy’s new partner? Glad to have you here at ACME! I’m The Chief, sorry if I scared you.” The hologram said. It would be a very great understatement to say that he was perky.
“No, I was just surprised.” I answered, dusting myself off and trying to regain my professionalism. I didn’t want to appear wimpy in front of Zack and Ivy’s boss. “Very nice AI, by the w-”
“Good, because I’ve got big news! Last night, at a California airfield, a mysterious crook got away with the blueprints for an experimental scramjet!” The Chief cut me off.
“What’s a scramjet, Cheif?” Zack asked.
“Scramjets, or supersonic combustion ramjets, are special aircraft that suck in some of the surrounding air and use it to ignite their fuel in flight. This means that they don’t have to carry extra igniting chemical. They can fly much faster than any other kind of aircraft. A sufficiently powerful one could even keep pace with certain rockets.”
“Sounds like a nice stocking-stuffer for Sandy.” I muttered.
“Did the thief leave any clues, Chief?” Ivy asked
“Actually, yes. Investigators found this note.”
The screen shifted to show a typed message:
“In the year of the eighteenth Games
Held in fair Edo.
The whole world marveled at
Its steel likeness in the Meadows.
A wish on the mirrored star
Will begin your quest.
But you’ll have to try the hardest
And be smarter than the rest.”
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More of the story and the answer to the riddle I posted on the morphing thread.
An ink stamp depicting a scorpion appeared beneath the bad poetry.
“I know that symbol- the Green Scorpions gang must be behind this!” I said, shuddering at the memory of how I’d nearly been left for dead in the Italian Alps the last time I’d run into them.
“Yes, we’ve faced them, too. I’m wondering why ‘Games’ and ‘Meadow’ are capitalized- could they mean the Olympic Games? Chief, where were the 18th Olympic Games held?” Ivy asked
“That would be Tokyo, Japan, grasshopper.” The Chief said, feigning a “sensei” voice.
“Of course, Tokyo used to be called Edo!” I said “NOW I remember. Stupid me.”
“That was back in- groovy, man- 1964.” The Chief added.
“So, if a likeness of the world is a globe, we’re looking for a steel globe that was built in 1964 in a meadow somewhere?” Zack said
“Not meadow, Meadows. It’s capitalized, like a name.” Ivy corrected him.
And that’s when it hit me:
“Meadows! Of course, Flushing Meadows- that’s where they had the 1964 World’s Fair! My mom tells me about it all the time when we drive by the Unisphere!” I shouted, and was met with blank stares from Zack and Ivy.
“The what?”
“Oh, I forgot… you guys aren’t New Yorkers. See, it’s this place in Queens…” I pulled out my mimicomp, turned it to the “Encyclopedia” Function, and typed in “Unisphere”.
Zack read the article over my shoulder:
“‘The largest replica of the world ever built, the Unisphere was the official symbol of the 1964-65 New York World’s Fair. Built by US steel, it still stands today in Flushing Meadows/Corona Park. All seven continents are depicted, and the three orbitals around the globe represent the flight paths of Yuri Gagarin- the first person in space- , John Glenn- the first American to orbit the Earth- and Telstar- the world’s first active communications satellite.'” As I scrolled down the page, my cursor went over the underlined word “Telstar”, triggering a pop-up picture of the satellite, a 2 1/2 foot ball covered in shinny solar panels.
“That’s it! The clue must be at the Unisphere! We’ll catch a cab to Queens!” Ivy said.
The first thing you notice when you walk up to the Unisphere is that it’s BIG. It’s one thing to read that the thing is 12 stories high, but walking it is a whole different story. We were approaching the fountain that the giant globe sat in the middle of. My mom had said that during the World’s Fair, this area had been the Main Mall, crammed with pavilions and people. She’d eaten her first Belgian waffle at the Fair, and loved them ever since.
Now, only the fountains, reflecting pool and a few sculptures remained.
We passed a bronze of a man holding a swirl of stars in one hand, with a cometlike object coming from his other hand.
“The Rocket Thrower.” I read, from the base.
“Very ’60s.” Zack said.
“Yeah, mom said the fair was dedicated to ‘Peace Through Understanding’. They had a lot of cool vintage Space Race stuff that’s at the Hall of Science now.”
“Hey, I see something at the fountain!” Ivy shouted, running towards the Unisphere. We followed, sprinting alongside the reflecting pool.
A metal cube rested on the fountain’s edge, about six inches square. It was weighing down another note. Ivy picked the note up and read it.
“Got questions?
Go ask ATLAS!
01001000-01001001-01000111-01000111-01010011.”
“Hey, that’s Binary Code, like computer programmers use.”
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More of the story begun in post 92.
One stuffy elevator ride later, he was walking free out the front doors of the police station.
It was a fine day, and the address in question was nearby, so Hector walked. It was a relief just to be out of the office and away from Lemont and the other officers; Hector had never been a particularly stellar member of the force. But he saw his job as a step towards his dream career: being a detective.
Ever since he was a little boy, Hector had dreamed of being a hotshot detective, hunting down criminals with cool and calculating skill. Just the thought made him narrow his eyes and set a crooked jaw; he looked suspiciously at a couple of schoolgirls skipping by, and stalked down the street, Ace Nicholson once again.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the address printed on the small sheet of paper. It was a fairly respectable-looking place, one of the houses built when the city was young; it was vaguely Victorian in style, with gingerbread trim and a high, thin turret off the eastern wing. The knocker was a raven’s head; it produced a satisfying thump when hit.
A few moments passed, but no one came to the door.
Hector frowned, his original panache subsiding. He peered in the windows edging the door, but it was dark inside. Glancing at his wrist watch, he grimaced; he didn’t fancy reporting back to Lamont so soon.
Stepping back from the house, he noticed that the small side gate leading to the back yard was open. Hesitantly, Hector stepped off the porch and made his way towards the small opening.
What he saw behind that gate made his jaw drop.
A young man stood behind the gate, looking at someone out of Hector’s view. He had longish blonde hair and blue eyes; at a signal from the unseen person, he took a deep breath—
And flew.
Up he soared, laughing with the pure joy of it, making gentle loops like a swallow until he was high above them, touching the clouds. He seemed to be flying with no mechanical aid; it was as if the wind had obligingly picked him up like a leaf and sent him spinning exuberantly upwards. He made one, two, three laps around the sky, and then finally floated down like a feather, landing gently on his own two feet once again.
Hector gaped, filled with awe and longing. He could not comprehend what his eyes were showing him. He was in the midst of gathering his scattered mind when a voice came from around the corner, out of sight:
“We’ve got a visitor, Professor.”
The flying boy’s head flashed towards the gate, his sky blue eyes at once vigilant and penetrating. Hector quivered, skewered by his gaze, until two figures appeared from around the corner.
The first of these was another young man with longish hair and blue eyes; but here the similarities ended between this new character and the flying boy. The stranger’s hair was black, and his eyes, while blue, were the color of ice, and just as hard and unforgiving. He had an air of sullen disinterest; it was as if he thought life too harsh to be taken any notice of. The boy stopped within a few feet of where Hector was standing, leaning casually against the fence and fixing him with his own ice-blue stare.
The second figure was, if possible, even stranger and more mysterious than the first. He was an old man, perhaps nearly eighty, his face a spiderweb of wrinkles and lines. His hair was as thin as candy floss, and stuck out every which way, as if he’d stuck his finger in an electical socket; taking in his somewhat mad appearance, Hector wondered if he hadn’t done just that. But while the man’s outward visage was one of old age, the fervor shining from his weak grey eyes was that of a much younger man; the energy exuded from his features was almost frightening. Hector fell back a step.
“Who is he?” said this man. He seemed to be directing the question to the black-haired boy, rather than Hector, as if they were standing on opposite sides of a thick glass wall.
“A policeman,” replied the boy. “Low-level. Not important or well-liked.”
“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Hector indignantly, but the two strange men paid him no attention. The blonde-haired boy had joined them now, and was staring at Hector unabashedly.
The brooding boy reached out a hand, as if feeling the temperature of the air around Hector. “He’s confused,” he said. He smiled, and the expression sent a chill down the policeman’s spine; he could not imagine a vampire having a more heartless grin.
“And now he’s afraid.”
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95- Oooh, cool!
The answer to the second clue:.
“Computer programmers, eh?” I pulled out my minicomp and set it to contact Sandy. The image showed him working on a circuit board with a tiny screwdriver.
“What’s up, Steph?” He asked, looking up.
“Can you translate some binary code for us?”
“Easy as pie. Just tell me the numbers.” Zack read them off while Ivy and I discussed what “ATLAS” might refer to. “Well, there’s the Atlas mountains in north Africa, but that’d be way too big an area to search- they’re fifteen hundred miles long!” Ivy said
“And then there’s that statue of the Titan Atlas at Rockerfeller Center.” I added.
“But it’s in all caps, like an acronym.” she reminded me.
“Come to think of it, ATLAS in all caps does sort of ring a bell…” I racked my brain, trying to remember where I’d heard of it. Something with science? That sounded right, but what? Sandy broke me out of my thoughts.
“Okay, guys, the letters, when translated from binary code, are capital “H, I, G, another G, and S. Higgs.” He said. “That’s it! Of course! Thanks!” Ivy and I shouted at the same time.
The Chief popped up.
“What’s it? Oooh, tell me, tell me, I love eureka moments!” a large cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.
“The Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland! It’s the biggest science experiment in the world. They’re looking for a particle called the Higgs Boson that gives all other particles mass and one of the detectors is called ATLAS! I read about it in National Geographic!” I told him, the memory flooding back.
“Great! Then all we have to do is go to there and catch those dorfbud Green Scorpions!” Zack said
“Uh, not great. It’s in Switzerland, remember. And it’s not like WE can just take a scramjet.” I said.
“Oh, we forgot! You’re not familiar with the C-5 corridor. ACME agents use a special wormhole system to travel fast.” Ivy explained. “Chief, C-5 us to Switzerland!”
An oval filled with bright blue light opened in front of us. Zack and Ivy jumped into it.
I spent a few moments deciding whether or not to follow. I had agreed to help Zack and Ivy with their mission, no matter what…
“Well, here goes nothing!” I shouted, jumping into the portal and bracing myself…
WHAM!
I felt like I was tied to the front of a speeding train, or maybe inside of a live wire. Wind whipped around me and electricity crackled. A tremendous force was pushing at my back.
All around me was the bright blue light, pulsing crazily like… well, like my heart was! I could just make out images rushing by. And from somewhere above me, I could hear The Chief talking:
“You’re going from New York, New York to Geneva, Switzerland, a popular place to sign peace treaties, and the home of the main laboratories of the European Organization for Nuclear Research, also known as CERN. One of our experts will be there to meet you. Be sure to pick me up some Swiss chocolate while you’re there, thanks!”
Just as I was getting oriented in the C-5, I suddenly felt it stop short as I was thrown, blinking, into sunshine. Zack, Ivy and myself landed hard on a lawn that seemed very well maintained.
“We got lucky this time, Steph- the C-5 landed us where we wanted to go and not in the sewers or something.” Zack said
“The sewers? Does that happen a lot?” Whatever composure I’d regained suddenly slipped away.
“Define ‘often.'” he said.
“Are you the ACME detectives?” a voice asked from behind us. We turned to see a skinny blond guy with yellowish-brown eyes. “I’m Kip Sune, The Chief told me you guys needed to check out the detectors. I’m glad to see you arrived here so soon.”
“Well, we didn’t want to conCERN you or anything.” Zack said.
“Gee, never heard that one before.” Kip rolled his eyes and led us away.
After donning hard-hats, we headed underground, into the tunnel that actually held the accelerator.
“So, how exactly does this thing work again?” I asked
“We send two streams of subatomic particles at each other at nearly the speed of light. When they collide, we get a brief glimpse of what’s inside. Of course, the those things don’t last nearly long enough for human eyes to observe them, which is why we have detectors like ATLAS.” Kip explained.
“Sounds like the C-5.” I muttered. “Except for the collision part.”
“So, stuff just goes shooting through here and you record the results?” Zack asked
“Well, we aren’t colliding anything right now, thanks to a problem with some magnets, but we will be in a few months. Waiting a few months isn’t really much- just building the LHC took fourteen years.”
We walked along a balcony near ATLAS’ giant magnets. A red metal cabinet with windows in the front was nearby. I could see “In case of emergency” written on the glass in French and English.
“Something’s in there!” Zack said “It looks like another metal cube!”
We opened the cabinet and pulled the cube out from where it had been, next to a fire extinguisher. The Green Scorpions symbol was stamped on one side. Zack opened the top and pulled out an action figure and another typed note.
“Hey, this is Astro Boy, the anime robot superhero.” I said, examining the action figure. “He was the star of one of the first anime shows to air in the US. He’s got jets in his feet, superstrength…”
“Well, can he tell us what this clue means?
My big brother’s not afraid to climb the stairs.
He remembers to end with a bow.
He can hold you hand and run at six km.
The doctor will see you now.”
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Basics of a storyline anyone wants to adopt.
Basic Rules for Humans, Shadows, and Reflections.
@ Humans always come first in the line of Shadows and Reflections.
@ Humans get a Shadow one day after they’re born.
@ Humans get a Reflection one and a half days after they’re born.
@ Humans are in the delicate space between Shadows (Bad) and Reflections (Good).
@I f a Human becomes too bad, the Shadow in them takes over, and the Human is doomed to be a faceless Shadow until a Relection can banish the Shadow from the body of the Human.
@ Reflections can only inhabit a Human body if the Human is aware of the reality of Shadows and Reflections and gives permission for the Reflection to take over. When a Reflection takes over, the Human turns into a Relection, existing only when the newly Human Relection looks at a reflective surface. Reflections usually do not choose to look in a mirror, as the Human inside it always looks very sad.
@ Only Relfections can vanquish a Shadow that has taken over, and only by touching that Shadow with ink. Vanquishing a Shadow drains the Reflection’s strength very quickly and if the Shadow is allowed to exist for too long, it can sometimes kill the Reflection and the Human that gave it’s normal life away.
@ Reflections detect matieral Shadows by the smell of it.
@ Reflections appear to have Shadows to normal Human eyes, but in reality, they do not. It is against the nature of Reflections to have a Shadow, as Shadows and Reflections are the very opposite of each other.
@ Shadows who have taken over appear to have Reflections to normal Human eyes. See above.
@ A Reflection who turns evil will disappear into thin air, and the Human that gave up its normal life will be Human again, completely unaware to the existence of Shadows and Reflection. Those Humans (they are very rare) are very vulnerable to a Shadow taking over their body, without them having to go bad. The Shadow just needs to gather enough strength.
@ If a matieral Reflection touches a mirror, it will be able to communicate with the human who’s body it occupies.
There. My, that was long. I’d like to see where this goes. *sits back in lawn chair, sips lemonade, and waits*
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Oops, I forgot to add one-
@ If a Human willingly gives up it’s matieral form to a Shadow, the Shadow feels like it’s bursting into flames. The Reflection of the Human feels the same way. After three days of fire, the Human, Shadow, and Reflection all morph together into a very powerful being. This being can destroy Humans, Shadows, adn Reflections if it chooses to. These beings do not have to be good or bad- they can choose. They can coexist with both Shadows and Reflections. Currently, there is only one in existence.
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97, 98–Hey, that sound pretty cool. Is the one “destroyer” character known by the other characters to be a destroyer?
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99- It’s not really a story, perchance, but just something I thought up. The Shadow/Human/Reflection is very new, barely anyone knows about en. The people who do- Shadows (they are plentiful) refer to en as the Tool, Humans are oblivious, and Reflections call en the Hybrid. You can adopt it, though. I’m not much a writer, myself. I’m a singer, a clarinetist, and an actress. Iprefer the fine arts of the theater.
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100–Ha, I could say the same thing about movies. I write solely for the purpose of someday turning my stories into films.
But maybe I’ll take a crack at it…:)
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101- YAY! But please give me a little credit, and don’t over embellish the basic rules of it. This story, in my mind, has basically no plot.
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Oh, of course, it’s your idea after all. And hey, this is how all stories begin, with the tiniest spark of an idea. The author is the bellows that fans the spark into flame.
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103- That’s why you’re a writer and I’m not. My problem with writing is that I don’t write; I talk. My stories cannot be written down. It’s just me by myself, my head whirring, and me talking. My good plotlines- completely dialogue. XP
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104–Well, dialogue is very important to a story. At least you’ve got voice.
New story Cont. (I’ll get to work on Zinc’s idea eventually)
“And now he’s afraid.”
Instinctively, Hector laid a hand on the gun in at his hip. The black-haired boy immediately stood up and grew intense; it was as if he was daring him to draw the weapon.
“Leave him, Number Four,†warned the old man; his voice brought to mind an old tree, dry and creaking. He fixed Hector with his gaze and finally seemed to direct his question towards him. “How rude we’re being,†he said. “How may I be of assistance?â€
Nonplussed, Hector said rather brusquely, “Are you the owner of this house?â€
“I am,†came the calm answer.
“And—er—what is your name?â€
“Doctor Verner Vagt. May I ask what reason you have for spying on me from behind my garden fence?â€
Bernard showed him the warrant.
The Doctor let out a barking laugh. “Illegal human genetic experiments! How trite! They really are funny down there at the police station.†He continued cackling to himself for a few moments; the two boys behind him remained impassive, although Hector thought he caught a slight darkening in the face of the second boy–“Number Four”. Finally, Doctor Vagt’s laughter subsided, and he gestured to Hector. “Come,†he said, turning back towards the house. “If you’ve got a warrant, you’d best come inside.â€
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105- And I’d like to see what you do with it. *sets up lawn chair* *sits* watches with interest* *sips kiwi limeade*
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Comments on my story?
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107–You’ve got a good story line going, and lively characters. My only criticism is that you tend to explain things quite a bit–for exampe the Large Hadron Collider, you spent a paragraph or so just desribing the science behind it. You obviously love science, which by all means isn’t a bad thing–it just tends to make your story read like a science program rather than an adventure. This may be what you prefer, though, so ignore me if that’s the case It’s always better to stick with what you like.
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108- That’s sort of how the Carmen Sandiego TV show actually was, only with geography.
“Did Astro Boy have an older brother on the show?” Ivy asked me.
“No… he had a “sister” robot named Uran and a younger brother named Cobalt, but I don’t remember any big brother.” I reopened my minicomp and looked up “Astro Boy” in the encyclopedia. I read the article to Zack and Ivy.
“‘Astro Boy (Japanese title: Mighty Atom) is a manga series begun in 1952 by Doctor Osamu Tezuka. This comic ran for sixteen years and inspired an animated series that was later shown in the US. Astro Boy led to a surge in the popularity of robots in Japan and many of today’s roboticists name the show as their inspiration, including the creators of Honda’s ASIMO.”” The name “ASIMO” was underlined, indicating that there was some sort of media attached. I rolled my cursor over it. After all, if I was looking for a robot, I might as well investigated every available robot.
A video clip popped up, showing a humanoid robot that looked like a four-foot-tall spaceman with a backpack.
“ASIMO, or Advanced Step in Innovative MObility is a fully mobile, walking humanoid robot that was introduced by Honda in 2000, with more advanced versions debuting in 2002 and 2005. The 46 ASIMO units now in existence are capable of climbing stairs, holding hands and communicating with people.” The voice-over said.
“Hey, ‘not afraid to climb the stairs’!” Zack said
“In Spring 2007, an ASIMO unit conducted a symphony orchestra in Detroit.” The video clip continued, showing the robot making conductor motions and bowing slightly to the audience.
“‘Always ends with a bow’! That settles it, we must be looking for an ASIMO.” I said “But which of the 46 is the one we want?”Another unit is currently serving as a receptionist at a Honda office in Saitama Province.”
“Then we’ll C-5 there!” Ivy said
“Oh, great, MORE C-5?” I moaned.
“Good luck finding the Higgs, Kip.” Zack said “By the way, what are the odds of an accident here giving somebody superpowers like-”
“Come on, bro, no time for silly questions, we’re burning daylight.” Ivy said, pulling his hand.
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109–True. Like I said, maybe you meant it that way.
Zinc–what if the Destroyer character was moody, dark, and churlish because he didn’t want to bear the responsiblity of his “power”, but is basically forced to? And what if most of the world has degraded into Shadow, and a band of still-humans find the Destroyer, and recognize that he’s the key to saving the world?
Just thoughts I had. Not sure where the Reflections would come into all this…maybe they are holed up somewhere, waiting out the storm, and the humans are trying to find their hiding place when they stumble across Destroyer?
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110- Hehe, can you say Bunny Apocalypse? Sorry. And what if the Shadows destroyed any mirrors and ink they could find. But I think all the Humans but one become Reflections. That human didn’t become a Relection because he didn’t think it was worth it, but isn’t bad enough to become a Shadow. Also, I was mulling over this- what if there can be only one Hybrid at a time? The new one gets one month to train against the old one, and then they fight. Whoever destroys the other wins, and gets to continue. Also- Hybrids age very slowly.
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A flash of Zack’s badge got us into the building, where the robot stood just inside.
“It’s kind of cute for something with no face.” Ivy said. She was right. The ASIMO unit just had a black plastic visor containing sensors. “It is an it, isn’t it? Or is it a he? Asimo sounds kind of like a guy’s name.”
As much fun as discussing the genders of robots and appropriate pronouns might have been, I approached the robot slowly and waved.
“Hello.” I said.
“Hello. Welcome to Honda. What can I do for you today?” ASIMO said, in a voice that was, well… robotic, and waving back.
Awesome, I’m having a conversation with a robot! Man, I love the New Century!
“We’re from ACME. Do you have a message for us?” I asked, slowly.
After a few seconds, ASIMO gave a reply.
“Yes, I have a message:
Sparrowhawks on the sea floor.
Fifteen hundred down or more
Lighter than-air before the storm
Near where a Great White dormed.”
“Geez! Is it really so hard for the Green Scorpions to write poetry that’s actually GOOD?” Zack said.
“At least it’s better than The Chief’s.” Ivy commented.
The pink hologram popped up once again.
“Somebody say my name?” The Chief asked.
“Can you do a search for Great White Sharks in captivity?” I asked
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111–Ha, I have no idea what Bunny Apocalypse is about. Probably a good thing
I like the idea of Destroyer being “too good to fall, too bad to rise”–that would kind of fit with him being sullen and difficult. I also like him being the only one, and him aging slowly. What if he is found instead by a group of Reflections who have been hiding against the Shadows, and they take him in because they are so good? And then some of the Reflections start being elitist against him, saying that he is tearing the group apart (it would be ironic b/c really the rogue Reflections are hurting the group with their attitude), and there is a faction amongst the Reflections. Eventually their hate and envy for Destroyer’s humanity tears them apart, and they become Shadows. And then there’s a lovely big battle between the Shadows and the Reflections, with Destroyer at the center killing Shadows.
Again, more ideas. I start out these posts with nothing to say (really!) and then one idea leads to another…
Almost forgot! Why do Shadows want to destroy ink?
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113- Ink is the only thing that can destroy Shadows, and only Reflections and the hybrid can use it. If a Human spills some on a Shadow, nothing happens. BA actually is a pretty good read, if you have enough time. You don’t have to participate.
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K Zinc–1st bit of story!
Destroyer came to us on the first day of the Rains, in the year 3200 Fulcrimus. They say it was an omen, that the storms started on the day of his arrival; some even claim he brought the rain with him. But I was there on that fateful day, and I can tell you, he didn’t look like he could have brought so much as a pail of water.
He was dirty and half-dead, contrary to what the legends will tell you; and even more secret, he smelled strongly of the evil liquors of the Shadows. How he managed to find us, much less deposit himself practically on our front doorstep, still remains to be completely solved. He could barely walk when we pulled him upright and inside, out of the pouring rain.
However he came, we took him in and nursed him to health, according to our beliefs. We are the Most Good, the Reflections; we take in all, except the Shadows, of course. It is barely within our natures to refuse even these, the Most Evil.
Healing Destroyer was a long and arduous process. He was not receptive to either our tender administrations or our powerful technology; I heard him clearly say, upon one occasion, that he would prefer to die. Such utter despondency was totally foreign to us. Even when it became apparent that he was improving, if against his will, he remained sullen and taciturn, churlish even in the few words that left his mouth.
Let me know what you think!
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“G-g-Great w-w-White s-s-Sharks? W-where?” The Chief stuttered, looking around quickly in mock fear.
“The first time a Great White Shark survived in an aquarium was in 2004 at California’s Monterey Bay Aquarium- only 200 miles from ACME headquarters in San Fransisco.”
“Well, that certainly fits the end of the clue, but what about the other parts?” Zack asked
“Hmm… ‘lighter than air before the storm’ sounds like it could refer to a barometer.” I said “You know, dropping pressure and all that?”
“We can figure out the rest of the riddle in Monterey! Chief, C-5 us there now!”
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We popped out of the C-5 in front of a three-story-high wall of glass. Beyond it was clear water and huge towers of kelp that swayed in the current, greenish-brown leaves brushing up against the great window. Sunlight refracted into netlike patterns by the water played across our faces. For a while, we said nothing.
Finally, Zack asked, to nobody in particular:
“Is that the ocean out there?”
“Actually, no. It’s a tank with special generators to make a current.” A familiar voice said, from behind us. Could it be…?
I turned around to see a young Polynesian woman wearing a cap marked with the National Geographic symbol.
“Kiki! Kiki Doyen!” I exclaimed. Kiki was an oceanographer that my Young Explorers group had met on our trip to Turkey over Spring Break.
“Stephanie? What brings you here? Don’t you live in New York?”We’re here on ACME business, ma’am.” Ivy said, showing her badge.
Kiki did a double take.
“We’re looking for something in Monterey Bay, but we’re not really sure what it is, strange as that sounds. Can you help us?”
“I’ll try. I’ve been helping out a team that’s doing some mapping work out in the Marine Sanctuary, so I know a little.” Kiki said, smiling. I think she was still trying to get over the shock that I was a secret agent.
“Sanctuary? What’s the Sanctuary?” I asked
“The whole Bay is under government protection as it’s a unique ecosystem- kind of like a national park, only underwater.”
An underwater national park? Cool!
“Is there anything in the Sanctuary or aquarium related to barometers?” I asked
“Barometers? There’s probably a lot lying around, but none that are old or special that I can think of.”
Oops. There goes my theory.
“How about a sparrowhawk? Or something lighter than air?” Zack asked
“Now THAT rings a bell. Back in the 30’s, the Navy had an airship called the MACON- a blimp, that is- that carried its own fleet of five Sparrowhawk biplanes. It never saw any action, though, because it got caught in a storm and sunk in the Bay.”
“That must be where the next clue is! Can you give us the co-ordinates of the wreck site?” Ivy asked
“I can do more than that- I’ve got a few free hours, and there’s some boats reserved for Aquarium workers at the dock…”
Is Kiki awesome or what?
As our boat approached the site of the MACON’s wreck, I realized that my watch was still set to New York time. Back home, it was dark already. I wondered if I should change it to Pacific time, but realized the next hour might find me just about anywhere and decided against it.
Zack was watching the radar.
“Some boats in the area- one going pretty fast- and there’s a buoy up ahead.” He reported.
“A buoy? There isn’t one on the charts.” Kiki said, giving Ivy the wheel and pulling out binoculars to check.
“And yet, there it is. It looks very new.”
“Hey, where’s the wreck site? I don’t see anything.”
“It’s 1,500 feet down on the sea bed. We’ve mapped it with robot subs, as that’s much too deep for divers.” Kiki told us.
We drew up next to the mysterious buoy. It was shinny and new, and attached to the part that was above water was a plastic case with the Scorpion stamp!
“That’s a diver’s camera case. Tough as anything and watertight. Whatever’s in there, it’s owner wanted it to be safe.”
After some work, the case lay open on the deck before us. Ivy pulled out an envelope containing two pieces of paper and a bag full of red dirt. The first paper was a photo that showed an embroidered triangular patch with a picture of a space shuttle on it. The second had the typed message “Infra Depth- mix it up.”
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More of my story (not Zinc’s in 115)
“Come,†he said, turning back towards the house, “if you’ve got a warrant, you’d best come inside.â€
They entered through the back door, the Doctor leading, the two boys following Hector like body guards. The inside of the house was a curious mix of new and old; the walls were wood-paneled and covered in faded black and white prints, but nearly every room housed at least one flatscreen TV or computer monitor. Doctor Vagt led Hector to a sitting room with a long, low couch against one wall and two plush chairs in front of an enormous hearth. He gestured to one of the chairs, and Hector sat, sinking into the thick cushion.
As the Doctor sat in the opposite chair, there was a tapping of footsteps in the hall, and a girl entered from a door off to the side. She was pretty, perhaps of Asian descent, with shining black hair and a thin pointed face. She waited behind Hector’s chair for the Doctor to address her.
“Yes, Number Three?†he said finally, after pouring a cup of tea for himself.
“VI’s getting restless again,†said the girl. The Doctor’s face clouded over, and he banged his fist on the table.
“Why won’t she sleep?†he said angrily. “I’ve tried every sedative known to man, but she fights it off as soon as I can get it into her. Leave her, Three,†he said, standing, “I’ll come have a look. I think it’s high time she learned to respect me.â€
The girl named Number Three exited the room. “If you’ll come with me, sir,†said the Doctor to Hector, “I think perhaps you’ll have something to report back to your Captain.â€
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115- Pwnsome! I loves it!
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More of Zinc’s story:
My first contact with Destroyer came a few weeks after his arrival. I hadn’t seen him since that rainy day, but I’d heard the rumors: that he was on the brink of death, that he’d been saved, that he was improving. And now, that he was healed but not healed, sound in body but not in mind. His soul was sick, the healers said.
It is not in our natures to allow suffering; so when I, passing the infirmary one lonely night, heard cries escaping a tortured mouth, I immediately went inside, hoping to give aid.
Destroyer was in the last bed farthest to the wall. It was from him that the strangled cries were issuing; he was sleep-fearing, dreaming of horrors—something I’d heard of, but never seen in person.
I approached and stood at the side of his bed. Sick though he’d been, his body was long and powerful beneath the sterile white hospital sheets; I watched, fascinated, as the tendons in his neck tightened and relaxed. His face was alive with pain from the dream, but I was too captivated by his imperfect humanity to wake him.
Eventually, though, my healing nature overwhelmed me, and I placed a hand on his tensed shoulder.
Destroyer’s eyes snapped open, and he leapt towards my throat with terrifying speed, his wide hands completely encircling my neck. His face, so human before, was now like a beast’s: his eyes were a merciless black, and his mouth was open in a ferocious, jagged snarl. I stood, petrified, with his hand at my throat, waiting for the crush that was sure to come.
But then, unexpectedly, his touch relaxed, and the fire in his eyes died to a cold, flat black. “Sorry,†he said dully, and he laid himself back down on the bed. I watched him, still trembling.
He eyed me tiredly. “What do you want? Going to drug me to sleep again?†He proffered his bare arm at me wryly.
I gaped. “Do…you want me to?â€
He barked out a laugh and turned his back on me without answering. He seemed to have every intention of going back to sleep.
“Aren’t you afraid of the dreams?†I asked. I slapped a hand over my mouth almost as soon as the words left it—I hated to cause him pain. But he merely eyed me balefully over his shoulder.
“I’m not afraid of anything,†he said, and closed his eyes again. Without a word, I turned and left. There was nothing else I could say.
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120: You’re lucky. You can write well. *envy
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I’ll post the next part of the Stephanie Stone story soon, along with the solution to the latest riddle.
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Just then, The Chief popped up, and saw Ivy holding the bag full of dirt. Kiki did a double take.
“Doing some spring- er, summer- cleaning, detective?” He asked.
“It’s our next clue, Chief. Can you give us anagrams for ‘Infra Depth’?”
“Okay… we have PHAT FRIEND, FA NERD PITH, DRAFT HEP IN, DEAF NTH RIP, PATHFINDER, FART HID PEN-”
“Pathfinder? Now that sounds like the name of a spaceship! The clue must be at Cape Canaveral, in the Space Shuttle Pathfinder!” Zack said. “Man, that was the easiest riddle yet!”
“No, we did space last year in science class- the three space shuttles are Atlantis, Endeavour and Discovery- there’s not one called Pathfinder, at least that I know of. There was a Mars probe called Pathfinder back in ’97, though…” I said. Thank you, Earth Science.
“Either way, Chief, do a search for ‘Space Shuttle Pathfinder’.” Ivy said.
“Roger that, Major Tom!” He said, popping off.
“How much coffee did HE have today?” Kiki asked us.
“It’s complicated.” Zack told her. Before he could explain, the Chief was back with the results:
“Okay, gumshoes, Stephanie was correct before- the five shuttles that have flown in space are Columbia, Atlantis, Challenger, Discovery and Endeavour. BUT, back in the 70’s, when they were still building the shuttle fleet, two scale mock-ups were made that NEVER flew in space: Enterprise, which was used for atmospheric tests, and Pathfinder, which was used for ground testing.”
“Aha! That’s why I hadn’t heard of it! So where this model?” I asked.
“All right, all right, I’m getting to that! Pathfinder is on display at the US Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama.”
“Hey, that’s where Space Camp is!” Kiki said “My sister’s a councilor.”
I finally understood why Zack and Ivy complained about the C-5 as it spit us out onto the cement. Luckily, I landed on my stomach and not my face.
I looked up and gasped.
In front of us was the real deal- a floodlit space shuttle complete with boosters and orange fuel tank. The ends of the booster rockets alone were large enough to stand up in, and the white orbiter-part that carries the astronauts was the size of a bus.
It was BIG.
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And now, some action, as the story continues:.
The sound of somebody slapping a mosquito broke the moment.
“Alabama! Why’d the boss have to send us to some little place in the middle of nowhere in-” SLAP “-Alabama?” (What’s he have against Alabama?)
“Green Scorpion agents!” Ivy whispered to me. We crouched, to make ourselves less conspicuous. Two shadowy figures were standing by one of the concrete pillars holding up the Pathfinder display.
“And why’d we have to drop the clue off now and not weeks ago like the other ones? I got the creeps- those ACME agents could jump out at any minute and cook our-”
“Calm down, ACME’s not that smart. They’re probably going over Cape Kennedy with a fine-toothed comb right now.”
“Don’t bet on that!” Zack shouted, leaping out and running towards the goons. Ivy and I followed, our feet pounding the orange-ish concrete.
“Run, Frank! Don’t let ’em get your disk!” One of the Scorpions shouted, fleeing down a concrete path away from the shuttle display. Zack and Ivy were on his trail.
The one who must have been Frank turned sooner, heading for the large blue building to my right. A wall of glass windows faced the display area, and lights seemed to be on inside. A van with the Space Camp shuttle-and-US-flag logo was parked in the driveway near two glass doors. I barely had time to register how cool it looked before I was following Frank through the doors, into what looked like a cafeteria.
“What kind of idiots split up when they’re outnumbered?” I muttered to myself.
Meanwhile, Zack and Ivy had followed Henchman Not-Frank around the corner, and into the Rocket Park. Here, too, were floodlit displays, but the areas between them were dark and the crook could not make out any sign of his pursuers.
Blue metal supports held up one of the larger rockets (A Saturn IB, if he’d cared to read the plaque, but he hadn’t.) The crook ducked behind one to catch his breath. Sweat rolled down his cheek. Summer in the south is hot, even at night.
Not-Frank took out his disk to make sure it was still there.
“Ahh.” He sighed, the sound echoing in the eight silver engines over his head.
“Thanks!” Zack’s hand shot out from behind him and grabbed the mysterious disk.
“Come back with that!” Not-Frank shouted. He lunged at Zack and missed.
Back in the museum, I ran past a row of soda machines, a large window looking out on Rocket Park, and a full-scale model of the front of a space shuttle.
“I have GOT to come back and look at that!” I thought, as I raced past a store selling souvenirs and into the museum itself, which was mostly dark. A sleek simulator and a climbing wall were on my right, a space station module, black-and-white rocket, and several capsules were to my left.
Leave it to me to have to race though all the awesomeness.
Unknown to me, Zack and Ivy were also in the museum. They had entered through the door by the gift shop, still holding Not-Frank’s disk.
“He’s gaining!” Zack said, looking through the window-wall at Rocket Park.
A gray door on their left was marked with the words “ISS Mission Control”. They pushed it open and ran up the two flights of stairs.
When the ACME agents opened the door on the top floor, Ivy gasped.
A very deep, circular pool was before them, surrounded by rubber mats. Some wetsuits were drying on the nearby railing that looked down onto the lobby.
“A dive tank. Underwater’s the closest thing to weightlessness you can get on Earth.” Zack said “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Totally, little bro.”
When Not-Frank opened the door, five minutes later, the area looked empty.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He muttered, walking towards the pool. He squinted to see in the dim light. “If you kids think you can hide from me forever, you’re mad…”
“Madness?” Not-Frank heard a voice shout from the darkness. Before he could make a single movement, Ivy’s foot impacted his chest, sending him into the pool.
“THIS! IS! NASA!” she screamed.
“And another thing, it hasn’t been called Cape Kennedy since 1973.” Zack added.
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124–Ha ha! THIS! IS! NASA!
Bleeeeeaaah I’m on a writing hiatus right now. Sorry Zinc
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125: S’okay; I don’t mind.
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So much for my writing hiatus. I was inspired.
This is an excerpt from the middle of Trystan Evander, the story in post I’m-too-lazy-to-find-which-one. It will probably make very little sense to anyone except for me, but to help, here’s the basics: The person speaking is Kyrra Nyx, the heroine, and the “he” at the beginning of the excerpt is Chase, her boyfriend who she’s dating to keep up the appearance of a dutiful daughter, an Ahriman supporter, etc. etc. Who she really loves you’ll find out in this passage. Oh and the “Firefly” is a rocket-powered glider that folds up into a long metal pole.
“Come on, let’s dance,†he said, putting a hand around my waist and pulling me towards the mad crush in center of the room. I looked up into his face, and suddenly, I felt a surge of hatred boiling up inside my stomach, for the heat of his hand at my back and the way his hungry eyes dilated behind his mask. I loathed him, really and truly, in that moment.
I couldn’t pretend any more. “Excuse me,†I gasped, using the last vestiges of my guile to sound sick rather than repulsed. I hurried away from him to the refuge of all females in peril: the ladies’ restroom.
However, upon my arrival, I found the place packed with jilted dates and bored wives, all, like me, taking refuge from their respective men. I gritted my teeth and forged onwards.
I skipped down a flight of stairs, avoided a searching Chase by dodging into a spare room, and came out quite suddenly on a small balcony, only distantly in view of the ballroom.
The fresh air was like a cool drink on a hot day, fanning my flushed face and refreshing my aching heart. Even at this height, I could hear the sound of the chaos of Carnivale far below me; but the air was sweet and clear, unpolluted by the mobs below. I pulled off my mask, breathing deeply.
There was a stealthy thump behind me, and I sighed and turned, expecting to see Chase. Instead it was another boy, tall and lanky, wearing a black bullfighter’s mask and carrying a length of streamlined metal over his shoulder. It appeared that he had just dropped from the balcony above me.
“Excuse me—“ I began, but as I spoke, the boy’s face relaxed, and broke into a very familiar grin.
“Trystan!†I gasped. His smile widened. I rushed past him to shut the door leading to the ballroom; it was glass, and I caught a glimpse of a still-searching Chase before pulling the sheer curtain across the door.
I turned around. He’d moved next to the balcony, and I recognized the metal piece to be the Firefly, folded up. He seemed extremely excited about something; his eyes practically glowed as he looked at me.
“What are you doing here?†I demanded, joining him at the balcony. Close up, I could see that his face was sweaty and dirt-streaked, and that his hands were scratched and bloody. My eyes narrowed.
“Oh, looking around…people-watching…crashing the party,†he said. I eyed him skeptically and felt the pocket of his jacket; he had some papers stashed in there. I pulled them out.
“Hey, watch it!†he exclaimed, as the wind threatened to whip them from my hand. He grabbed them and stuffed them back into his pocket, but not before I’d seen the familiar red stamp on them.
“Those are from the Ahriman’s private study!†I said incredulously. “You didn’t—you can’t have—â€
He grinned again, and I shook my head. “You’re suicidal.â€
“Suicidal and successful. I don’t think anyone’s broken into the Ahriman’s study before and lived to tell the tale.â€
“Don’t get cocky,†I said, but I could feel a smile starting to spread across my face; his feverish excitement was catching. He laughed and hugged me with one arm, leaving a streak of dirt on the back of my dress. I didn’t particularly care.
Suddenly a shout came from the distant ball room. I shook off Trystan’s arm and went to the door, pulling back the sheer curtain; I could see the shapes of some very agitated government officials moving beyond the hallway, my father among them.
“Uh oh,†I said. “Looks like they’ve discovered the burglary.â€
“Time for me to go,†he said, right in my ear. I hadn’t heard him move behind me.
I turned, and he was suddenly right in my face, one hand curving behind my neck, the other balancing the Firefly across his shoulders. I glanced quickly inside—the figures were coming this way.
He turned my face back towards his, and I stared up into his amber eyes. They were fiery again, but now for a very different reason.
“You look lovely, by the way,†he said, and kissed me.
His mouth burned, and I felt the same warmth echo in the pit of my stomach. I stiffened, then relaxed, letting all my cold silences melt away in the heat of his kiss. My fears for him and for myself faded away, and I held time for what it was, savoring the sweetness of the moment.
He pulled away too soon; I caught a glimpse of his glowing eyes behind his mask, and with one brush of his hand on my cheek, and a final grin, he was gone, leaping onto the balustrade and throwing himself over the edge.
I rushed to the balcony, but he was only a speck far below, riding the Firefly to safety as the door behind me crashed open, and angry voices filled the startled air.
Comments please! If you can make heads or tails of this.
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125- Thanks. We joked about doing that when I was at Space Academy, but we couldn’t, for obvious reasons. But I was able to let Ivy do it in the story!
127- “Suicidal and successful.” That’s a great line.
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The conclusion to Stephanie’s adventures:.
Back in the museum, I followed Frank past a Mars map on the wall and into a long, dark corridor. The only light came from beyond a turn at the corridor’s end.
“I NEVER have a flashlight when I need one! Ever!” I muttered, running into the dark hallway, following the sound of Frank’s footsteps.
I accidentally stepped into a janitor’s bucket and tripped, spilling dirty water onto the floor.
“Help! He’s getting away! Stop, thief!” I shouted as I pulled myself off the wet floor, hoping the janitor would hear me.
Somebody heard me, all right.
But it wasn’t the janitor.
In the middle of the hallway, a transparent figure materialized. It was a man in a 1950’s-style suit with the funny hankie-thing in the pocket and all. His white hair was slicked back and his eyes were glowing a solid, fiery orange-red.
On top of everything else, ghosts! What a day this was shaping up to be…
If the ghost’s appearance shocked Frank, he didn’t show it. The crook kept running towards the spirit, clutching his computer disk.
“Just vhere are you going vith zat?” the ghost asked, raising one hand that glowed the same orange-red color as his eyes. A blast of fire-like energy hit Frank dead-on and knocked him backwards until he hit the wall, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.
I pressed myself to the ground, shut my eyes and hoped I wasn’t next.
This guy’s got glowing red eyes? Check.
German accent? Check.
Just blasted a guy across the room? Check.
Totally freaked out right now? Hoo boy, check.
“Are you okay? Did zat man hurt you?” The voice broke me out of my terrified thoughts. I cautiously opened my eyes…
The ghost was standing over me, holding out a hand to help me up. His eyes were ordinary-looking now, with blue irises, and they weren’t glowing. He didn’t look quite so scary now, but I wasn’t going to take any chances…
“No. D-did you hurt HIM?” And are you going to hurt ME?
I asked, getting to my feet by myself.
“He’s only unconscious. Afraid of zeh eyes, vere you? I can’t help it, vhen you have fire powers, zat’s zeh color, red? But you can trust me. I vurk here.” He smiled.
I walked over to Frank and picked up the disk. The plastic case bore the Scorpion symbol.
“You work here? Well, I’m glad you were around to help…so what are you then, a rocket scientist?” I asked him.
“Precisely. Vhy is that disk so important?”
“That guy and his gang stole some plans for a scramjet that could be on here. That’s a special kind of airplane-”
“I know vhat a scramjet is. Engineers keep up on zees-”
Footsteps. Someone was coming. The ghost vanished.
Man, why do they always do that before you can find out their name?
Zack and Ivy walked into the hallway, holding Not-Frank’s disk.
“You got the other guy? Sweet, case closed! We nabbed his partner at the dive tank.” Zack said.
“Actually, we nabbed him IN the dive tank.” Ivy corrected him.
The Chief’s screen popped up, the pink light casting shadows in the dim hallway.
“Excellent work as usual, detectives! And I’ll be sure to tell Stephanie’s supervising agent that she’s performed at ACME’s top standards! The Huntsville police will take care of these two jokers, but before I send you home, can you pick up some of that freeze-dried ice cream for me? You know, because I never DID get my Swiss chocolate…”
The C-5 spit me out onto an upper level in the planetarium, just outside of the IMAX theater. The museum was closing, and everyone was too busy leaving to notice my sudden appearance.
From behind me, I heard the door to the theater open and turned to see my boss, Dr. Dryson.
“Stephanie! I’ve been looking for you all day! You’d better have thought of a good trip for our group our I’m going to be looking for a new councilor.”
“Well, uh… I’ve been doing some thinking… and, um… how about Space Camp?”
“You know, we could DO that…”
THE END
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The start of a Lily/James FanFic from my sister.
A red haired girl sat at a long table with about one-hundred other people. Her small mouth laughed at a joke her friend Alise made, as her emerald eyes sparkled. She carefully poured herself another glass of pumpkin juice.
About ten feet down the table, another Gryffindor sat gazing at her. His black hair was constantly being run through, as it was suffering the torture now, making it more untidy than it already was naturally. A hand tugged the boy’s sleeve.
“ Staring at Lily again, James?†His lanky friend asked him. “You know you’ll probably never get her.†Sirius Black was a tall boy with too much limb and not enough body.
James Potter’s eyes came back into focus. “ I know. She doesn’t like what we do for Snape.â€
Sirius grinned. “ Didn’t she slap you for it, last year?†His friend sighed. “I know†James repeated “I can just be glad that Snape doesn’t show any interest in muggle-borns.â€
Their other friend, Remus Lupin, poked James’s shoulder. “You deserve it.â€
“ Some best friends you guys are.†James muttered.
“Well…†Sirius murmured to the two “I heard that Lily was the head girl. With you as Quidditch Captain, you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.â€
James’s face broke into a wide grin. “That’s it!†He said excitedly, the prospect dawning on him. He lightly punched Sirius in the arm. “Thanks for telling me.â€
Sirius gave his friend a toothy smile. “Yeah, I had to. You would have gone into a deep state of depression. Gryffindor House would have lost the Quidditch Cup after four years of winning straight.â€
“Aww, knock it off.†His hazel eyes glanced around. “Look, the plates are clearing.â€
Back in the dorms, Lily dug through her trunk for her pajamas. She put them on and leapt onto her bed. On the top bunk, her best friend Alise leaned down.
She giggled. Gradually, it turned into a guffaw. Lily asked, “Why are you, uhh, laughing so hard.†Alise wiped her eyes. “ Well…†Lily rolled her eyes. “I heard from somewhere, I don’t know where, that James Potter is the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. With you as head girl, you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.â€
“Oh,†Lily moaned, her head in her hands. “How did he even stay in Hogwarts anyway? I mean, he’s the best seeker Hogwarts has ever seen, but that’s the only good thing about him. He’s an arrogant bully who uses his magic to- to-†she stopped flustered “And he’s trying to date me.†Lily glared at her friend. “Please don’t mention his name again tonight to me?†she begged.
“Promise.†Alise replied. She had known that as soon as she spoke the name, Lily would get mad.
Lily fell asleep.
A girl glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:30. She quietly got out of bed and crept down the dorm stairs. She sat down in a big comfy armchair by the dying fireplace. She stared at the embers until a boy sat down next to her. She didn’t even need to look at him to know who he was.
“Lily is just as put off with James as she was at the end of last year.â€
“And James is just as lovesick.†He sighed. “He was staring at her at dinner.†He said as an answer to her unasked question. “I told him about Lily being Head Girl and he cheered up considerably.â€
“And Lily moaned. Then she went into a long winded explanation about why this was the end of the world.â€
They were silent for a couple minutes.
The boy said “If we can pull this off, we’ll be better then the love god cupid himself.â€
As they trudged back up the stairs to shake their comrades awake.
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I didn’t know this was a thread……. I should continue on my novel shouldn’t I? *sigh* I’ve jsut been too lazy lately to continue…….
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131–Dooooo iiiiittttttt
K, well now ya’ll know why I never finish a story–new ideas keep pushing the old ones out of the way. NEW STORY!!!!
Prologue
I was introduced to Death at a very early age—first by my mother, then by my father. They sent me away to an orphanage, but Sir Death did not disappoint; the Matron of St. Bertha’s Home for Orphans soon caught a fatally incurable disease. After the funeral—the third I’d been to in as many months—I was returned to the loving arms of my family.
Chapter I
214 Amsterdam Ave.
New York City, New York
The Residence of my dear Aunt Acantha
“Stop picking at your food, Catherine. And sit up straight. Young ladies do not slouch.â€
I lifted my torso another millimeter upwards obediently, groaning within. It was nearly impossible to slouch in the new corset my Aunt had stuffed me into; I gritted my teeth as the whalebone stays closed about my ribcage like a vice.
I resumed eating—trying to take larger bites, but not too large, as befitted the darling young lady—and my Aunt promptly interrupted again.
“I spoke with Mrs. Westing again today. She told me you were walking in the park with that strange boy again.â€
“Indeed?†I said, calmly eating my radishes.
“This simply cannot continue, Catherine! I will not allow my niece to wander, unchaperoned, with strange men, to be gossiped about by the neighbors. It is disgraceful! Never have I allow myself to be with any of the male species without proper oversight—â€
“Aunt, I don’t know what you’re talking about.â€
“—before my marriage, of course. What?â€
“I was not walking with any men in the park this afternoon.†Strictly speaking, this wasn’t a lie; that had been no man in my company…
“Do you mean to suggest that Mrs. Westing, my friend of twenty years, is lying?â€
“Of course not, Aunt, only that I bear a striking resemblance to many young ladies in this vicinity, and that dear Mrs. Westing’s eyesight is not what it used to be.â€
My Aunt fell silent, somewhat mollified. I finished my meal silently. Finally, when my plate had been cleared by Cordula, the maidservant, I was dismissed. Just before the door, however, my Aunt said,
“By the way, Catherine, that boy Richard was here again, during your ill-timed absence—†which I’d actually planned in accordance with Richard’s usual calling-time—“and he asked to accompany you to the theatre this evening. I accepted in your stead.â€
Drat.
“You know, he’s quite ideal for you—handsome, wealthy, well-to-do…are you listening to me, Catherine?â€
“Yes, Aunt.†It would be difficult for anyone to ignore her shrill tones.
“Well, get ready, then. You’ve only three hours.â€
“Yes, Aunt.â€
I escaped the dining room and began climbing the great oak steps to my third-story room. The air grew cooler as I ascended; just as I came to my room, however, the temperature plunged unnaturally, and the flame of the lamp I was carrying sputtered.
I smiled and opened the door.
It was pitch black inside; as I turned to lock the door, I said, “Hello, Sir.â€
A voice slithered from the shadows, pompous and indignant, yet with a dry, cold cast to it. “Damn it all, Catherine, how do you always seem to know when I’m about?â€
I laughed and lit the lamps around my room. The owner of the voice began to appear from the darkness as more light filled the space; I didn’t look at him until all the gas had been turned up as high as it could go. Undisguised, my companion’s countenance was unsettling, to say the least.
He was tall above the average, nearly seven foot, and wearing a finely cut undertaker’s suit, complete with bow-tie and a top hat. He carried a slim black cane embossed with spiders and webs; decorative as it was, I knew that it had a far more macabre use than a simple gentleman’s vanity.
What made him so disturbing, however, was his face. While skilled in the arts of Guise, my friend saw no reason to waste energy on hiding his true countenance from me; he wore his grinning skull-face when we were alone. The hollows of his eyes were dark but for a red glimmer far back in their depths, and his teeth were perfect, albeit gum- and lip-less—minor details. To him.
“And haven’t I told you to call me Hades?†he continued, sitting on my canopied bed and looking ridiculously out of place.
“Haven’t I told you to call me Katy?†I shot back. His bare teeth clacked together—he was laughing.
“Our plan to escape my suitor didn’t work, by the way,†I said from behind my dressing screen. Ironic as it was, I trusted Hades above all others when it came to respectability; I’d never let, say, Richard in my room while I dressed.
“Yes, I know. Shall I take care of him for you?â€
“Oh goodness, no! Let him be.†As much as I disliked Richard, I wanted no more left-handed favors from Death.
“You’re going to the theatre tonight, though?â€
“I ought to. Aunt is getting suspicious.†I peeked around the screen. “Hand me that corset there. Did you know that Mrs. Westing saw us again today, in the park?â€
Hades handed me the undergarment, holding it gingerly between two phalanges. “Damn that old witch! She’s too sharp-eyed for my Glamours. I can’t do much about her, if she Believes.â€
“She holds séances, Hades, at high noon. How in this world or the ones beyond did you expect her to be fooled by a basic Glamour?â€
Hades ground his teeth, setting my own on edge—the sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard. “I’m so disappointed, Catherine—Katy. I was going to get a few friends together tonight—with no errands…â€
Hah. The last time I’d gone with Hades on a midnight jaunt we’d picked up a few “friends†along the way—upsetting business for a mortal like me.
“And Leanna SÃdhe was coming all the way from Ireland…you know she can’t get out as often as she used to,†he said slyly.
I sighed. Leanna was a fairy friend of mine, who, as Hades said, was only rarely able to escape Ireland’s magical pull to visit.
“Such a pity you won’t be coming. I know she’ll be upset.â€
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t come,†I grumbled, stepping from behind the screen in my corset and bloomers. “Guile yourself, now, I’m calling Bonnie up to lace this ungodly contraption.â€
Hades chuckled, and a layer of skin crept over his skull and hands to form the features of a handsome young man. It was rather unnerving to watch, used to it as I was. Bonnie, my personal maid, was well aware of my “visitorâ€, and I had a feeling she’d partially guessed his identity; however, it wouldn’t do for her to see him unGuiled, as I did.
I rang for her, and she arrived promptly, hailing Hades merrily–although she knew him as Azrael Black–and ushering me to the seat at my boudoir. She braced a foot on the stool and began pulling at the lacing.
“Perhaps Bonnie would like to come with us tonight,†said Hades insinuatingly.
“No,†I said firmly. Bonnie was too pretty for her own good; she had enough trouble with mortal young men to throw a full moon and a few Incubi in her way.
“Listen,†I said, as Hades sulked on my bed, “I will come if—ouch!—Richard lets me come home at a respectable hour. Not so tight, Bonnie. I rather doubt this will happen, but if I can manage to—ergh—escape—looser on that stay, if you please—I will come with you and your friends tonight.â€
Hades grinned. “Such a stubborn creature, isn’t she, Bonnie?†My maid stifled a laugh, and tied off the last lace. “But that’s your charm. Perhaps you should try that with the boys, more—be acquiescing and they’ll leave off of you completely.â€
“I be any more acquiescing with Richard and I won’t come home at all tonight.â€
Hades laughed once again, and as Bonnie helped me into my dress, he pulled a fine gold watch from his pocket. It was a curious timepiece; instead of hours, it had symbols on it representing lives. I knew what it meant, and shuddered.
My morbid companion saw the shudder. “Well, I have some–er–business to attend to,” he said, for Bonnie’s benefit; I knew what sort of business he followed. “I’ll see you later, then, Katy?”
“If it’s humanly possible,” I said. “Or inhumanly, as it were.”
Again, purleeeaaaaaze criticize. I need major feedback on this one; it’s on the border of being too macabre, in my opinion. Let me know what you think.
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OK, I’m finally buckling down and writing. It’s actually coming along quite nicely.
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132: Hm, great concept, but… what do all the capitalized words mean? 
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Any comments on my story?
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Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr. My story sounds like someone’s description of a weird dream. 
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134–Guile is a type of power/magic or whatever you want to call it that Hades possesses. He uses it to appear as other people.
Glamour is similar to Guile, and it keeps people from seeing Hades when he’s out and about–unless they Believe, which means that they have an unnatural belief in the worlds beyond–i.e. heaven or hell. All of this is explained as the novel progresses, but it’s a bit confusing at first.
Do you think it’s too morbid, though? I ask mainly because more creatures will be introduced, including vampires, fairies, demons, and werewolves.
Although I do rather like the vampire I have planned. He goes by the name of Jack Crimson.
135–I like it. It’s funny, smart, and entertaining. I can totally tell that you’re having fun writing it, the feeling comes across in the story.
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137: No, actually- I’ve been looking for something gothic and morbid to read. The only thing scary here is A Boy Called ‘It.’ Do continue.
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132-That is the best story I have read in a long time. PLEASE continue it. See, since my phase of reading every single book ever written by Terry Pratchett, I have been absolutely addicted to Death, and I can’t seem to find any other books that portray him the same way. The Book Thief is way too grim to be quite the same, and I don’t know of any other books that have Death as a character….. I’ve taken to writing fanfictions about him in my head to keep myself occupied…..
So, yes. Please do continue it. I’ll be watching with interest.
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I love your story, Nthanda, what there is of it. MORE. NOW.
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137 ♥ It’s wonderful. Keep writing. *whips out molecular disintegration ray* Or else.
New story!
Prologue – Paper Flowers
“Damn!â€
“****!â€
“What happened?!â€
“Damn it, what did you do?â€
Angry, melodious voices filled the airy, grandiose hall. A tall, muscular man with golden hair and a deep tan bent over the honey-colored brass control panel, working the levers furiously. He was sweating, the liquid gathering along his perfect upper lip. His breath came in quick, ragged gasps.
Three others hovered behind him, peering into viewing orbs or over the blonde man’s shoulder.
The first was tall and lithe, long fingered and delicately built. Dark eyes stared out from beneath long, curly chocolate locks that fell to his shoulders and glinted in the golden light that radiated throughout the hall. He stared intently into a viewing orb, his body bent forward with the urgency of his search.
The second had a wild mane of wavy red hair that was partially contained by a gilded helmet of shining, polished steel. He was stocky and broad-shouldered, and cloaked in gleaming chain mail. Electric blue eyes were set deep into his face, and at present they glared about with the ferocity of a tiger. His massive hand rested on the pommel of an enormous broadsword strapped to his waist, and he was swearing.
The third hung back in the shadows, almost timidly. His clear grey eyes looked sadly out at the angry activity in front of him. Black hair flopped unashamedly over one eye, obscuring half of his face and providing him with a sepulchral appearance. In his left hand he clutched six black flowers, made of a tissue paper that was delicate in appearance but could have withstood a blow from the broadsword of the cursing warrior.
“He’s gone,†said he, his calm belaying the frantic atmosphere that pervaded the hall.
“He can’t be gone,†snarled the warrior viciously in return.
“What did you do?†moaned the long-fingered man, an edge of hysteria in his voice.
“I don’t know,†answered the blonde miserably. He twisted the levers once more before leaning back and burying his face in his hands. “But Damon is right, he’s gone.â€
“This was a simple task, Elior,†snapped the warrior. “How could you screw it up?â€
“I don’t know,†said Elior, looking as if he might burst into tears at any moment.
“Einar, there’s really no need-†said Damon mildly, but he was interrupted by the long-fingered man.
“Where could he have gone?†he demanded, pounding his thin hand against the viewing orb.
“There is only one place he could have gone, Ryder, you should know that,†replied Damon. “The question is not where, but what do we do now?â€
The other three just stared at him and didn’t answer.
“Very well,†said Damon, and he left the hall abruptly.

~
The boy awoke with his face pressed hard to the cold, wet cobblestones, and a bouquet of black paper flowers clenched in his small fist.
Critique? Pleaseplease? *bambi eyes*
TNÖ
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132- I like it. Very much. I find it a bit odd that Bonnie doesn’t find it odd that Catherine has a guy in her room while she’s getting dressed, but other than that, it’s excellent.
141- I like it. I’d like to know what’s going on, though…
I’ve been thinking about starting writing again. Trouble is, I’m not sure what, y’know? Maybe an alternate history, or something…
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142- Alice! *hug* *pie* You’re back! Yes, AH, pleez. Steampunk is a plus.
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142- Reincarnation-went-wrong.
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142- Alternate histories can be fun. The trouble is, when they turn out better than the actual history, writing them can be depressing.
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145- Really? I only find them depressing when they’re worse than actual history. I suppose that says something about differing writer immersion levels.
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146- Worse can certainly be depressing to write, but when things are much better that the actual course of history it can also be pretty depressing. That’s why I stopped Days of Future Never.
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Thanks for all the feedback, guys! You have no idea how much I appreciate it. It’s a major motive for me to write, you see, if I know people are watching.
142–Bonnie has known Hades for some time, ever since Catherine came to NY. She was shocked at first to find him in her room at all, but after semi-guessing that Hades was not a normal human, or even a human at all, she accepted it as another of Catherine’s eccentricities. She’s also a bit of a loose girl–loose for her time, at least, nothing that would be considered unusual today–and she, like Catherine, is not afraid to think beyond Victorian rules.
K, next installment. Kudos if you can guess the play they’re at (WITHOUT Google :))
Chapter II
“I have always been of the opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing.”
I smiled behind a gloved hand, and thought that my acquaintance tonight secured the latter with flying colors. The figure in question looked at me, smiling hopefully, but didn’t understand the joke.
Perhaps I ought to take a moment to describe the man that was seeking my affections. Richard was, as my Aunt had said, ‘handsome, wealthy, and well-to-do’, but this fortunate combination was utterly negated by his positively detestable personality. He was arrogant, boorish, and one of those individuals who think that to be a gentleman is to degrade the weaker sex. In short, I couldn’t stand him.
My eager suitor had arrived promptly at seven, and after a rather awkward coach ride down 42nd street, we’d arrived at the newly built Theatre Republic. I was momentarily enchanted by the building’s gabled windows and double stairway; the gas lamps burned merrily against the night, and I breathed in the cool air, momentarily happy.
However, as happens so often in life, reality quickly intervened. Richard’s prime goal of the evening seemed to be to grasp my hand, and perhaps by some underhand machinations encourage me to lean against him. I was no fool, and Richard was no master at the art of love; nevertheless, I was constantly on my guard against his wandering hand.
We lumbered through the first and second acts at a stalemate of sorts. The play itself was delightful; I thoroughly enjoyed its quick wit, so refreshing after weeks of my Aunt’s decorum. It was during the third act, however, that the play turned really interesting.
I’d just demurely avoided Richard’s hand for the umpteenth time when the actor playing Algernon stepped into the wings. He was in shadow behind the curtains–it was not yet his cue to come on–but I quite suddenly had a startlingly clear view of his face. His piercing yellow ones eyes met my hazel pair, and he gave me an enormous, toothy grin, before striding onstage. I couldn’t help it; I laughed. Richard seized the moment—and my hand—but I didn’t care; once again, Hades had ensured my escape.
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148- write more. I like it.
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143- -pies and hugs back- I could say the same for you. I assume you were occupied with NaNo…
Ah, yes, steampunk. Actually I was considering writing something set now, here, except that certain things had never happened resulting in things such as lack of automobiles etc. Which would be alternate history, in a way. Not quite though.
48- The Importance of Being Earnest, of course.
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150–lol of course! I love that play.
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132) Interesting. Tis good.
141) It’s OK. The only problem is that I have no idea what’s happening. Tis a little too vague.
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K, more Hades.
The rest of the play passed quickly enough, and as we stepped once again into the cool night air, I said, “May I meet the actors? I should like to congratulate them.â€
“Of course, my dear,†said Richard immediately. I think he would have acquiesced if I’d requested a hot toddy.
We walked to the artist’s entrance, but my yellow-eyed friend was nowhere to be seen; I wondered if perhaps, in my desire to escape Richard, I’d imagined the whole thing. But then, as my suitor and Coraline walked me back to the waiting coach, there was a soft rustling behind us, and a voice said, “Miss? Is this yours?â€
I whirled. Standing just out of the shadows was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with dirty blonde hair and the tanned skin of a layman. He was dressed simply, but his poor appearance was made uncommon by his stunning, but rather unsettling, yellow eyes.
“I found this on th’ ground back there,†he said, gesturing ambiguously into the shadows with one hand and offering me a black lace handkerchief. I accepted it, fingering the white H embroidered upon its silky surface.
“Thank you, sir,†I said, pocketing the piece of material. “This was my dear departed grandmamma’s. I am indebted to you.â€
He tugged at his forelock with another wily grin. “A pleasure on my part, be assured, miss.â€
“I believe your Aunt wanted you home by nine, did she not, Cathy?†interceded Richard hurriedly. He took my arm and began to lead me away.
“A moment, Richard,†I said. He stopped walking and hovered about me nervously; I think the man in the shadows made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he seemed dangerous, quite the opposite—it was merely the powerful air of strangeness he exuded. In spite of this I remained, pretending to peer into his face.
“Do I know you, sir? You seem quite familiar.â€
He feigned deep thought. “You move in higher circles, do you?â€
“Most of the time.â€
The man’s face brightened. He came closer, smiling down upon me, and with a sudden audacious movement, he plucked me from the grasp of a very shocked Richard. “Then you must know my brother Bunbury,†he said, and led me into the shadows.
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153- Hahahaha, Bunbury!
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I recently had a flat-out awesome idea. I’ll post an excerpt here when it’s fully developed.
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155- Oooh, now we’re in suspence…
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154–thought you’d appreciate that.
More Hades. Comments and critiques appreciated as always!
“How’ve you been, Lyall?†I asked as soon as we were out of Richard’s earshot.
Lyall grinned down at me—he was very tall—and said, “Better than usual, actually. Found a little wood up in the Catskills that suits me very nicely.â€
“What happened to that hunter who’d been following you—when was it, last July?â€
Lyall’s smile took on a distinctly venemous air. “He was unavoidably detained.â€
As we walked, I noticed that the stars had grown dimmer, as if someone had thrown a veil across them. Lyall’s grip on my arm tightened, the temperature plunged, and suddenly, we weren’t anywhere at all.
“Lyall—?†I said, but all I could see were two glowing yellow spheres floating seven feet off the ground to my left. There was a sound like a gust of wind on a stormy night, and Lyall’s arm beside me grew very hot, then very furry, his muscles and tendons creaking.
In the dim light that remained, I saw his profile grown long and canine, his mouth bristling suddenly with teeth. He swept me off my feet, his breath forming great plumes in the frigid air, and with a leap, rushed me off into the night.
Lyall was an old and dear friend, and I trusted him implicitly; but being whisked through the dimensions of the underworld in the arms of a creature half man, half wolf is not an experience that is easy to endure calmly. The wind howled like it had gone mad, and glimpses of half-formed worlds flashed by us like phantoms. The whirl of color and sound was sickening. I shrieked, slapped a hand over my mouth to discourage any further noises, and settled for closing my eyes in—well, not in outright terror, but in a definite concern for my well-being.
And then, just as the run began to seem interminable, I felt Lyall slow, and we tumbled out quite suddenly onto the good green Earth. I landed with my face in the sweet grass and breathed deeply, willing my heart to stop racing.
There was a huffing noise behind me, and as I rolled onto my back, it deepened to a chuckle. I caught Lyall transforming back into his normal human shape, laughing, of course.
I glared at him and stood, brushing myself off. My corset crushed my sides; I instructed Lyall in stern tones to stay turned about, then went behind a stand of trees and removed it under my shift—the boning of my dress would do fine for my feminine figure. Ah. Sweet relief.
I walked back to my lupine friend, holding the corset in plain sight and delighting in the way Lyall blushed. “Heavens, Lyall, it’s only a piece of female undergarments,†I said, grinning wickedly. He rolled his eyes, but stopped laughing at me.
A man appeared at the top of our hill to our left. He was a curious figure, at once mysterious and dark. He was dressed in a cloak the color of sleep, and had hair like raven wings, shining blue-black in the moonlight. His eyes shone darkly from beneath his cowl.
“Come,†he said, and his voice brought to mind flitting phantoms and dusky, half-remembered worlds. He held out a shadowy hand. “My brother is waiting.â€
Lyall and I climbed the hillock to meet our strange guide. Upon reaching the peak, Lyall let out a yelp of joy and transformed into a wolf; Hades’ party was gathered in the moon-silvered meadow below us, and I watched my friend gallop down the hill to meet his werewolf packmates.
I smiled at the chaotic group below and said, “How’s your business, Morpheus?â€
The night-cloaked man shimmered at my side. “The business of dreams always fares well,†he said, smiling faintly. “Humanity will always need their freedom.â€
We watched as a few goblins slithered down the hill through the dry leaves. “Morpheus,†I said hesitantly, “after my parent’s death—in the nights following—â€
The Dreammaker’s shadowy face softened for a moment. “I sent them to you in your dreams, yes.†He looked up at the pale moon, and for a moment, the cold light in his eyes flickered. He began to fade into the night, stars appearing about him like fireflies. “I am sorry,†he said, his voice becoming more and more a sound within my own head. “Dreams are lovely while we sleep, but painful upon the waking.â€
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I like it. MAkes me curious……….Why are they paying so much attention to her?
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157-Ooh, me likes… I like all of your story, actually. It’s great.
158-Because she’s SPECIAL!
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155–Yeah! Your stories are awesome. Please post.
158, 159–Thanks for the comments! They make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
I traipsed down the hill, the dusty fall leaves rustling beneath my feet. Hades had a long table set up in the center of the meadow; I made my way towards it, hailing friends as I went. There was Moonblood the werebat speaking to Gabija, a heliotropha, while the wood nymph Kalina looked on; and there, looking uncomfortable, was Alter, a human who, like me, was a ward of Hades. I was about to walk to him when a cold, bony hand pressed heavily upon my shoulder, and a hearty “Catherine!†sounded in my ear.
It was, of course, Sir Death himself, with a marigold tucked in his lapel. I shivered inwardly; Hades was unsettling enough in the city, but here, under the moonlight, surrounded by all manner of fey and eldritch creatures, he seemed to grow and become something of the myth he once had been. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
“So glad you could come, Katy,†he said slyly. I stuck out my tongue at him, and he laughed, proffering his arm and leading me to the table. “Remind me to thank Lyall for his services.â€
I was seated to Hades’ left at the long black table. Guests of honor were placed at this end; Ain Tysiona, the fairy queen, and her King Obyren were seated across from me; they glowed with an unearthly beauty beneath the moon’s pale light. A fair woman whom Hades referred to only as Moirae sat to my left. She was a curious creature; she appeared as a young girl in one light, a middle-aged woman in another, and, when viewed from the corner of the eye, as an old hag. She spoke little.
All down the table, the more civilized of Hades’ guests conversed and laughed, while their servants and shadows cavorted underfoot and flew about wildly, celebrating in their own way. Tonight was no different from any other of Hades’ gatherings; yet the revelers made merry as if they were to die the next day.
A feast had been laid upon the black table, containing foods for all nations and tastes: icefruits that left rivulets of melted snow running down your chin, shank of mooncalf, rustberries, fried spider’s legs two feet long, ambrosia, pomegranates from the gardens of the underworld, star nectar, roosters’ teeth, purple kraken’s ink, roasted achlis meat dripping with hot juices, and all manner of beast, fish, fowl, and flora, common and rare.
I sampled some of everything (excepting the blood-red pomegranates) and although I ate more than usual, I never grew full, nor did I remain hungry. I ate purely for pleasure; everything was achingly delicious.
The conversation ranged through the worlds, touching on news of friends past and present, and on events from my world and beyond. “What became of that bloke from Germany—Faustus was ‘is name, wannit?â€â€¦ “Oh, we have no need of any more bartering, we’ve got all we want down at Cockaigne, you know…†“I’ve only just come back from Olympus, Hercules was a proper gryphon’s ass again—but what do you expect? Did you hear how he…†“You must come down to CÃbola some time, we haven’t had visitors this century yet…â€
“Katy, will you come over here? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.â€
I looked up from my meal to see Lyall waving me down to his seat a few from mine. Reluctantly, I stood from my chair and left the swirling conversation to walk the length of the table.
“I’ve got another friend to introduce to you,†said Lyall, gnawing on a boar’s leg. “Catherine Bridgeman, meet Serkan Tiberius.†I turned to greet the stranger.
He was so palely handsome that at first I thought him an incubi or particularly vain shapeshifter. He had longish black hair and a fine-boned face, with violet eyes that glittered beneath his lazy expression. He grinned at me, and I saw that he had fangs—he was a vampire.
“Pleased to meet you,†he said, tossing back a goblet of ruby-red wine. I dipped towards the ground in a passable version of a curtsy and raised a thin eyebrow. “Aren’t werewolves and vampires mortal enemies?â€
Lyall rolled his eyes. “Only in stories, Katy.â€
“Or when there’s a girl involved,†added Serkan. I didn’t like the way his grin widened when he said it, or how his violet eyes were looking me up and down. I smiled primly at him, tight-lipped.
“Serkan’s from here in New York,†said Lyall, oblivious to his friend’s wandering eyes. “He’s been escorting two European vampires around the city—Hades put him up to it.â€
“It’s been my job for quite some time, actually,†said the vampire, pouring himself a fresh goblet of wine and putting his booted feet upon the table. “I hunt and protect dangerous creatures. Hades is merely my current employer.â€
“Hunt and protect?†I said, curious in spite of myself. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?â€
“There’s a fine line between the two,†he replied, running a hand through his midnight hair, “and the hunted and the harmed are oftentimes one and the same.â€
So that’s all I’ve got right now–hopefully I’ll have a lot more time to write since I’m on break (ha ha). Btw, I’m planning on posting a picture of Serkan on the newest Visual Arts thread if anyone wants to see what he looks like (I personally am in love with him. Is that allowed, to fall in love with your own character? Oh well, too late. )
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All right, here’s the prologue. I’ll post Chapter One a little later.
A note- I really like this idea and want to improve it, so I’d like to get a good idea of what my strengths and weaknesses are. Please be specific in your criticism.
To Prof. Arnold Bessemer
c/o the Bodleian Library,
Oxford, England
Dear Sir,
I recently came into possession of an unusual document which I believe you may wish to examine. Let me relate the extraordinary circumstances which led me to acquire it.
I had been working for less than two weeks in the Rathlesborough Public Library. On the Thursday before last, I arrived at the building as usual. My day continued in a perfectly ordinary fashion until approximately 3 PM, when a rather curious customer entered the library and approached my desk.
He appeared perfectly respectable, dressed as though he had just left a formal ball, and though there was something undeniably ruffianly about him, he greeted me with impeccable courtesy and made it clear that he wished to return a book. I directed him to the drop-off slot, but he persisted.
“You don’t understand,” he told me. “It’s overdue. Fifty-two years next week.”
At first I assumed he was making a joke, but to humor him I checked the register. To my utter surprise, there was a book of the same title marked as Missing on the date he had specified.
While I looked, he continued to speak. “I apologize for the unfortunate delay. The book has saved my life more than once, but in the end, I’m glad to be rid of it.”
I nodded, smiled, and began to inform him of the fine. He returned my smile, and to my astonishment, placed a thick wad of money on the desk. When I counted it later, I found it to be in excess of five hundred euros.
When I protested, he simply waved me away. “Believe me, sir, I’m shamelessly fleecing you, but I doubt I could convince you to accept the true value of the book.” He winked. “Oh, and if anyone checks it out after me, tell them to pay close heed to the warning hidden in the frontispiece.” He shucked off his right glove, revealing that his last three fingers had been cut off at the first knuckle. “I wish I had. Goodbye.”
He vanished into the crowd with staggering speed, leaving me with a considerable sum and an inexplicable book.
I have not yet returned the volume to the shelves. None of the library officials remember it. Furthermore, when I checked the register again, the listing for the book had vanished.
I must admit I have no idea to do next, and considering that you were such a good friend of my mother, I hope that you will do me the kindness of looking at this remarkable book.
Yours sincerely,
Benjamin J. Sherwood
The old woman turned toward the window, through which the first grayish light of dawn was beginning to percolate, and slowly sealed the envelope again. Her voice was laden with quiet menace. “Colonel, I thought I made it clear that De Vries was not to reach Belfast.”
“It’s not my fault- Villenueve lost him over the North Channel. I’ll get down there as soon as I can… ”
She whirled around, directing her unblinking stare at the unfortunate man. “You know as well as I do that that library is protected. Why do you think he returned the book in the first place? It was our good fortune that one of the Unblind happened to be the librarian on duty. I’m glad you at least managed to intercept the letter.” She adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles. “First, have it delivered. We don’t want Bessemer to suspect anything’s wrong. If we’re lucky, he and Sherwood will meet somewhere outside the library. Keep an eye on them.”
“And De Vries?”
“Your orders regarding De Vries have not changed for the past seventeen years, Colonel. Your failure to carry them out and your assumption that I would somehow alter them upon receiving this news assures me that your incompetence is only equaled by your lack of foresight.” She turned back to the window. “Rutherford, show the Colonel out.”
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261- De Vries? Sounds familiar… God, we need to get that moving again…
Good start. Very exciting. I know you want constructive criticism, but I don’t have any–yet, at least.
So, I’m writing again! And I know my plot is awful and overused and my writing is nearly as bad, whatever anyone says. But if I can just write enough, I’ll get into my stride and learn to love my story and my characters (hopefully) and then it won’t matter anymore.
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162- Yes, I know. You see, I wrote this prologue about a year ago and had no idea what to do with it next. But I knew what De Vries was like, and I thought he was a good character, so I dropped him into the first RRR that happened by. Then that RRR died, and after reading a bit of Neil Gaiman and Susan Cooper I got a great idea for a book using this prologue, so…
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161- I like it! Very mysterious!
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161–Ha, I know someone whose last name is de Vries.
I like the story, it’s very well-written. Although do you think that a letter would describe all that so quickly? It would seem that there would need to be a bit more intro, maybe, before Sherwood presented his story. But that’s just me.
That’s all the constructive criticism I can sqeeze out of my brain right now. Write more.
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163- Ah, I see. Makes sense. I’ve done that kind of thing before.
This is so hard. I hate using already-used plots.
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Chapter One
Mort studied the painting, absently twiddling a fine brush between his slim, watercolor-stained fingers. The trees were a little wide and blobby, especially those in the foreground, and the surface of the stream looked flat and dull. Still, he thought he’d been able to capture the spirit of the dreary Irish moor quite well. It had been foggier than usual for the past week, and the Emerald Isle was beginning to look more like the Hematite Bog. Still, the gloom was beautiful in its way, in the same bittersweet manner that a lament or a stormy sea was beautiful, and Mort was glad he’d been able to put it to canvas.
He rinsed the brush carefully in a jam jar filled with clean water, set it down, and shivered. It was a cold, wet day, and the awning over the balcony offered little protection from the elements. At least it wasn’t raining.
Mort removed the painting, folded up his easel and went inside. The door was sticking again, and he had to shove it to get it to open. When it finally swung clear, the interior of the flat didn’t seem quite worth the effort. Various clutter – books, papers, an empty plate – littered the coffee table and couch. It was nearly as chilly and clammy as the outside.
Mort cursed. “Don’t tell me the central heating’s out again,” he said to no one in particular. There wasn’t much point in staying inside. Maybe he’d go out and get a cup of coffee at the Menewik the Second down the street. By the time he was back, the touches he’d added to the painting today might have dried. It was too much to hope for that the heating would be fixed, but at least the coffee shop would be warm.
He shrugged on his long, black coat and walked out into the hallway, shoes scuffing on the threadbare, green carpet. Halfway to the stairs, he paused and sniffed the air. There was something there, something indefinable… a smell that was not quite a smell, hovering on the edge of his senses. For a moment, he thought he caught a whiff of decay, the smell of the putrid cloud brooding sullenly over a bog, but then it was gone. He shook his head and kept walking.
He always took the stairs. Mort didn’t typically have a problem with claustrophobia, but being in something, like an elevator, with no way of getting out always gave him the willies. His long, lanky stride made stairs no obstacle to him. In minutes, he’d reached the lobby and strode out into the street.
The mist had thickened even since he’d left the balcony. A dense white fog had descended on the town outside, and he could barely see beyond the sidewalk. It lent the area an odd, ethereal quality, as if the town had suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world. There weren’t many people out and about. Every couple of minutes a car sloshed past on the gleaming asphalt, but they were few and far between.
The coffee shop was not far from the block of flats. In the midst of the curling fog it seemed a warm, cozy little cave, inviting light radiating from the small windows of warped glass. Mort gratefully entered. A small bell tinkled as he stepped through the door.
A sudden gust of wind hit Mort from behind. Clammy wisps of mist curled over his shoulders and past the flapping hem of his coat, fleeing into the corners of the room and rapidly dispersing. The door banged against the wall, the bells tinkling cheerfully with every impact. Mort wrestled it shut and stepped into the shop, sitting down at a table near the wall.
There were only a few customers in the shop. A young, tired-looking woman with short blonde hair sipped a small espresso at the other end of the room, and two men sat in the corner nearest Mort, discussing something intently in low voices. One was quite old, with cloudy blue eyes and a large quantity of snow-white hair that floated wispily around his head. The other was perhaps forty or fifty, with a deeply lined forehead and a thoughtful expression. The older man had a small cup of black coffee before him, but he ignored it. A tattered hardback book lay between them.
The younger man raised his voice. “I don’t care, Ar- Professor, you can’t overlook the extraordinary circumstances…”
The Professor raised his hand. “I understand, Mr. Sherwood, but I’m afraid there is nothing at all remarkable about this book. The man who returned it must have perpetrated some sort of hoax.”
“And paid the library five hundred euros? He needn’t have gone to all that trouble to donate! There’s something strange about all this.”
“Of course, but the book is totally ordinary. I think… ” His voice became inaudible again.
“Sir?”
Mort looked up to see a waitress standing over him. He made an effort to smile. “A small cup of decaf, please.”
“One minute.”
There was a noise from the doorway. Footsteps. Mort looked up and turned his head.
A man was standing on the steps, a man whose presence demanded attention. He wore a suit that would have been highly fashionable a century ago, all in white and black, with an honest-to-God pocket watch chain hanging from his waistcoat pocket. He was tall and thin, his hair raked back from his forehead, and there was a faint, apologetic smile on his face.
Mort had a curious brain. It was always adding up the little details that didn’t seem to fit, the little inconsistencies in reality. It was now wondering why the bell on the door hadn’t rung when the man entered, and why he seemed to be warm and dry despite the clammy atmosphere outside.
The man walked briskly across the room. On the way, the smile remained on his mouth but vanished from his eyes, which became cold and hard as flint.
Sherwood looked up from the book, a puzzled expression forming on his face, as the tall man approached the table. “Ah, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced… Professor, is this a friend of yours?”
“No, I’ve never…” The tall man held up a single finger, and the Professor stopped talking. His mouth opened and shut like a fish’s for several seconds.
The tall man’s smile widened, although it still didn’t reach his eyes. “May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Sherwood?”
The puzzlement in Sherwood’s face slowly turned to suspicion. “How did you know my name?”
“Unimportant. I’d like to speak with you about that book.”
Sherwood’s bushy eyebrows inched upwards, as if attached to wires. He smiled uncertainly. “Look, are you with the fellow who turned the book in? If you are, I don’t know what you’re doing or why, but you can drop the act now.”
The tall man shrugged and turned around. Mort noticed for the first time that he wore a Bluetooth headset, curiously out of place in his nineteenth-century wardrobe. “Sherwood’s getting suspicious,” he said into it. “Aimee?”
“Wait, what are you- ” Sherwood didn’t have time to finish the sentence. The door banged open in a sudden gust of wind, and a huge plume of freezing mist roared into the room. It didn’t disperse as the first had. In fact, it actually seemed to be getting thicker…
Mort’s mouth dropped open in horror. The woman at the other table slumped over, jaw slackening, eyes glazing over. Her espresso spilled unheeded, pouring over the table and dripping to the floor.
His first thought was Gas! It’s some sort of gas leak, maybe… But that little bit of his brain that never stopped nitpicking was already adding up the problems with that thought. The man in the suit isn’t panicking. He doesn’t look surprised at all, in fact, and that’s certainly not gas, is it? It’s just mist. I can feel the condensation on my skin, and I don’t feel odd at all.
The mist reached the nearest wall. The Professor slumped, face plunging into his stone-cold coffee, but Mort remained unaffected. He stood up, looking around warily. Something strange is happening here…
Sherwood shot out of his chair. The mist wreathing around him didn’t seem to affect him, either. “What have you done?” he snarled, grabbing the suited man by the collar.
The man simply winked and clapped a hand to the side of Sherwood’s neck. Sherwood’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he toppled like a tree falling, knocking over the table.
For the first time, a genuine smile crossed the tall man’s face. “I have it,” he said into the headset. “Let’s go.”
Mort pulled out his mobile phone and dialed 999 with trembling fingers. When he brought it to his ear, there was no dial tone, no ring, no calm voice asking “What is your emergency?”, just a hiss of static.
The tall man whirled, eyes focusing on Mort. “Complications,” he said. “Another Unblind, and I only brought one dose.”
He paused, listening, and Mort took the opportunity to run.
The tall man swore. “If he gets away, he’ll report this to the police!… Well, I know they won’t believe him, but the Librarians will find out before too long!… All right, I’m coming…”
Mort heard a thump behind him, and then the sound of the man’s boots on the cracked tile floor. He wasted no time looking back, hurtling out of the coffee shop in a frantic jumble of long limbs and flapping black coat.
If the fog had been thick when he went in, now its consistency was similar to that of pea soup. Mort could hardly see the hand in front of his face, much less the sidewalk around him. He heard the horns of frustrated drivers honking on the road beside him. Nevertheless, he ran, trusting to luck that an unexpected telephone pole or fire hydrant wouldn’t permanently injure him.
He’d gone only a few meters when a cool breeze brushed his face, and the fog immediately in front of him cleared, dancing back to the edges of his vision and lining the sidewalk like an honor guard. Mort couldn’t believe his luck until someone stepped around the corner in front of him.
Like the man pursuing him, her costume was decidedly out of date: a formal-looking black dress with a long, full skirt. A white fur shawl was draped around her shoulders. Black and white again. She was tall and striking, dark-skinned, with a solemn expression on her face. Fog curled around her feet and rose up behind her, but it never touched her.
“You have nowhere to run, sir,” she said. She had an odd accent: French, perhaps? No, there was something different about the vowels… “We do not mean you harm.”
“Of course,” Mort laughed desperately. “Just like you meant Sherwood no harm. Who are you? What do you want?”
There was a soft thump from behind him, and the back of Mort’s neck twinged with sudden, hot pain, like a wasp sting. He yelped in surprise, but the pain was receding already, replaced with a tingling numbness. Not so bad. In fact, I feel really, really good…
The world spun, and his back hit a concrete wall. No, wait, that was the sidewalk, but it didn’t really make much difference, given how the street was dripping and dissolving like melting wax.
As the last vestiges of consciousness leaked out of his madly grinning head, he heard the man behind him say, “Two Unblind! In a single town! That’s ridiculous!”
“There’s something odd about this whole situation,” the woman replied. “This man may be important. We’ll have to talk to Sanderson about him.”
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165- Thanks, I’ll make a note of that.
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168) Interesting……. I agree with the letter thing. It doesn’t sound like something I would right about if I were in that position. I do like the cafe scene. I always love a good unexpected chase, especially when the main character is knocked out.
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167- Freaky. What ARE they up to?
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Serkan is officially up on the Visual Arts thread, if anyone wants to see.
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I’m writing a story called One In A Million. Plot summary:
In the future, all nations are united in a government system called the Unity, ruled by one person called the Ruler. The current Ruler was elected because he invented a thing called the mind-chip, which can be implanted into a newborn baby’s brain. It causes en to have the education of a high school graduate, making school unnecessary. When he became Ruler, he made mind-chip implantation mandatory. But secretly, he added something to the chip that makes you not question his ideas and do whatever he says, no matter what. However, occasionally mind-chips are defective, and missing that part. This happens rarely; approximately one in a million people has a defect. One girl, Jennifer Sparks, has a defective one. She is put in a Defect Chip Center (like a mental hospital), finds out what the Ruler is doing, and bands together with the other patients to stop him.
Here’s the first few paragraphs:
NORTHWESTERN UNITY SECTION, 2500
Jennifer Sparks opened her eyes, yawned, and rolled over in bed. The clock in her mind-chip told her it was not yet 8:00, the time when all Unity citizens got out of bed and got dressed, before leaving their sleep chambers at 8:15. She hated waking up at the wrong time – leaving her bed a minute too late or early would result in nausea, difficulty breathing, and a pounding headache. But Ruler wanted everyone to get up at 8:00, so that’s the way it had to be.
Jennifer had been only a few months old when Ruler was elected. The Unity was a fairly new form of government, so in the past it had been difficult to choose a Ruler. But this time the choice had been obvious; he had invented the mind-chip, the most important invention since the teleport booth. It could be implanted into the head of a newborn and cause en to know everything a high school graduate would know, making school unnecessary. When he became Ruler, he had made mind-chip implantation mandatory, and greatly improved the modern world.
Jennifer had never really understood why the Ruler had so much power and respect, but she was afraid to ask. Everyone had heard the stories of children who had questioned the Ruler’s authority, and had to live in the Damaged Chip Center instead of getting a job. So it was generally accepted that the Ruler had authority.
Feedback, please!
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172) I really like this plot! However, I don’t know if you should be that straightforward in those first few paragraphs. It’s like you’re telling me everything and not letting me reason it out for myself. I would make it less obvious, not have it all laid out like that. Of course, that’s just my opinion……..
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173 – Good point. *goes off to edit story*
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172–Really cool plot, and good beginning. Btw, have you ever read the book “Feed”?
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Randomly wrote this one day, I might go along with it. I got the inspiration from the song “Waking the Demon”, by Bullet for My Valentine.
—
It was the Fourth of July. The people who weren’t watching fireworks were stuffing their faces with unhealthy food. Those who weren’t doing that were lying in pools of their blood, and those who weren’t doing that were crouching next to the dead, drinking the blood they lay in.
Ages didn’t matter. In one part of an East Coast patch of trees lay an old man, cane discarded by the fiend that brought him down. The fiend was by contrast a teenage girl, although you couldn’t really tell by the state she was in. Long dirty fingernails, scraggly hair that swept over her shoulders in impossible tangles, eyes that rivaled the sunset with their red shade. And the fangs, inserted into the man’s neck. She shifted the weight of her body, her crouch now leaning to the left. She sipped quietly.
Somewhere in Kansas, a middle aged woman was brought down by her own neighbors, a lesbian couple who now looked disturbingly similar to the teenage girl, their usually manicured nails and blonde hair matted by dirt. They’d regret not moving to a neighborhood filled with people more like them in the morning, and they’d probably also regret killing their nice neighbor. But for now their only worry was quenching their uncontrollable thirst.
Not to far from them was a man, about as old as the one now being sucked try by the teenager. He was crouched by his victim, another man of considerable weight. Unlike the three girls, he knew exactly who he had killed, and already felt as much regret as he would in the morning, which was an absolute zero. He wasn’t heartless, but his bloodless companion certainly was, which was the reason for the old man’s compassion level of zip.
The full moon shone over the country, the celebrants and their fireworks, the vampires and their victims. The second the sun poked a ray over the horizon, all would return to their lives as humans. But until then, monsters they would be.
—
Si megusta?
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176) Oooooooooo. Me likes. Tis good in a dastardly way. *crooked grin* I think my problem is that I just like bloody scenes.
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Question on how a plot like this sounds…. It would revolve around people, who instead of relying on light to see, would see only shadows? Shadow to us, is their light. Throw in a character from our world and wallah! Thats mostly the plot I’ve got so far, except I’ve thrown in a vampire sub-plot…
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176–Interesting. And bloody. Bloody is good.
178–Ooh…so how do shadows look to them? Like light or…just another dimension we can’t comprehend…? Cool idea.
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176- Oo blood!
Chapter One ~ Child Without a Name
He was cold. And hungry, his belly twisting and growling in its discomfort. He felt odd, too, like he had lost something vital. Something important was missing. He squeezed the stems of the tissue paper flowers and wondered where they had come from. Then a frown wrinkled his pale, pinched face as realization came in a flash.
He didn’t know where he was.
Nor did he know how he had gotten there, or why he was laying in the middle of the road, at night, in the rain.
He didn’t know his own name.
The boy rose unsteadily, almost drunkenly, to his feet, and stared at the paper flowers. Black roses, carefully and meticulously crafted, with twisted wire stems. Six of them. He felt that there was some significance in that, but whatever it was escaped him entirely.
He frowned again, harder, trying to think. But there was nothing, nothing to tell him why he was alone in a street, in the dark, wet and cold and hungry.
Not a street, he realized. A square, with a fountain in the centre. Judging by the amount of pillars and carvings on the building opposite him, it was a temple square, devoted to the worship of one of the eight deities.
The boy stumbled forward through the rain, tripping over cobbles and clutching the paper flowers. He continued forward until he arrived at the steps of the temple, which, mercifully, were covered and protected from the rain.
There was a statue standing in the entrance, a life-size obsidian tribute to the god. The boy squinted up at it, blinking through his sopping hair.
Obsidian, that was significant, he was certain. Obsidian alone should tell him the god, but his mind was a blank.
The statue was handsome, of medium height, with a kindly expression on its face. The face was roughly triangular, slanted eyes accented by high cheekbones and elfish eyebrows. A long, slightly upturned nose served as a barrier to the shock of hair that fell over half of the face, and thin lips smiled slightly out at the square.
A cloak was draped about the thin frame, revealing nothing of the body. An arm reached out, the hand and forearm shaken free of the cloak. The hand was curled around six roses with wire stems.
The boy huddled up against the obsidian figure, and stared out at the rain with big, scared eyes.
~
He was kicked awake a short time later by a priest, a large, fat man with a bulbous nose and foul breath.
“Up, you!†snarled the priest, giving him another good kick, just below his ribcage. “Up! How dare you defile the face of this temple! How dare you!â€
The boy scrambled backwards, raising his hand to ward off the blows. The priest let out a scream of fury and raised his thick, twisted wire staff. “Thief!†he cried. “Thief! Thief!â€
“What? No, I-†the boy was cut off as the priest dealt him a stiff blow over his head. He tumbled backwards, into the square, and saw that a squad of angry-looking police were heading his way. With a moan, he rolled to his feet and half-ran, half-crawled away from the temple.
“STOP HIM!†bellowed the priest. “STOP HIM! HE HAS STOLEN THE HOLY RELIC OF THE TEMPLE! STOP HIM! STOP THE THIEF!â€
The boy ran for his life, still clutching the flowers. He darted down a narrow, filthy alley, gasping with fear. He could hear the shouts of the policemen and the priest behind him, and they spurred him on to still greater speeds.
He saw an open doorway in front of it, and dove in without thinking.
It was a kitchen, and a dark, grungy kitchen at that. There was a window, though it hardly qualified as a window as it was so grimy that it hardly let the light in at all, and besides it was so small that it wouldn’t have made much of a difference in the darkness of the kitchen even if it had been clean. The counters, too, were filth covered, and sticky too from the look of them. On the far side of the room stood a tiny, rusty oven that looked as if it might fall over at any second.
The cook – a young girl, deathly pale with wine-red hair and bony wrists – stood at a small table in the centre of the room, pounding a lump of grey dough. She didn’t look up as the boy fell into the room, but hissed, “quick, behind the oven. They’ll be in here in a trice…â€
The boy didn’t stop to think, but scrambled across the room and rolled behind the dilapidated oven. He crouched there, holding his breath, trying to make himself as small as possible, his spine pressed against a grimy brick wall.
A policeman burst in through the open doorway, looking austere and terrifying in his crisp, black uniform. He was tall, his neck too long and his face rather square and jowly. Thick sideburns covered his cheeks and were matched in terms of utter hairiness by his eyebrows, which looked like an enormous, furry rat had taken up residence over his small, black eyes. The boy shrank back even further at the sight of him, but the cook seemed not to mind.
“Anyone come in here?†asked the policeman, his voice thick and grating.
The cook shook her head, her wine-red curls swaying loosely.
“No. Sorry.†Her face stayed perfectly smooth and innocent as she said it. The officer left, grunting in annoyance.
A door opened, very near to the boy’s hiding place behind the oven. He cringed away as a fat, whiskered head with pallid cheeks and watery eyes leaned forward into the dirty kitchen.
“Sable!†barked the head in a rough, scratchy voice.
The cook looked up, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Yes?â€
“More pies. Quick, now, we’ve near run out.â€
“Right away,†said Sable sweetly. The head withdrew and she pulled a face, pounding on the lump of dough before her rather harder than was really necessary. “You can come out now, if you like,†she said, without looking up.
The boy rolled out from behind the oven, and crouched, looking up at the cook.
She wasn’t much older than he was, he realized, but she had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pinched and drawn tight against her bones. Everything about her was bony; her fingers long, each individual bone outlined against the pale skin. Apart from her hair there was no color about her at all, just a greyish whiteness. The boy thought she looked rather like something that had crawled up from a grave, save for her hair, which looked like something that had just burst forth into life a few minutes ago.
She looked at him appraisingly for a moment. At last she said, “You know how to cook, boy?â€
The boy shook his head.
“Pity.†The cook brushed a stray curl out of her face. “Oh well…â€
“Sorry,†mumbled the boy.
“Don’t be,†replied the cook, briskly, giving the dough a final pound before moving to the oven and pulling out a tray of succulent looking pies that contrasted wildly with the filth of the kitchen. She piled the pies onto a dirty tray and vanished through the door that the head had appeared from previously. A moment later she reappeared, the tray empty. She smiled at him.
“Name’s Sable,†she said lightly. “You?â€
The boy gulped. “I… I don’t have a name,†he said quietly.
“No?†Sable asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,†the boy said.
“You must have had one at some point…?†she said, questioningly.
“If I did I don’t remember it,†replied the boy miserably.
“Well,†she said, “I suppose you’ll just have to find another one.â€
“How?†asked the boy, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. He wanted a name, of that he was certain.
“Live,†said the cook simply. “It’s all any of us can do, eh?â€
He looked down, staring at the pattern of grease and mud that had taken up residence on the kitchen floor. The bitter tang of disappointment filled his mouth.
“That’s it?†he asked in a small voice. “Live?â€
“There are worse things, you know,†said Sable softly.
“I guess,†he mumbled. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and wrapped his arms around his knees.
Sable looked at him, hard, once more. At last she said, “it’s almost closing time. There’s room in my house, if you want a place to sleep.â€
The boy looked up at her, stared into her dark eyes. “Thank you,†he said, his voice almost too soft for his own ears to catch it. The cook smiled at him.
A few minutes later the boy heard the scratchy voice from the other side of the door, shouting for people to get out. “We’re closin’ up now, up, up, get out.â€
Sable wiped the counters rather futilely, covered the dough, and beckoned for the boy to follow her out into the alleyway. “It’s a bit of a walk,†she said, rather apologetically.
“I don’t mind,†mumbled the boy.
“So how’d you come by them flowers, anyway?†asked the cook, directing him into an even darker, narrower alley.
“Dunno,†said the boy. “I woke up in the temple square and they were in my hand.†He squeezed the wire stems, hard enough to cut his hand. It stung, and fascinated him.
Sable chuckled. “Never a good sign,†she said darkly.
“Why?†asked the boy.
She looked at him, her dark eyes full of something that he couldn’t quite discern – sympathy, perhaps? “Waking up with no memory of who you are? Clutching the symbol of the death god?â€
“What?†asked the boy, startled.
“You didn’t know?†she asked, her eyebrows raising once more.
The boy shook his head. “I knew there was some significance but I couldn’t think what.â€
“Huh…†she trailed off. “No matter. Turn here.â€
They walked in silence for a while, the boy left to his own thoughts. The priest had said that he’d stolen a holy relic, presumably the flowers. But he hadn’t – or at least he couldn’t remember stealing them. Of course he couldn’t remember anything else, either… He certainly didn’t feel like a thief.
His thoughts turned to names, and he felt another pang. Why couldn’t he remember? It wasn’t for lack of trying, that was certain; he could sense that it was there, hovering just out of conscious thought, and he reached for it with all the determination of an army about to march on a country with a larger, better trained force. But all was in vain, and he couldn’t quite reach far enough.
The forerunner of despair settled on him. He felt lost, hopeless, without a scrap of identifying information for him to rely on. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, like dying of thirst and being unable to reach out for a flask filled to the brim with sweet, cold water.
He hardly noticed where he was putting his feet until they struck an uneven cobble and sent him sprawling against a dirty wall. He grunted as his cheek scraped against the brick and felt the skin tear. Hot blood tricked down his face as he rolled away and scrambled unsteadily to his feet.
Sable was watching him. “Alright?†she asked. He nodded. “Come on, then,†she said, “it’s not far now.â€
He wiped the blood from his face and followed her, paying more attention to the ground before him.
A moment later she stopped, abruptly. “Here we are,†she said lightly.
“Where?†asked the boy. He didn’t see anything resembling a door, or even a window.
“Here,†said Sable. She knelt and dug her fingers into a gap between two cobbles, and pulled. A hole opened up, and a warm, honey-colored light greeted their eyes.
Sable pushed the trapdoor back, and dropped in. “Come on,†she said. “Nothing to be afraid of.â€
She vanished into the hole, and the boy followed, closing the trapdoor behind him.
He was in a large, vaguely circular, well-lit room. There was a bed in the corner, and a pair of intricately carved armchairs sat close together near the centre of the room. There were piles of paper everywhere. Maps, blank sheets, newspapers, everywhere. There seemed to be a fair amount of handwritten material as well.
A door led off to another room, as well. It was shut tight and seemed to be locked.
The boy stood by the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. He hesitated, not sure what to make of this new development.
The cook gestured towards the armchairs. “You can sit, if you like.†He hesitated, then moved cautiously to sit down, still clutching the paper flowers. Sable vanished through the doorway and returned a moment later with a damp cloth. “Here,†she said, handing it to the boy. He stared at it, uncomprehending, and she elaborated. “For that cut on your cheek.â€
“Oh…†he muttered, touching the abrasion delicately and wincing. He pressed the cloth to the bloody tear and gingerly dab at the drying blood and bits of grime. “Why do you live underground?” he asked, softly.
“Oh, you know…” said Sable airily. “Matter of personal choice, I suppose.”
“You like it?” asked the boy.
She nodded. “There’s a good deal of room, more than I would have if I lived up there. And anyway, it’s free.”
“Oh… I suppose that makes sense,” said the boy. “How’d you find this place, anyway?”
Sable seemed to hesitate. “You can’t tell anyone,” she said. The boy laughed.
“Who do I know to tell?” he asked bitterly.
Sable smiled a bit sadly. “True.” There was another short silence as she seemed to search for the proper way to explain. At last she said, “I suppose you could say I inherited the place.”
The boy looked up. “Inherited? You mean from a relative?”
“Not exactly…” Sable trailed off. “But yes, someone had it before me and passed it on to me when they died…” She frowned, as if talking had brought up painful memories.
The boy felt that be should offer his sympathies, but he couldn’t think of the proper combination of words to do so. Instead he stared down at his bare toes and said nothing.
“Anyway,” Sable said briskly, “that was a year ago.”
“You’ve been here that long?” asked the boy, finishing his cheek and lowering the cloth. Sable smiled.
“Yeah,” she said softly. For a moment there was silence, and then a great door opened and two tall, thin men with identical mops of straw-colored hair bounded into the room.
“Hiya, Sable,” said the one on the left. “How ye been?”
“Who’s he?” asked the other in a softer, Â lower tone.
“All in good time,” replied Sable dryly. “Wait at least until the others get here.”
“I hate to wait,” muttered the one on the left. The other merely shrugged and leaned casually against the wall.
“Sorry, Ling,†said Sable lightly. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too long…â€
The calm one chuckled. “Now, now, brother… Patience is a virtue-â€
“-One which I do not possess,†countered Ling.
“We know,†said Sable and the brother in unison.
Ling scowled and dropped into the armchair beside the boy. He caught sight of the flowers and stared for a moment.
“You’ve got the death god’s flowers!†he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
“Who has the death god’s flowers?†asked a new voice, and a short, dark-skinned boy with thick, wavy black hair and light grey eyes walked into the room.
“This boy!†said Ling, looking utterly shocked.
The boy felt a chill of fear, and shrunk back into the armchair. He clutched the flowers.
“Oh?†said the dark man. He walked forward fluidly and without sound. The boy shuddered to see his eyes. They were like pale ghosts staring out from the dark man’s face.
The dark man saw the roses clutched in the boy’s hand, and a smile broke out over his face. It didn’t make him any less frightening, quite the opposite; it was a crooked, crazed sort of smile, the smile that the boy imagined a murderer might wear. “So he does!†said the man, sounding delighted.
The boy looked up at him. Frightening though his appearance was, there was kindness in those pale eyes.
“You have a name, boy?†asked the man.
“No,†said the boy in a faint whisper. “Do you?â€
The man extended a hand in a friendly manner. “Tacitus,†he said. “Just Tacitus.â€
The boy reached out and shook Tacitus’ hand.
Ling spluttered in outrage. “He has the death god’s flowers!â€
“So?†asked Tacitus mildly.
“So?†yelped Ling. “So? Mark me, if we don’t get rid of him we’ll all be dead within the hour!â€
“Ling-†said the brother.
“No, Eric,†snapped Ling, “listen to me! He said he doesn’t have a name – you know who doesn’t have names?â€
“Ling, I think you’re overreacting…†said Sable gently. Tacitus rolled his eyes behind Ling’s back.
“I’m not overreacting! None of the death god’s agents have names! I’m telling you, this boy is an agent of death!â€
“No, I’m not…†whispered the boy hoarsely. He was shaking.
“Well of course you’re going to say that!†cried Ling, waving his arms and looking quite mad.
“But-†said the boy.
“Take it easy, Ling,†murmured Tacitus. “The death god’s agents to not go about undisguised. They certainly don’t carry his flowers around, in plain sight, for all to see.â€
Ling’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose you’re right… But suppose the death god appears to reclaim his flowers.â€
“Oh,†said a new, honey-smooth voice. “You don’t need to worry about that.
Ling jerked around and stared about wildly. “Who said that?â€
“It’s not important,†said the voice. “I’m no one of consequence.â€
“You speak for the death god?†asked Ling, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“No.â€
“Yet you claim he will not reclaim his flowers and punish us for stealing them?â€
“Ah,†said the voice with just the barest hint of amusement in its tone. “But you see, they were not stolen.â€
The boy felt a rush of relief at this. He hadn’t stolen the flowers after all!
“Then how did the boy come by them?†demanded Ling fiercely.
“I gave them to him,†said the voice.
For a long moment there was silence. Then Ling cried, “What?â€
There was no answer. The boy clutched the flowers tighter and stared at Ling with wide eyes, still uncertain as to what had just happened.
Ling stared, panting, still seeming to search wildly for the source of the voice. “What…?” he said again, a pleading note entering his voice. The boy thought that he sounded rather pathetic.
“Steady!” said Tacitus, starting forward as Ling slumped to the ground in a dead faint. Tacitus caght him before he had landed entirely, which was lucky as Ling was tall and had a rather long way to fall.
Eric, the brother, leaned forward with a sigh. “Weak nerves,” he said, resignedly. “That’s what causes it. Always been a problem, ever since we were little.” Eric shook his head. “Honestly.”
Sable gestured towards the bed. “Put him there,” she said.
Tacitus grunted and heaved Ling’s lanky frame over to the bed, and the door opened for a third time. The boy shrank down in his chair in case the newcomer shared Ling’s views.
This time it was a thin girl who looked as though she couldn’t be more than six or seven years, at the most. She had high ceekbones and a regal air despite her youth.
“Hello, Amber,” said Sable cooly. The girl nodded curtly.
“Still here, I see,” said the girl stiffly.
“It is my house after all,” said Sable coldly. Eric shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.
“Er… Now that we’re all here, Sable, would you mind telling us who he is?” He jerked his head in the boy’s direction.
Sable shrugged. “A lost, lonely soul,” she said. “No different than any other.”
The boy felt it was time to speak up. “I don’t mean any harm,” he said. Then, fighting a rising, irrational panic, “I’ll leave if you want. I don’t have to stay if you don’t want me to…”
Amber looked as if she would like that very much, but Sable shook her head. “Nonsense,” said the too-thin cook. “You wouldn’t last an hour out there.”
The boy stared intently at his toes. Amber snorted.
“And have him go running to the law the moment our backs is turned? I think not.”
Sable whirled on her, obviously angry. “Thank you for that wonderful insight, Amber, but the last I heard I am the leader of this establishment, not you, and I say he stays.”
“But-” began Amber in a high pitched whine.
“Thats my final word,” Sable snarled, cutting her off.
“No need to snap,†Amber muttered sullenly.
The boy swallowed and shifted uneasily at the obvious tension that had sprung up in the room. Sable and Amber were glaring at each other with obvious dislike and Tacitus had stood up, quietly, and stood solemnly, staring at the two of them.
Eric, too, had risen to his feet; the boy thought that he had the look of someone who is bracing himself for a fight. Sable glared harder, a look that would have sent the boy away screaming in terror, but which didn’t seem to phase Amber in the least.
“There is a need to snap, Amber,” spat Sable viciously. “You see, you are in my employ, and as such you are overstepping your position. I will not tolerate it!” Her voice rose in pitch as she spoke, and Amber’s face turned a delicate shade of puce.
“I’m not your servant!” shrieked Amber.
“Neither are you my master,” hissed Sable, her voice suddenly venomous.
“Easy…” said Tacitus. “There’s no need for this.”
“I deserve some respect!” squeaked Amber in outrage.
“Only when you’ve earned it,” growled Sable.
“Please,” said Eric, “please don’t fight. We’re supposed to be a family.”
Amber scoffed and stalked over to the bed. She sat at Ling’s feet and glowered at the boy.
“Look,” said Sable, tugging on a wine-red curl, “We’re all a little tense. Let’s just get some sleep, alright?”
Tacitus nodded. “a reasonable enough suggestion. Perhaps matters will take on a different appearance when our minds have been brightened by rest.”
“Or perhaps not…” said Amber in an undertone.
Tacitus ignored her and smiled kindly at the boy. “Goodnight, Nameless One. Pleasant dreams.”
The boy bowed his head. “And to you also.”
Sable showed him to a small, circular room filled with the comforting smell of lavender. There was a small cot against the wall. “Thank you,” murmured the boy. Sable smiled.
“I’ll just get you some blankets.”
“Thank you,” said the nameless boy.
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Thousands of eyes followed her as she put her foot cautiously on the rope. Thousands of voices gasped collectively as the rope wobbled slightly. Her heart skipped a beat, but her expression remained the same, a calm, smiling facade. She was not only an acrobat but an actor, concealing her concentration, the sharp spike of adrenaline when the rope creaked. She took a mental deep breath, and made the second step.
From there to the middle of the rope it was easy. Usually. But today it was different. She couldn’t help but imagine herself missing a step, tumbling from the rope down to the net below, and through the net; she knew she would go through, her rushed, half-hearted attempts at mending it would never hold, not up to any real weight. I knew I should have told someone, she thought. I should have…
It was interfering with her concentration. She was more likely to fall than if she didn’t think about it. She felt her lighthearted mask beginning to slip, and found she was fighting panic. Deep breath, she told herself. Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine. She tried not to imagine her father below her, who knew her performance, must know that something was wrong. She was only a third of the way across still, the hard part was yet to come.
And her real mask slipped, the ribbon coming loose, the eyeholes sliding down her face and solid silk coming between her eyes and the rest of the world. She lifted a hand to push it up, but her foot slipped and she was falling.
She screamed. She felt herself hit the net, and thought for a moment that it would hold, but it didn’t, and yards and yards lay between herself and the ground.
But the distance was covered in an instant, and she felt the wood chips leap up to meet her, and then nothing.
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179- They look like light. And the light, looks like shadows. I may work a love story in there, cause of the whole “two different worlds” thing
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181- O.O
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Usually I don’t write gory scenes into my novels, but if this is going to be a vampire romance… well, we don’t need any more Twilights in the world, so this one is going to be a vampire romance with the emphasis on the VAMPIRE. I hope. If I even finish it. Which is unlikely. So far I’ve got Mira, the dark and brooding angsty teenager, Owen, the flaming feygeleh :), and Fionna, the runaway imagination main character who pretends everything is a hot vampire she wants to make out with.
Bit cliche, but it’s what I’ve got.
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Is it weird that I’m writing a novel concering fire? I’m usually not a pyro, but I find it an interesting base for a tragedy. Anyway, I think I’ve got something really good going. The first part seems sort of mysterious tragedy, but it’s going to turn a bit sci-fi as the plot progresses. I need to write more, but here’s the first part. Ths is all from Gail’s POV.
The Gifter
by Aggie
Everything around me was heat, pure and unadulterated, impassioned. My hands, like white water lilies on their pond of cloudy air, fluttered by my side as I ran from the licking flames downstairs. The inferno had consumed the entirety of the wooden banister, and was making its’ way menacingly after me up the mahogany steps. The brown hair on my head pulled back into a ponytail whipped against my neck, and it was hot with sweat and feverish emotion. I turned my head backward, eyes wild and reflected in them the burning calescent jumble of smoke and mirrors that used to be my living room. There was nothing left.
I dashed down the hall, trying to escape the fire. It slid quickly up the stairs behind me like a snake, hissing as it burned the carpet that ignited moments after I had literally broken the door to my room open with a crash. I rushed in, frantically searching for some way to escape the inferno consuming my home and my life. My mind seemed to have been enveloped by shock and fear, and it seemed now that the only thing I could think of was the fact that my mother would scold me for tearing my brand new jeans.
My legs carried me across the pink carpet smoldering grey with ash. I turned my head, scanning every inch of the room that was beginning to smoke. My eyes met the windows. They were my only option. I crawled over on my hands and knees, staying low to the ground, and came up underneath the windowsill. My hands groped around until they found the latch, and I tried to force the window frame upwards. I had no luck. The window had always stuck, ever since I was little, and had been almost completely welded to the bottom frame for unending years. I stood up, about to break the melting glass, when there was a shuddering from the ground up, like a small earthquake. The ceiling burst into flames.
I screamed, and dove into the shelter of my open closet as a large bean from overhead came crashing down into my room I grabbed the doorknob, and immediately let go with a cry of anguish. It was scalding hot, and my hand throbbed in angry red pain. I pulled a sweater from above, wrapped it around the knob and used it to swing the closet door shut. Instantly, I regretted my decision. The small amount of air in the enclosed space was thick with billows of smoke, and I began to cough uncontrollably. I put the other sweater sleeve over my mouth and nose in an attempt to keep the smoke away. In the distance, I could have sworn that I heard the faint whine of a fire siren. But my voice was waning, and my one faint try to call out for help resulted in a lungful of burning air and a fit of coughing. I curled up against my unused prom dress and waited for the fire to consume me fully. I did not want to die.
It was just as the fire seeped under the closet and the noises of collapsing wood grew louder upon my ears that the door fell away. My wide blue eyes were suddenly confronted by the sight of my bedroom, eaten up by the hungry orange flames. There was hardly anything left but charred, black beams and sections of floorboard. It was a terrible sight, and I shielded my eyes to the blinding light that was crawling into the closet with me. There was a noise then. I opened my eyes, thinking that I was safe, that it was someone to rescue me. Sure enough, there was a figure standing out there, upon a lone beam of black wood. But this was strange. The man was not dressed in yellow, he did not wear a hat, and he did not have a hose or a ladder and certainly had brought no help with him. The air around us was completely silent. The man was a dark shadow, and I could not see his face. He held both hands to me outstretched, and I tried to reach upward, to feel them, to know that I was not alone. But no sooner had I tried to move than the rack on the top of my closet came falling down onto me. It hit me squarely on my head, and my eyes began to blur as the heat melted into me. The last thing I saw before I sank into dark sleep was the man, arms spread, a flame bursting behind him like a phoenix from the dying ashes of my rosebud carpet.
I felt no more.
When I awoke after what seemed like a lifetime with no end, everything was white. It wasn’t that thin yellowish vanilla white that you get with ice cream, it was whiter than new fallen snow. Everything that met my wide hazel eyes was purely bright. I sat up against what felt like a pile of pillows, and looked around.
I sat in a bed that wasn’t mine. The sheets were thin and finely pressed, not like my own microfiber blankets at home. The hospital room was clean, and somehow sterile. The surroundings were bleak, very empty, with no real color except for the white walls and the wood door marked ‘303’. There was a bedside table next to me, and a couple of file cabinets and a stiff-backed chair against the east wall. A single window was across from me, and I could see the bright sunshine flooding onto the tile floor. It smelled like lemon Windex, which burned my nostrils. I tried to lift my arm from underneath the tightly wrapped sheets, then winced in pain. I looked down to see that I was wearing bandages from my left shoulder to my wrist, and it stung terribly. The memory returned to me.
The fire hadn’t been my fault, I knew that. It was an ordinary Tuesday, the heart of spring in New York. We lived in a suburban area, not near the main cities, and it was a quiet place for a child like me to grow up. The grass was green, the air was fresh, and everything smelled like the fresh peonies growing outside the window. I was an orphan since near birth, and had lived with my aunt and uncle all my life. They hadn’t been at home, they usually never were. They were normally always at work, making money to pay the taxes, and the mortgage on their two-story home. That day, however, they were in Russia, visiting an extension of the vast law firm where they worked. I hardly ever saw them, and when I did they were never happy to see me.
I had been doing biology, the least favorite of my subjects. I loved playing sports, and although I was only fifteen I was sure that I wanted to be a professional athlete. Athletic people didn’t need to know biology, in my opinion, especially not mitosis. I was flipping the pages of my thick textbook, studying intently, when suddenly, there was a loud crack from somewhere in the living room. I didn’t think anything of it at the time; our house always made strange noises. A moment later, I smelled smoke. There was a crackling, a roaring coming from the living room. I rose to my feet, and walked through the doorway to see everything in flames, and I had panicked. Then… what?
I couldn’t remember anything more, and at that moment, someone pushed the door open and walked in. A nurse dressed in a smart white pencil skirt and vest strode over to my bed, setting on the bedside table a bottle of pain medicine and a vase of flowers.
“Good afternoon,†the nurse said. “You’re very lucky to be alive.â€
“I know,†I whispered quietly. The fact that someone was talking with me made the confirmation that I was there, and not at home with my parents in some happier time of my life. I was here, in a hospital bed, and mom and dad were halfway across the world, and I had nothing, nobody…
The nurse placed two of the blue pills in my hand, and gave me a glass of water. “Take these, and try to get some more rest,†she said, straightening her apron. “That was some fire.†She was very calm, and I didn’t understand it. How could someone else be so at peace, when inside me there was a literal torrent of emotion swirling and making me feel sick? The earth still spun, and lives went on down on the street below. But for me, everything had stopped. My life was dead and gone, barely there but for the existence of faint family ties somewhere far from where I lay. I swallowed the pills, chased by the cool liquid.
The nurse took the glass from my quavering hands, and dropped the bottle into her pocket. She was halfway to the door when I remembered to ask, “Who sent the flowers?â€
“We don’t know,†she replied. “They were just there on the front reception desk in the morning.†She walked out, closing the door behind her. I turned my head to look at the vase. It was full to the brim with blood red roses, all fully in bloom. The petals were soft, delicate, and looked like they had been spun out of pure air. I reached out to touch one with my better hand, when I noticed a small white card tucked gently into the many green stems. I plucked it out. The envelope read simply, “To Gailâ€.
I tucked my thumb under the flap of the envelope, and slit the top open gently. I opened the cream envelope and pulled out a small embroidered card. It was white, and in the corner was a small orange flower. I put my finger over it. Orange had become my least favorite color in less than two hours. Under the flower, in thin black script, were four words that I had never seen together in a sentence.
‘You have been gifted.’
I re-read the sentence for a second time, then a third and a fourth. The words did not make sense. They were not in the correct tense. “You are gifted, you were gifted…†I said to myself. But none of these comparisons seemed to relate to this new phrase. I thought about personal talents. I was a good soccer player, I got into States in swimming. But this made it seem like I had lost my gift. I put the card back on the table. Then, after a few minutes, I picked it back up and read it again.
“What could it mean?†I asked myself. More importantly, “Who sent this, and how do they know my name?†I flipped the card over, and to my surprise, there were words on the back as well.
‘277 Cunningham, Mechanicville, New York. Use the back door.’
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180–Wow, really nice work. It got a bit confusing with the names towards the end (like who’s who) but it’s really well-written.
181–MORE!
Okay, a tiny bit more of my Hades story. I just had my wisdom teeth out, so I haven’t been writing much…
“There’s a fine line between the two,†he replied, running a hand through his midnight hair, “and the hunter and the harmed are oftentimes one and the same.â€
“And which side do these European guests fall on? Or yourself, for that matter?â€
“Veri and Kri are as docile as kittens. But as for myself…†he looked at me over the rim of his goblet, his eyes glittering wickedly, “…you never know.â€
I stood stiffly. “How droll. Another vampire who can’t control himself. You’ll excuse me, Lyall, I think Hades is calling me.†I turned and strode back to my seat, leaving a chastened vampire and a sniggering werewolf in my wake.
Hades was just standing as I arrived at my seat; the red in his eyes gleamed, and as one, the guests of Sir Death stood and faced their host.
“Friends of the night and fellows of darkness,†he began, his voice rich and regal. I shivered at the complete otherworldliness of his voice. “I welcome you here at my table, my exalted guests who have traveled from lands far and horizons forgotten…ghost and goblin, fairy and fiend, werewolf and weird-women, I welcome you all.â€
The crowd shifted and whispered under the pale moon. Even the cavorting servants and beasts seemed to have stilled their wild games to listen.
“We have met, we have dined, and like the Companies since time began, it is the time —†the crowd tensed—“the time to run.”
I smiled in anticipation. This was the part of Hades’ gatherings I so loved, why I allowed myself to be dragged through the worlds to this place. The Cortege—or, that sounding too formal, the exhilarating rush through the night, where the fairy creatures around me lent me their magic for one night, so that she could run with them…this was what she came for.
Queen Tysiona and King Obyren began first, taking slow, almost ceremonial steps away from the table. Faster and faster they tread, their train pouring out from the woods and hollows to follow, and then the other guests began to move , running with such grace they were almost dancing…
And then I was running too, far faster than any human ever had before, taken up in the wild flying around me, like a whirlwind on a dark winter night, like being dizzy after spinning, like being underwater in a rushing stream, flying along in the mad frenzy around me.
How can a mere human explain the feeling? I was surrounded by fur and flame and flesh and strange things I could not name, and yet somehow I was a part of all of it, become one with every other creature there, seeing all they saw, feeling all they felt…it was terrifying and exhilirating at the same time, as if I were being whirled about at such a speed that I knew that if I let go I would fly off into space…
Meh, that’s what I’ve got so far. I think I may change it later.
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Continued from 181-
Chapter One:
It was raining, cold and persistent. Melissa turned her head slightly and watched the rain splash onto the back of her left hand. She felt strangely detached, as though the hand was not hers, and the limp muddy curls were plastered against someone else’s face, not hers. Her arms had goosebumps, she could see, but she didn’t feel them. Is this death? she thought. Next I’m going to see my own body lying here, and everybody around me giving me CPR…
“Hey! What’s this?” said a voice from above her, and someone poked her side. It was not the sort of thing you would expect someone to say or do if they had just watched a girl fall from a tightrope to her untimely death.
Fear made Melissa close her eyes and hold her breath as hands flipped her over onto her back.
“‘S a girl,” said another voice, sounding surprised.
“With nice clothes,” added the first voice incredulously.
“Where’d she come from, that’s the question,” said the second voice.
“I dunno. Is she alive?”
Hands on Melissa’s cheeks, and over her mouth. She tried harder not to breathe. The hands moved to her wrist, lingered for a second or two, and withdrew.
“She’s warm, and her heart’s beating. No breath though.”
Melissa’s lungs were bursting. She tried to exhale and inhale very slowly, but the eyes of her captors were too quick for that.
“Ha! She breathed!”
The game was up. Melissa opened her eyes reluctantly.
I’m hungry. I’ll write more later.
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186- Thank you. Hades is interesting, thus far.
187- *growls* MORE. Please?
Chapter 2
Chapter Two – By Love and By Pain
I am running, the breath torn from my chest and searing my throat with each step. My foot hits a puddle of murky water and water sprays up around me, cold and stinking of decay. I hear the sounds of fearsome pursuit, clattering hooves on the cobbles, the cacauphonic symphony of the dogs. I am driven on to greater speed.
Men shout behind me as I dash into an alley to narrow for horses. They have guns, and the crack of metal piercing the air proceeds the sting and warmth of blood in my shoulder… I run on, gasping, bare feet scraped raw by the uneven cobblestones. If I stumble I am lost…
Then I will not stumble. The message has been delivered and I have my promise to Catherine that I will return home to her. I will keep my promise…
It is begining to rain; soon the cobbles will be slick and dangerous.
The men behind me are gaining ground. They are well-fed and restrd where I am half starved and have not slept in days… As if they know that I am finished they shout and make awful sounds like demons. Another gun is fired and I feel the explosion of pain in my back…
I fall, fire of agony threatening to consume me. My face scrapes on the cobbles and I know that I am finished…
One of the men turns me over and grins, holding a dagger in his leathery hand. I prepare myself for death and think once more of my beloved daughter…
There is no mercy from the man however… I am instead lashed to a red hot pole and beaten ferociously until consciousness seeps from me…
I am gliding over a black lake filled with skeletons… It is pleasant, and I find myself relaxing… Then there is a bright blinding light and I feel pain, an agony such as I have never known…
The boy awoke in the dark room, shivering, soaked in a cold sweat, and images of dancing skeletons adrift in his head.
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There were two boys above her, small, dirty boys, neither of them older them twelve. Their clothes were ragged and the rain had made tracks in the dirt on their thin faces. Melissa heaved a sigh of relief. Two scrawny boys posed no threat.
“Where am I?” she asked hoarsely.
The boys exchanged glances. “Pett’ran,” said one of them.
Melissa turned the word over in her mind. She had never heard of such a place. “Is that the afterlife?” She had never really believed in the afterlife, whenever she thought about it, which was rarely, but she didn’t see how else she could have got here.
One of the kids laughed. “Nah,” said the other one. “Definitely not.”
Melissa got slowly to her feet and picked up the black silk mask that lay on the cobbles nearby. She stared at it as though it held the answers to all her current problems.
“Tell me,” she said to the urchins, “have either of you seen a circus?”
“I saw one when I was little,” said the larger of the boys. “I liked the elephant best.”
“Never mind,” said Melissa. She was busily running over in her mind everything that could have resulted in her being here. Maybe she’d been kidnapped after the fall and taken here… Maybe she was in a coma and this was a dream… Maybe she’d had amnesia and years had passed…
“What’s the date?” she demanded.
The boys shrugged. “Dunno,” said the larger one.
“I think it’s October,” said the other.
Well that was right, anyhow. But October of what year?
“Dunno,” said the boys.
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185?
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Melissa felt tears prickling her eyes. “What do I do?” she wailed. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I want to go home!”
The boys looked at her, then at each other, then back at her. The bigger one nodded wisely. “I remember this,” he said. “It’s hard, not knowing what to do. Eventually you just do what you have to. To live. You know.”
The thought of living her entire life as a street urchin, like something from an old novel, flooded Melissa with despair. She sat down on the rough, dirty cobbles and began to cry in earnest. “I’d be better off dead,” she sobbed. “I never, never should have tried to patch the net myself. I should’ve tied my mask on tighter… I should…” The rest was lost in a flood of tears.
The boys shifted uneasily. “It’s not so bad,” lied the smaller one.
“Sometimes it’s kind of fun,” added the other untruthfully.
“Especially when the weather’s nice. Cheer up.”
“Do.”
Melissa sniffed. “I suppose there’s always the chance of being adopted by some rich old person,” she said, still tearfully.
The expressions of the boys clearly contradicted her statement, but luckily her vision was too blurry with tears to see that, and the smaller of the two said, with forced cheerfulness, “Yeah! I know a kid who got adopted, right, Bert?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Bert, overloud. “Him. C’mon miss, get up.” Together the boys hoisted Melissa to her feet, and they each took one of her hands. “C’mon, let’s get out of the rain.”
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185–Somehow I missed yours! I just read it, though, it’s very good. I like that phrase, “You have been gifted”–v. intriguing.
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190- I may read it when my parents come back, but I’m certainly not reading anything to do with fire while I’m alone. I really don’t like fire…
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189- Just one little comment, Melissa is in a different time, right? I don’t know if the reader is supposed to know or not but that “what year was she in” thing kinda gave it away.
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194- Actually, you’re wrong there. She’s in precisely the same time as before.
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I have a few good stories myself…
Escape From the Center of the Earth
Pre-Prologue
Hi. I’m Jon Dacush. The story you are about to hear is very exciting! You shall see me do lots of really cool stuff, but I’m not going to tell you. Not quite yet…
Prologue
I parked my car in the driveway. It seemed like a normal day. Until I stepped out of my car. The ground fell away beneath me. I fell down a endless pit, before slamming into a concrete floor. HARD. I felt myself blacking out, and I hoped that it was all a dream.
Should I continue?
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195- Ah well my bad. it just seems like foreshadowing thats not foreshadowing, you know? Dont get me wrong, you have talent!
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Cassandra W.
“…and so the bird lays eggs in other birds’ nests,†drones Mrs. O’Donovan. I sigh. I’ve heard it all before. Why can’t they teach anything interesting for a change? I pick up my pencil and draw the fish in the fish tank. They’re moving around a lot, so it’s challenging. I welcome the challenge. I’m tired of everything being too easy.
Suddenly, I hear something… an echo, perhaps… but could Mrs. O possibly be saying the words “field†and “trip†in the same breath? I perk up. “What did she say?†I whisper to my only sort-of friend, Tess.
“She said, that’s why we’re going to the natural history museum! Weren’t you listening?†says Tess. She’s exasperated, I can tell, and she’s worried about something… I can’t quite put my finger on it… I pull a piece of paper out of my notebook and write, Are you OK, Tess? I slip it over to her. She picks it up, reads it, and starts to write a reply. Meanwhile, Mrs. O drones on about the trip. I’m sure all of the information will be on the permission slip anyway, so I open my notebook to the page where I left off my story and start to write the next sentence. Tess’s note lands on my lap. I pick it up and read, Sure I’m OK Well, maybe I’m worried about my brother. Why? I reply. He’s in trouble at school. She writes something else, but I can’t read it. Mrs. O stomps over and yells at us.
“CASSANDRA WENTWORTH! TERESA JENKINS! WHAT DO YOU FIND MORE INTERESTING THAN THIS CLASS?â€
I hear titters, snickers, and “Here we go again†from one girl. Without turning around, I know it’s Fiona. She’s the meanest girl in the whole class.
Mrs. O, meanwhile, has snatched up the first thing she sees, which happens to be my drawing of a cowbird egg in a robin’s nest. Her face softens. “Well, I’m very sorry I yelled at you girls! Cassie was just showing Tess this beautiful drawing. Look, class!†She holds it up.
I groan. I almost wish she’d actually read the note.
Fiona C.
That girl Cassie is being teacher’s pet again. She thinks she’s so good. Well, someone ought to teach her a real lesson. Maybe the field trip would be a good opportunity to…
“Psssst, Fiona!†hisses Cathy, my “BFF†(although I’m planning to dump her for Ellie next week).
“What?†I hiss back.
“Here’s your permission slip,†she says, handing it over.
“Uh, thanks?†I say. “I don’t need your Miss Goody-Goody act.â€
Unfortunately, Mrs. O’Donovan has better ears than I thought.
“Fiona Cummings, I need to see you after class!â€
“OK,†I mumble. Now she’s gonna send me to the counselor, and she’s gonna give me that dumb psychoanalysis stuff. “Is there anything going on at home?†“And how do you feel about that?†I hate counselors. They just don’t get it.
Mrs. O tells us that the homework is to bring a notebook and “writing utensil†(how lame can you get) on the field trip, and of course to get the slip signed. I consider forging the signature for a minute, but realize that’s not going to work- the slip says your parent or guardian needs to pick you up, 20 minutes after the end of school, and Mom would smell a rat (or freak out…) if the bus didn’t drop me off at home.
“Class dismissed! Fiona, just stay here a second. I’m not going to take much of your time.â€
I roll my eyes and stand there waiting for everyone to leave. Cathy gives me a little wave and mouths “Sorry.†Is she actually trying to be nice? That’s a new one. Usually my “BFFs†are pretty bitchy. The first two dumped me for someone else, so I started dumping them for other people. They were never nice to me, and I was never nice to them. Maybe Cathy’s different…
Nah. She just wants something. I’ll find out what it is later.
I expect Mrs. O to yell at me, but instead she just hands me an envelope and says, “This is for your mom. I know you probably won’t give it to her, but can you just trust me for once? It’s not about you. This is the only way I could get this to her. Please do the right thing.†With that, she ushers me to the door and says, “You’re going to be late for math.†Wait, she knows my schedule? I get out of there fast.
Stella M.
My first reaction to the words “field trip†is always Yes! But this time, I really don’t want to go. It’s to a stupid museum. I prefer the ones where we go to the ropes course, or the gym, or the big class trip every year. This year’s was awesome! We got to do all this outdoor stuff, and cool trust exercises, and classes in how to brave the outdoors. But a natural history museum? How boring can you get? I mean, come on. Boring birds and eggs and rocks. Who wants to look at stuffed animals for a whole day? I’d rather play soccer, or go shopping or something. The gift shop is the only part I’m even slightly looking forward to.
I’ve walked all the way to English without even realizing. Argh, I don’t want to go to English. It’s so BORING with a capital B-O-R-I-N-G. Sighing, I open the door and grab a desk next to Kate, one of my friends. “Could they have picked a worse time to have English?†I whisper to her.
“I know,†she says. “Just when we found out about the field trip!â€
“What field trip?†asks Christina.
“When do you have Science?†I ask her.
“I had it yesterday 9th period, but I had to leave early. Why?â€
“You need to see Mrs. O and get a permission slip,†says Kate. “We’re going to the natural history museum on Friday.â€
“All day?†Christina asks.
Kate and I nod.
“YES!†she yells. Everyone stares at her, and she blushes to the roots of her (originally) mouse-brown hair. Currently, her hair is blond with light pink and pastel purple streaks. Chris is somewhat of a free spirit.
“Why do you want an all-day field trip to the most boring place in the universe?†I ask her.
“Because I have a math test that day?†she says.
“That’s weird,†says Kate. “They wouldn’t normally schedule a test on a field trip day.â€
“Wait a minute,†I say. “Chris, I have math on Friday too, and it’s the same level as your math, and we have a test next Friday. I bet you have a test next Friday too.â€
“Oh, no,†groans Christina.
Kate and I crack up.
Cassandra W.
Drat. I have band 9th period. And I just got a braces adjustment.
My braces were supposed to come off a long time ago, but my teeth are so messed up that it keeps getting stretched out. I just wish that my teeth could be perfect and normal instead of the messed-up way that they are.
“Hey, Cassie, wait up!†calls a voice behind me. I turn around and see- Cathy? What the heck? She’s best friends with Fiona the Horrible!
“Uh, hi, Cathy…†I say. Thank goodness she plays sax and I play flute. That way I won’t have to keep talking to her. I’m first chair, and the saxes are over at the other end.
“So, what do you think about the field trip tomorrow? You excited?â€
Aha! I knew this was a setup.
“Well, I guess it’s better than school,†I say noncommittally, and hope she’ll leave it alone.
“Any exhibits you want to see?â€
“Uh, I’ve, I’ve never been.†Shoot. I’m a terrible liar.
“Oh, really? I thought you’d have been, I mean, ‘cause you’re so into that stuff.â€
Oh, so she noticed!
“Well, I’ve been there before (really?) and I thought it was really cool. I’m interested in paleontology. But please don’t tell Fiona that!â€
Well, this is interesting…
“OK, so I lied. I’ve been there a few times,†I say. “At first I thought it was a setup. People do that to me all the time.â€
Cathy looks sympathetic. “I’ve probably been kinda mean to you before,†she says. “Fiona keeps pressuring me. I’m starting to think she’s not that great of a friend.â€
I almost say, “Ya THINK?†but I don’t. That would be mean.
We walk into Band and sit down. I pull out my music and whisper to Tess, “Guess what? Fiona-clone’s interested in paleontology!â€
Tess drops her flute on the floor with an extremely loud clatter.
Fiona C.
I walk to my 9th period studyhall, thinking about my mom and that weird letter Mrs. O gave me for her. Ever since she got that envelope (no, of course I didn’t open it) she’s been acting all weird and sad and moping around the house. She hasn’t acted like that since Dad died in September, seven months ago.
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198- Not my kind of story (I prefer sci-fi and action), but pretty good.
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180) Me likes a bunch! I want to know what happens!
181) WHAT?! 
Why? How could she fall! *sob* SHe’s not dead is she?
185) I like that too! I loved the way you described the fire! Although, the “orphan whose guardians don’t like her” thing might be a little cliche…… but it’s OK.
186) Tis good! Though, in one sentence you change tenses. It’s like….. first its first person and then it’s second and…… yeah. I wonder what will happen during this gathering….. it sounds like it could get interesting……
187) What? 
So, she’s not dead. *sigh of relief* That would have been just aweful if she’d died. But where is she? Was she dreaming or something?
188) Ooooooooo. Mysterious! Is that the boy’s memory? Is it? In the dream? Or not………
189) Hmmmmmmmm. Interesting. But why would she suddenly wonder what year it was? Wouldn’t she naturally expect it to be her own? I mean, do we randomly wake up thinking that we are no longer inhabiting our normal time period? Unless she knew that things like this happen all the time…… Does she know this?
191) I’m officially confused. But nevermind. I trust that my confusion shall go away once you continue the story. but……. how do the urchins know about her predicament? And how does she know about it for that matter? And why does she have to be a urchin now? And….. what’ s going on?
195) Then why did she ask? did she not know?
198) This is really good! I love all of the different personalities you’ve got in there!
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SFTDP. 
Gosh a golly! There’s a ton of stories all snowballing into here at the same time! Tis chaotic!
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197- Yeah, that whole thing seriously fell apart towards the end. Enough to hinder my desire to continue.
200-
(re 189)- Well, for one thing, if you woke up in a seemingly Dickensian era with cobbled streets and urchins in Victorian clothes staring down at you, would you suspect that it was 2009? But that’s not the point. I hadn’t been going for a she-suspects-she’s-in-a-different-era thing, more of a she-suspects-she-has-amnesia-or-was-in-a-coma-and-doesn’t-know-how-long thing. But I could just delete the last two sentences and improve it, now that two people have said pretty much the same thing.
(re 191)- I only even wrote that part of the story ’cause I didn’t know what to do next. Ignore it.
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198: Ooh, that’s great.
I think I might move my “short story” over from the Writing thread to this one. It’s getting pretty long. Archana’s name is changing, because there are already two names ending with A (Jocunda and Morwenna- more on them later.), and I want to keep those names more. Her new name is… Dainai (?).
Here are some characters, their time, a quote from them, and a two word description.
Jocunda Sykes: Juvenile delinquent: 35th Century. “From where, or when, I’m from, I was known as a delinquent. I think that’s unfair- I only burned down one house! Geez, Touchy…”
Dainai Oliphant: Rookie sorceress: 21st Century. “Back home, I was an outcast. Here, I still am an outcast, but I’m an magical outcast.”
Artemis Dian: Mutant archer: 3rd Century. “I come from the 3rd century. No, not 3rd century AD- DC. DC stands for Digitilized Computer. Humans have gone extinct, and homo superior, or ‘mutants’, have retreated to a digitilized world. Tell me, what’s the sun like?”
(This one’s a joke. Jocunda will routinely hit her)
Mary Sue Jones: Typical Mary Sue: 20th Century (60s). “Wow this is so super! I can’t believe I’m saving the world with my super friends and– ooowww!” (Jocunda just hit her- “We’re not your friends, dummy!”)
Morwenna Grymm: Dark “Angel”: 19th Century. “Ravens kill and fly. I am the Raven.”
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203) Sounds funny! 
Your Mary Sue Jones character is hilarious!
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199- Believe it or not, it’s going to be fantasy. Just wait.
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202- Dont let it hinder you! keep writing. i just commented for constructive critisism!
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206- Oh, I know you were just giving constructive criticism. It’s not that. I just don’t know where to go from there.
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207- Well first of all, how did she go from a net to seeing little urchins on the street? It doesnt have to be included yet, but its important to know when writing.
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200- I know, I was worried about that, but I just can’t think of any other way that she would be able to successfully cut family ties, because, well, you’ll see why she has to later on.
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203: Write the story now!!! It sounds just like the kind of story I enjoy reading!
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Chapter I of “Escape From the Center of the Earth”
I wasn’t. I was lying on a concrete slab, and I was chained to the slab by glowing green chains. I looked to my right, and just barely bit back a scream. There were a bunch of glowing green bars, but beyond them was a horrendous beast. It looked remotely human, except for its strength, bat-like black wings, sharp teeth, sharp claws, white skin and cold stare.
“A vampire.†I breathed. “Oh gods above.â€
The vampire turned away, probably thinking I was still unconscious. Ha! I snapped the chains with ease. “That’s odd.†I thought, as I stood up and began working on the bars. “Usually, I can’t do that. Oh well.†I snapped the bars. The vampire turned around, and its eyes changed from black to red. He drew a sword as blood red as, well, blood. Then he charged, teeth bared. I leaped to the side just as his sword slammed into the rock just where I had been! He whirled around, but I was ready. He charged again. I tried to jump over his head, but missed and flew into a rock wall. Why I didn’t fall unconscious I now know, but I didn’t know then. I was still dazed, however, so when the vampire approached, I didn’t do anything. “Now you die!!†said the vampire. It charged, and in my panic I did something incredible. A patch of my skin rose up out of the rest of my skin. The patch seemed to be shaping into a cannon. It only took half a second, and when it finished shaping, it launched a barrage of wooden stakes at the vampire. They all hit. The vampire stopped, let out of a low moan, and collapsed, disintegrating as it fell, so that it blew away on the wind. I just thought, amazed at what had happened. Then, it came to me in a flash.
“I must be a cyborg.†I said aloud.
Sound interesting yet?
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Here’s some more of the Gifter. Continued from 185…
I took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly once. I flicked the card away from me, leaning back onto my downy pillows that were much too soft. There was no getting around this. Whoever had contacted me knew who I was and where I was. Had someone been watching me? On impulse, my eyes darted around the room, out the window where birds on the sturdy tree branches, whistling their lungs out. I was on at least the third floor. Nobody could see in without a ladder, and even then, there would be the risk of being spotted by other visitors and passers-by. My bus had always dropped me off right at the corner, and I walked only two houses before I reached my aunt and uncle’s. I was the only one ever to get off on my street, and I would have noticed if someone was following me.
So how did this person know me?
‘Then again’, thought a voice inside me, ‘Steam River is only two miles from here.’ I had to admit to myself that even though this was far off the creepy scale, some part of me wanted to know what was going on. And I had a feeling that that part of me was going to win. I sighed, and shut my eyes, leaning my neck into the cushions. Every part of me ached, but at least my parts could still ache. I could only imagine what might have happened if I hadn’t been saved in time. I slept for a moment, a little slice of peace. Then, the door was once again flung open. The same nurse was back, accompanied by a stout man in a white coat with ludicrously large glasses.
“Hello there, Miss Lawson,†he said. “My name is Doctor Lionel. I’m very glad to see you’re up and about.â€
“In a manner of speaking,†I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
The small man gave a short, high-pitched laugh that was clearly faking some sort of glee. “Yes, yes, I do see what you mean. Now, if you’ll permit me to see that arm of yours…â€
I relinquished my arm from under the tightly bound sheets, and the doctor took it and began prodding it with his index finger. I heaved a sigh. This excessive happiness was making me irritated. I wished that everyone would stop trying to make me laugh and smile. I was hardly ready to change my facial expression from the sullen mask of dull disinterest.
“Everything seems to be in order,†the doctor said, and backed away from my bed. He then turned to the nurse, and said in a low whisper that I could still hear, “Janice, contact the relatives and tell them that they should come get her tomorrow.†With that, Janice swept from the room with a small smile directed towards me, and the doctor followed her with a little, “Have a fabulous day!â€
“Keep dreaming,†I muttered as the door slammed behind the two of them.
I was tired, too tired to stay awake for any more of this. The light in the window across the room was turning a soft rosy pink, and I knew that the absence of birds chirping meant that the earth was feeling the same way I was. With a sigh, I turned on my side, drawing the covers closer to me, and the comfortable warmth of the cocoon lifted me off to sleep.
I was discharged from the white room the next day by my aunt and uncle the next morning, just as the doctor had promised. Aunt Janet took my arm in one of her pudgy hands, and began pulling me towards the hospital doors. Uncle Rudy followed behind us, his toothpick arms crossed and a frown of anger and distaste clouding his froglike face. No hugs, no murmurs of “Hello, Gail!†and “We’re so glad you’re not dead, sweetie!†Only mean stares and rock-hard fingers on my elbow. We walked through the shiny sliding doors, and I was unceremoniously stuffed into the backseat of the car. When my door was shut and we had begun pulling away from the curb, Aunt Janet began letting me have it.
“You listen, Gail Lawson, and you hear me well,†she hissed, making a pointed use of the last name that I had kept different than theirs. “ We leave you alone in our house for two days, with explicit instructions not to damage any of our property, and you set our house on fire. When your uncle and I have business to do, we expect you to be on your best behavior, but being the delinquent teenager that you are, you feel some insatiable need to disobey us. We are in the middle of important business negotiations, and your uncle gets a call that you are in a hospital and we need to ‘come and get you, because more patients need the room’. So we come all the way back here to find that we have no house, and have to pay some $3,000 medical bill? Let me tell YOU something, missy, if it weren’t for the fact that I promised my sister that I would take care of you, then you can bet your bottom dollar that you would be sitting in a foster home right this very moment. Am I or am I not making myself perfectly crystal clear?â€
At this point, my aunt seemed to be having some internal breakdown, so I told her what she wanted to hear. “Yes, ma’am, you are.†Then, because it appeared I had a minute to speak, I put in, “But, you have to understand! That fire wasn’t my f-“
“Don’t you dare try to tell me that any of this wasn’t your own fault! That is exactly your problem, Gail, is that you never take responsibility for your actions. Now, if you didn’t start that fire, then can you tell me who did? That’s right, you can’t. You have nobody to blame for this but yourself.â€
Uncle Rudy had been silently driving the Volvo throughout this entire verbal bashing session, and at no point had he seemed to feel that he should speak over his wife. I didn’t blame him for a minute. Aunt Janet put the ‘bear’ in ‘overbearing’. She was vicious, controlling, and never stopped to think about what she was saying before it left her fat lips. I suspected in my gut that much of this anger was coming from Uncle Rudy, but Aunt Janet had beaten him to the punch. She was usually the one speaking instead, and in fact, I had rarely heard my uncle say anything in the nine years I had lived with them. However, now he felt the need to say something. Just one sentence, but it packed the punch.
“Of all the stunts you’ve ever pulled, niece, this has been the worst.â€
The rest of the drive was silent, and the air so thick with tension that my aunt could have sliced it with one of her fake nails. I realized quickly that we were not going home. There was most likely nothing left of our ‘home’, anyway. The sights here were no longer familiar, and although we were somewhere relatively near our old neighborhood, it was not going to be the same.
We stopped in front of twin ten-story motel buildings, aptly named “Black Tide Towersâ€. They were made of coal-colored bricks, and connected with a long tunnel on the top floor. Uncle Rudy pulled three suitcases from the trunk of the car. He handed one to Aunt Janet, and a carpetbag to me. We entered the building on the right through a thick metal door, and walked up to the front desk.
“Reservation under ‘Dentworth’,†Uncle Rudy said to the man at the front desk. He nodded, obviously a bit frightened by Aunt Janet’s grizzly face. His thin fingers drew to room keys from a rack behind the counter, and slid them across the countertop towards my uncle.
“Thank you,†growled Aunt Janet.
“Enjoy your stay at Black Tide T-Towers,†the man stuttered, and stepped aside as our entourage stepped into the elevator. On our way up, Uncle Rudy handed me one of the keys.
“You’ve got your own room,†said Aunt Janet quietly, in a deadly ice whisper. “Hopefully you won’t burn this one down.â€
“I grunted. That was below the belt. I was going to make a pointed argument against this last statement, but then realized that my aunt was never going to believe me. She was never going to understand that I was innocent. So I decided not to waste my breath. We got to the third floor in a matter of seconds, and my aunt and uncle turned immediately left into another room, shutting the door loudly behind them. I let out a small scoffing noise, and then walked down the hall further, which was painted a dark grey. It was thoroughly dismal, similar to my mood. I looked down at the room number on my key. To my surprise, it was 303, the same number as my room in the hospital. I shook my head slowly. What a strange coincidence.
I found the room not far down from my aunt and uncle’s, and stuffed the key in the lock. It swung open to reveal a large room, with a bathroom, a double bed and a mini-fridge in the corner. A small black-and-white television sat in the corner, untouched for a while, it seemed. The room was freezing, and I rushed to the thermostat to crank the heat. But the highest it would go was 65 degrees. I flung my bag down on my bed and began rummaging through it. The first thing that met my hands was a sweatshirt. I pulled it on over my thin black tee shirt. There was also a pair of pants, a ten dollar bill, and a book entitled ‘Common Sense’. I immediately stuffed this in the dresser drawer.
For a while afterward, I stayed in my room and watched old re-runs of fuzzy television soaps from the 60’s. It made me a bit nauseous to watch them, but there was limited choice, and I didn’t feel much like leaving. Later that afternoon, there was a loud knock on my door. “Cleaning service,†said an accented female voice. I sat up on my bed, and then something poked my leg through my jeans pocket.
“Ow!†I exclaimed, rubbing my leg. I reached into my pocket to see what had prodded me. I pulled from it the card that I had received with the flowers the day before. ‘You have been gifted’, it told me again. I could almost hear a soft male voice behind the words, a soothing reassurance to my situation.
“Cleaning service,†the woman reminded me, now more urgently. I slipped the card back into my pocket, stood up, and grabbed my key as the cleaning lady pushed past me into the room.
There was really nowhere for me to go. I didn’t think that I would end up down in the lobby asking the concierge where Baker street was, but that’s exactly what I did. For some reason, I felt compelled to go see the remains of my old home, just one more time.
“Down the street, go onto the main highway until you see the Barnes’ Pharmacy on the corner. Turn right, go straight, and then right again at the next intersection,†the man said with a polite smile. “Would you like me to call you a cab?â€
“Yes, please,†I replied. I could hardly remember a word of what he’d said, anyway.
*gasp* Phew. I’m taking a well-earned break for the night. More later.
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211) Interesting….. Vampires and a cyborg….. could get fun……
212) AWESOME! I like it a LOT.
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213: I’m planning some half demons, elementals, and the Lord of The Dark, a demon. WILL get fun.
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More…cont. 212.
The man put two fingers in his mouth and let out a high-pitched double whistle. Almost immediately, a yellow checkered cab screeched up to the curb and shuddered to a stop. I climbed in without any pretense.
“Where to?†the man in the driver’s seat asked. His voice was gruff, like rain rattling down a drainpipe.
“2719 Baker Street, please, and fast,†I replied.
He looked at me suspiciously, turning his thick neck to look at me, and the smoke from his cigarette swirled around the back of the cab. “You got any money, toots?â€
“Yeah,†I replied, dragging the ten-dollar bill from my pocket. Now that he was sure I wasn’t going to stiff him, the cabbie drew away from the curb. We sped around corners, got honked at by other cars, and ripped through the late afternoon traffic. I didn’t mind that we were going quickly, but the other drivers did.
It took all of fifteen minutes to clear the traffic onto Baker Street, and when we pulled to a halt at my old house, the cab driver turned around and looked at me with a look of confusion on his wide features.
“We’re here,†he said gruffly, and then held out a hand for the money.
“I’ll pay you when we get back,†I replied.
“You ain’t got enough to go two ways. Pay up, and get out.â€
This presented a problem, especially when I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back to the motel. But, since I had no choice, I handed over the only money I had in the world and stepped lightly out of the car. The cab sped away from the curb as fast as the man driving could step on it, and I watched it disappear into traffic before I turned back to stare at the place used to call home.
There was nothing left. At least, next to nothing left. It must have been more terrible than I had imagined, for the damage done was worse than I had thought it would be. The charred black frame of the house was collapsing even as I looked at it. The base still had bricks somewhat intact, but the rest of the house was simply ashes, and soot. Few things were left inside the crumbling frames. A thin strip of yellow tape labeled ‘Do Not Cross surrounded it in a roped-off circle, but I ducked under this, disregarding it without much conscious thought. I walked closer, up the sooty path, past the burned grass, and through what remained of the doorframe.
There were a few things that had barely survived. A few metal chairs, pieces of twisted and bent metal silverware, half of a burst open washing machine, and several scraps of metal blown and scattered to the rising winds. I walked through each room: dining room, living room, front room, hallway…Once I reached what had been the stairs, I looked upwards to where my room had once been. There was nothing there but burned boards, as far as I could tell, except when I looked down. A lean, crossed rack of charred metal lay very nearby my feet. I recognized it as the shelf that used to be in my bedroom closet. Underneath it, however, was something that was not black or burnt. I lifted the rack carefully away from the ground, careful not to wreck the precious object beneath.
A single red rose, like the ones that had been in a vase in my hospital room, lay forlorn and forgotten on the earthy ground. It was so brightly bold that it made everything around it look grey and fuzzy. I dropped to my knees, my entire body trembling, and carefully slid four fingers under the delicate stem of the flower. I turned it over once in my hands, feeling the soft silk of the petals against my skin like calming medicine. Then, I saw that there was a small piece of notepaper wrapped tightly around the stem and stuck to the only thorn. Gently, I took it between my fingertips and unrolled it, folding it back onto my open palm.
“Hello, Gail,†it read. “I said at five. You’re late.â€
I dropped both the note and the rose like they had suddenly burned my hand. I then quickly spun my head around, eyes wild.
“Who are you?†I shrieked to the night. “Stay away from me!â€
There was then a full minute of uninterrupted silence as I stood, like some pale marble statue, among the ruins of my house, with only the sound of my wildly beating heart echoing around the small space, then slowing and coming to rest. It was only after I was positive that I was alone among the trees and the empty street that I could move my legs, one after the other, slowly backward out of the front door and back onto the sidewalk.
It was then that I began to run.
I did not stop running until I was at least a mile away from the general area or Baker Street. A single bell, high above in the steeple of some distant church, rang in a lonely monotonous toll, echoing to my slowing and ragged breathing.
“Six o’clock,†I said to myself, panting. The note had been right. I pulled the card from my jeans pocket, my broken arm throbbing from the rushing blood all over my body.
“Steam River Valley,†I read. “277 Cunningham, Steam River Valley.†It was a long shot, an extensive trek. I had no more money to call a cab, and besides that, no car systems ran in Steam River. It was a strictly non-vehicle town, strange for the area. With no means of transportation, I had no choice. I would have to walk.
I looked up at the street signs above me. If I was correct, the valley was only a mile and a half away. I knew north and south. South was past me, I was headed north now. I sighed, gathered my remaining strength, and walked grudgingly northward in the direction of the dying sunset.
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215) Loverly. I would like to read more.
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216) I’m working on it. Don’t worry; you will.
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217) Okey dokey!
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200 (re 188) – Presumably, yes. At least, that’s where the evidence seems to be pointing at the present moment in time.
Speaking of which, Chapter 3 is finished.
Chapter 3 – The Ones We Loved
The boy lay awake, still disturbed by the dream. The vision had been so clear, unnaturally clear, like thin ice on a cold winter afternoon. And the image of the black, skeleton-filled lake hung tantalizingly in front of him, as if he could reach out and touch it if he cared to do so. He shivered, and rolled over onto his side, curling into himself. He rested his chin against his small knees and half-shut his eyes, hoping for sleep.
A skeleton wearing a top hat walked into the room. The boy jerked upright and gaped.
The skeleton touched the brim of its hat in a jaunty sort of salute. “G’d evening,†it said, teeth clattering together as it spoke. Its voice sounded like the whistling of the wind through bare, frozen branches.
“Er…†said the boy, unsure of how to react. He decided that the best method was to assume that he was dreaming and accept everything as it came along. “Hello.â€
The skeleton tapped its fingers together. Each movement resulted in a cacophony of cracks and pops as individual bones clacked against each other. The boy stared in fascination.
After a moment the skeleton said, “Name’s Mot.â€
“Mot?†asked the boy skeptically.
“Mot Caulfield,†elaborated the skeleton.
“Alright…†said the boy, determined to take it all in stride without hesitation. It was a dream, after all. It had to be. “Why are you here?†he asked, more for purposes of continuing the conversation than any real interest in the whims of his imagination.
“To deliver a message, of course,†said Mot with a distinct air of cheeriness.
“A message?â€
The skeleton nodded, its neck-bones popping loudly. “Respect the magpie.â€
Despite his resolution not to be confused, the boy was thrown by this. “What?†he asked incredulously.
The skeleton spread his hands. “Unique in its ability to recognize itself where others cannot, respect the magpie.â€
“That’s the message?†asked the boy, now rather annoyed.
The skeleton touched the brim of its hat again. “Don’t kill the messenger.â€
“I can’t,†said the boy reasonably. “It’s already dead.â€
“He, my dear boy,†said the skeleton. “He is already dead.â€
The boy shrugged. “If you like.â€
“I do, thank you,†said the skeleton. It- he- delicately retrieved an ornate silver pocket watch from where it had been dangling from his ribcage. He flicked it opened and heaved a sigh. “And now, I’m afraid, I must leave.†The skeleton clicked the watch shut and let it drop. It bounced against his spine. “I have other matters to attend to.â€
He left, pausing to look back just before the door closed. “Don’t forget- Respect the magpie.â€
“Whatever that means,†grumbled the boy, laying back down. What a strange dream…
As he drifted into dreamlessness, he thought he heard a faint chuckle accompanied by the clatter of dry bones.
~
He awoke the next morning to the delicate smell of sausage and egg. He sat up, surrounded on all sides by the heavy blanket he had slept beneath. The scent was coming from the main cavern; the boy suddenly realized that he was famished and hurried to get up.
Sable was in the main cavern, standing at a stove he had not noticed previously. It was from there that the smell originated. The boy felt that it was the most wonderful smell he had ever experience. Yet it was oddly familiar… The boy frowned, trying to place it.
Sable turned, and saw him there. She smiled. “You hungry?”
The boy nodded vigorously. “Starving,” he said, and meant it.
“Sit down,” said Sable, gesturing towards a table and chairs that almost certainly hadn’t been there the night before. Too hungry to question, he sat down. A plate of steaming eggs and sausage appeared in front of him, and he began to eat with gusto.
Sable chuckled. “Healthy appetite.”
The boy swallowed with difficulty and managed, “it’s very good.”
“I’ve had practise,” Sable said dryly. “Loads and loads of practise.”
The boy smiled. “The kitchen?” he asked, thinking of the obvious poverty that he had seen.
Sable nodded. “The last in a long string of cooking jobs,” she said. “The Grey Lantern Inn, sanctuary of thieves, petty criminals, and undesirable company. At least, it is until it closes.” She grinned.
“Where did you work before?” he asked curiously.
She sighed, slid into a chair opposite him. “Oh, lots of places,” she said. “Inns, bakeries…” she trailed off. “I’ve cooked for the military once or twice. Never for very long. Too much discipline.” she grinned.”
The boy swallowed another mouthful of eggs. “How’d you afford all of this stuff then?” he asked, waving at the room behind him. “Seems a bit…” he trailed off, unsure of how to put it.
Sable grinned. “Out of my profit range?”
The boy laughed. “Yeah.”
“Oh,” said Sable airily. “I’ve other incomes too.”
And she said no more on the subject.
A short while later Tacitus appeared, suddenly, and slid into a seat near the head of the table. He grinned at the boy. “Pleasant dreams?” he asked casually.
“Yes,” lied the boy smoothly. No point scaring them off with tales of talking skeletons and painful death, not when they already thought him to be one of the death god’s agents.
Tacitus grinned, and started in on a plate of his own. “That is good,” he said.
The boy managed a half smile, one which was quickly wiped away by the voice that next met his ears.
“Death’s boy still here I see,” said Ling snidely as he moved to get a plate for himself.
“Ling…” said Sable. “Please. He’s a guest.”
“Visiting from the Underworld, no doubt,” sneered Ling. “What’s the Black Lake been like, eh, boy?” he asked.
He’s lashing out because he’s afraid, thought the boy. He’s afraid that I’ve been sent to kill him, or one of his friends. He said, cautiously, “Black Lake?”
Ling snorted “The icy lake where the death god stows the skeletons of his victims.”
“Well then, said the boy, feeling a prickle of quiet unease, “I expect it’s full if skeletons.”
Ling turned, his face purpling. “Don’t mock me boy,” he hissed.
The boy shrugged, hoping he looked braver than he felt. “I’m not an agent of death,” he said simply. “I don’t appreciate being called one.”
Ling glared and stalked off to the other side of the oval room to eat his breakfast. He was joined shortly after by Amber, who glared at the boy from where she stood.
“They’ll come round,” murmured Sable in an undertone.
“At least, I hope they will,” said Eric, coming over to sit. He didn’t take any food, however, merely drummed his fingers on the wood of the table. He looked over at his brother. “Seems a shame to be related to someone with such a nasty outlook.”
“So,” said Sable briskly. “Nole Square today?”
Eric nodded. “Amber’ll have to lead. She’s the only one small enough to slip through the grates.”
Sable was less than overjoyed at this news. She sighed through her teeth. “I don’t trust her…” she said mournfully.
“Good thing, too” said Tacitus dryly. “She’d happily slide a knife between your ribs, unless I am very much mistaken.”
“Oh, wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” Sable muttered darkly.
The boy felt a desperate confusion rising within him. “What-” he began, but was cut off before he could finish.
“Youth,” said Tacitus sadly, “have a remarkable tendancy to resent authority.”
Sable signed again, lowering her head into her hands. “Oh,” she muttered, “for a simple life.”
Tacitus chuckled. “The wish of kings,” he said, somewhat enigmatically.
The boy sensed a lull in the conversation and said quickly, “What are you all talking about?”
It was Eric who replied, “Sable is the thief lord, the king of thieves, whatever you prefer – a position that Amber would dearly love to possess.”
“Thief?” asked the boy, surprised.
Sable grinned. “An inherited position – so thief lords tend to have significantly shorter life spans than most.”
“Anyway,” continued Eric, “Amber is ambitious, ruthless, and easily angered.”
Tacitus smiled sadly. “A poor combination in one so young, I fear.”
“I’d try to get rid if her…” said Sable softly.
Eric finished for her. “But you’re far too kindhearted to have anyone killed.”
Sable smiled sadly at the boy.
“Oh,” he said, wondering why someone as young as Amber would wish for a position that kept her checking constantly over her shoulder for would-be assassins.
Another thought occurred to him suddenly. “How did you become the lord then?” he asked.
Sable smiled. “The previous lord was killed by palace guards. She had named me as her successor in the event that she wasn’t murdered by another thief first.”
“Poor Cat…” murmured Eric. “Went the way her father did.”
There was a general murmur of assent around the table. Sable looked decidedly glum.
As if to break the silence, Eric said, “Good eggs.â€
“Hm,†said Sable, evidently still dwelling on the death of her predecessor. The boy was curious, but could see that pressing the matter further would be pointless; clearly none of them wanted to talk about it.
Ling’s comments about the Black Lake disturbed him, however. A dark lake filled with skeletons…
“So where do you come from, Nameless One?” asked Tacitus with interest.
The boy shrugged. “I don’t remember anything before waking up in the temple square last evening,” he said truthfully. He had tried to remember something, anything, before falling asleep the previous night, but he had been unsuccessful.
Eric looked up at him sharply. “Which temple square?” he asked, with urgency in his voice.
“The death god’s , I guess. At least, there was a statue of a cloaked man with flowers like these in his hand.”
“Tacitus nodded gravely. “The death god.”
Eric gazed steadily at the boy, a curious glance, as if he were trying to see his thoughts. The boy squirmed uncomfortably beneath that gaze.
“Is something wrong?” asked the boy. Eric seemed to break out of a trance.
“Wrong?” he asked blankly.
The boy elaborated. “Wrong with my waking up in front of the death god’s temple.
“No,” said Eric, looking surprised by the question. “Of course not.” But he frowned, and the boy knew that he was lying.
~
After breakfast the thieves departed for Nole Square. The boy stayed behind, as did Sable. Thief lords, apparently, merely organized the theft, breaking no laws themselves.
The boy shared the details of his dream with the young thief lord. She listened closely, and didn’t interrupt until he got to Mot Caulfield.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Mot Caulfield.”
“You dreamed about the death god’s second-in-command?” she said incredulously.
This was news to the boy, and he said so. Sable looked at him oddly for a moment, then suggested he continue with his tale. He got the distinct impression that she was scared of him.
He told her about the skeleton’s cryptic message and how he had heard a dry chuckle before drifting off into a deeper slumber. Sable took a moment to digest this new information.
“He said, ‘respect the magpie’?” she asked at last.
“So you don’t know what he might have meant either?” sighed the boy, disappointed.
Sable shook her head. “Not a clue.” She paused and seemed to collect her thoughts. “You were wise not to share this at breakfast.”
The boy tried to smile and failed miserably. “Ling and Amber hate me enough as it is,” he said sadly.
“Ling’s too superstitious for his own good,” said Sable gently. “And as for Amber… Well, Amber hates everyone.” She grinned.
“She seems to like Ling well enough,” pointed out the boy.
“True, but only when it suits her,” replied Sable. “Only when he disagrees with me.”
“Oh,” said the boy softly.
Sable smiled sadly at him. “Such is life underground.”
The boy smiled. “At least it’s brighter down here,” he said, and she laughed.
“Cleaner, too, magpie,” she said lightly.
The boy looked up sharply.
“Can I call you magpie?” she asked. “It fits, somehow.”
The boy shrugged. “I’d be a poor sort to look for a name and then reject one once it came along, wouldn’t I?” he replied.
Sable smiled sadly at him. “You’ll turn out alright, I think,” she said softly. He could only smile in response, and felt that perhaps he could fit in, after all.
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Some more of mine:
Fiona C.
I walk to my 9th period studyhall, thinking about my mom and that weird letter Mrs. O gave me for her. Ever since she got that envelope (no, of course I didn’t open it) she’s been acting all weird and sad and moping around the house. She hasn’t acted like that since Dad died in September, seven months ago. I wonder what it was about, but when I looked for it yesterday I couldn’t find it. Where would she have put it?
Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. I walk into the cafeteria, where my studyhall is, and put down my books on a table by myself.
Stella M.
Ugh, studyhall. I pull out my iPod and rock to some Cascada tunes. I looooove electronica. It’s so impossible not to dance to it, and I loooooooove to dance! Jeez, I’m really hyper today. I guess I’m excited about the field trip! I mean, come on, an hour both ways on the bus??? SWEET! I can listen to my iPod and lead the back of the bus in singing… well… whatever we feel like. The bus ride is the best part of any field trip.
FINALLY, the last bell rings, and I burst out of the English classroom and race to my locker. I dump all of my books into my backpack and text my mom to say that I’m taking the bus today. I race to the bus and wait impatiently for it to leave, turning my iPod on full volume. I love my music.
Cassandra W.
Well, here it is the morning of the field trip, and Invisible Girl is once again exercising her superpower.
I sit down near the back of the bus, hoping to be included in the large group of singing, laughing people—usually led by Stella McArthur, who’s really popular because she’s so outgoing and energetic. It’s not that I’m shy, or that I don’t have good ideas, or that I always say stupid stuff. I’m not sure what exactly makes me invisible. It’s kind of like I soak up energy from everyone else, in the form of emotions, but in doing this, I’m invisible. I can usually tell what/how someone else is feeling without even looking at them. I don’t know what’s up with this, but… maybe I can be conspicuous today, since there’s so much energy back here. I’m already starting to feel hyper.
I really want to go for it and just start singing. I know I have a good voice. I’m not afraid to. But will they listen to me and sing along? I feel like I might as well try, so I sing along with my iPod. The song is Burnin’ Up, by the Jonas Brothers, and I figure that everyone will know it since they sing it all the time. I start soft and get louder, but no one seems to notice, and I know it’s going to be a solo, so I shut up. There are giggles.
I HATE MY LIFE!
Fiona C.
I sit down in the middle of the bus and pull out my Touch. Sticking my hot pink Skull Candy earbuds in my ears, I settle down for a looooooong, immaturity-filled bus ride. Cathy comes and sits down next to me.
“Hey,†she says.
“Hi,†I mumble.
“What’s up?†she asks.
“N2M U?†I say sarcastically. “This isn’t IM, Cat.â€
“Sor-ree,†she says, equally sarcastically.
“You know what, why don’t you just go sit over there with your new BFF Cassie Weirdo.â€
Her face turns red and she says, “What makes you think I’m friends with her?â€
“Ellie told me you like palea-whatever. Like, EW. Dead lizards?â€
“She heard that?†says Cathy guiltily.
“Yeah, she heard your little bonding moment with Cassie the Rock. And now she’s my BFF. So go sit with little Cassie and Tess, band nerds extraordinaire.â€
She lurches away without a word. I start to feel a little sorry for her, but I banish the feeling and call Ellie over.
Stella M.
I belt out the chorus of Low. Everyone joins in, as usual. The back of the bus is the best place ever! Although… I feel kinda sorry for Cassie. I should have joined in when she started singing, but I’m so used to taking over myself that I didn’t register what was going on until she stopped. I notice that she’s sitting by herself, not joining in. Abruptly, I stop singing and go over to her.
“Hey, Cassie. Sorry I didn’t join in. I guess I’m just kinda used to always starting it and I didn’t really notice until… well… sorry,†I blurt out.
She stares at me, then starts cracking up. Why is she laughing?
She finally says, “I can’t believe you expect me to believe that. Why don’t you go back and start another song?†She picks up her iPod and turns it to full volume, jamming her headphones on tightly.
I go back to my seat, hurt and confused. Did she not realize that I was trying to be nice? Oh, well, I figure, but it’s not really all right at all.
Cassandra W.
Finally, we reach the museum. I burst off the bus, keeping my headphones on. Today I’m going try to fit the angsty-teenager mold. I certainly feel angsty enough. I yank the hood of my plain black hoodie up over my headphones and try to pretend that my blank white T-shirt says something witty. Then I change my iPod to the loudest rock music I have and sneak into the museum bathroom before anyone notices I’m gone. I survey my appearance. Plain black hoodie, hood up. Not bad. Plain white T-shirt, says nothing. I zip up my hoodie just a little more. Plain blue jeans, long. They’re OK, but I’d prefer if they had holes in them. Worn brown-and-white Pumas. Not that great. I cover them with my jeans.
I peek out the bathroom door and watch the group. Mrs. O’s in the middle of taking attendance. I slip in at the end of the line and start walking.
“Cassie?†she calls.
Wow, at the end of the alphabet already? “Yeah,†I mumble.
“OK, what we’re going to see here today…†she begins, and I tune out. I prefer my rock music.
We walk around in the most boring part of the museum- the birds-and-nests exhibit. At one point, she’s right next to me, and I feel sure she knows about the iPod. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. I knew my headphones were good, but I never knew they were that good. I figure she knows, she just doesn’t want to get the teacher’s pet in trouble ‘cause I’m so perfect at everything else. I roll my eyes.
Suddenly, something catches my eye. A sign for the Mineral section! Oh, hallelujah. I slip my headphones around my neck and turn off my iPod, then ask Mrs. O if I can go to the bathroom.
“Sure,†she says. “But I’m not sure where it is. You’ll have to look around.â€
“It’s over that way,†I say, pointing in the direction of the mineral exhibit. Then I add an, “I think,†for good measure, so I’ll have an alibi for wandering around the museum for, oh, a good twenty minutes or so. Then I race in the direction of the exhibit.
For some reason, I start to walk the wrong way. I know I know exactly where the exhibit is—I’ve been there hundreds of times—but my feet take me off down a side corridor. I’ve been here before too, and I know the only thing back here is a bunch of stuffed animals, so why am I back here? And why can’t I seem to control where I’m walking?
Then I see it—something I have never seen before. Off in some kind of anteroom, there’s a giant hunk of— what? I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s the most beautiful mineral I’ve ever seen. It’s about twice as big as my head, and it’s made of a dark green material that seems to be pulsing with life. Is it glowing? I realize that this is where my feet have been taking me. This thing wants me to find it, I think. I don’t know where I got that idea, but I suspect it wasn’t mine.
My feet carry me closer and closer to the…thing. Why is my hand stretched out? I never moved my arm. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. Oh my gosh, the thing wants me to touch it! I’m getting really creeped out here. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I touch it, but I know it’s gonna be WEIRD. My hand is about to touch it…
“Cassie? What are you DOING?†It’s Fiona. Oh, great.
Fiona C.
Ohhhhkayyy. This is very, very strange. I’m being dragged around this stupid museum, and suddenly I have an incredible urge to use the bathroom. But of course I don’t know where the damn thing is. So I ask Mrs. O if I can use it, and I ask where it is. She says it’s “over there,†pointing vaguely in the direction of a sign for the Mineral exhibit. So I walk over there, and suddenly I realize I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t think I can control where my feet go. I start to get scared. Suddenly, I end up in front of this little storeroom we’re definitely not supposed to be in, and guess who’s there? Cassie Rock-Brain. She looks even weirder than she normally looks. Her arm is stretched out in front of her, like she’s going to touch…what? So obviously I ask what she’s doing.
She turns around with a really weird look in her eyes. For some reason, I get the feeling that her eyes changed color briefly. And WHOA, what just happened to her hair? It looked green for a minute. And I was sure her eyes were gray, but they looked green just now—not normal green, dark green. Emerald color. Then she moves over, and I’m randomly standing in front of this big purple rock, with no idea how I got here. I think I was about to touch it, but she grabbed my shoulder.
“What’s with the weird purple rock?†I ask her.
She gives me a strange look. “Purple?†she says.
“Yeah,†I say. “Light purple, kinda moving around or something, glowing? Do you know what minerals would glow like that?â€
For once, I’m not being sarcastic. I really want to know, ‘cause I think the thing’s messing with my head.
She stares at me. “Fiona, it’s emerald green, pulsing like it has a heart, and glowing. Not light purple, moving around, glowing.â€
I stare back. “Um, I know what I’m seeing here, Cassie.â€
“Wait, maybe it’s different for different people!†she says, like this is the greatest idea in the history of the universe.
“And HOW?†My voice rises hysterically.
“Well, when you turned around you looked, I don’t know, purple. What did I look like when I turned around?â€
“Well… your eyes kinda changed from really deep green to gray, and…†I stop short as I realize what I’m saying. “So you’re right, then. Jeez, I feel like I’m in a horror movie,†I say.
“Personally, I feel like I’m in a fantasy book.â€
And then Stella walks in. Her eyes are blank, flat… and red.
Stella M.
I walk around the boring museum with the stupid group.
The next thing I know, I feel like I’m being electrocuted. Or maybe on fire. There’s fire under my fingers. But at the same time, it feels good. I feel like I can do anything. I look down at my hands and notice that they’re lying on top of a big red rock. The nails are also red, orange and yellow. I don’t remember painting them. Oh God, did I black out? How long was I out for? What the hell is going on?
Then I see that only three of my fingers are touching the rock, and that there are six other fingers there. I feel really stupid standing here with my hand on the stupid rock, so I try to pick it up, but it’s stuck! I try to talk, but my mouth won’t move. I’m frozen. I can’t move. I just have to stay here until the fire is all over my body. Is the fire coming from the rock?
And now I’m on the floor. Along with a very odd-looking Fiona and Cassie.
The first words out of my mouth: “Someone please tell me what’s going on before I go crazy!â€
Cassandra W.
It all happened so fast, it was like a blur. It happened in little tiny pieces, a puzzle I have to put together.
Stella walks into the room, eyes blank and red.
She’s going to touch it.
NO!
Lunge. Collide with Fiona.
NO!!
She stretches out her hand.
Lunge again.
Grab her hand.
My hand touches the thing.
NO!!!
Earthquake.
Green.
Power flowing into my hand.
Frozen.
Why can’t I move?
On the floor.
Fiona C.
OK, why exactly am I on the floor?
Ohhh.
Oh, shi- oops, I mean shoot.
Wait a minute, why am I trying to break myself of the habit of swearing NOW?
I sort through the last five minutes, and come up with the conclusion that there was some kind of explosion, and that’s why we’re on the floor. But then why did I feel a wind knocking me over, and… well… power? I stare at my nails. Why are they purple? I painted them pink this morning.
OK, let’s be logical here. I have to admit, Stella seemed kinda hypnotized, but it couldn’t have been the rock! Could it?
If the rock were red, I’d have to say it was the reflection. But the rock’s not red. And there’s probably not a very likely explanation for why the rock glows anyway.
Maybe it’s red for her.
But how could we see the reflection? Besides, that’s not logical either.
Fine. I give up. Therockismagicanditdidsomethingreallyweird. There, you happy?
Stella M.
“What the heck? Can someone fill me in here?â€
Fiona and Cassie look at each other, then both speak at once. It sounds something like, “Thethrockmagizombcolorredpurplweirdblackout.†I have no idea what’s going on.
They stare at each other, and start again. At the same time. This time, I make out “Therockthing-“
OK, so it’s about the red rock. They start again. This time, I hear exactly what they say:
“It’s magic.â€
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219) Me likes! Thief lord? Ooooooooooooooooo. And I really like his new name. THAt was very creative!
220) AWESOME! I love the way that you switch between the perspectives! And the rock thing is bizarre but cool!
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More Gifter. Cont. from 215:
It was nearly dark when I stood on the hill overlooking the Steam River Valley. Everything was shrouded in a thin shawl of fog that tainted the midnight countryside a smoky grey. The long ribbon of Steam River lay ahead of me, and I could see now that it was aptly named. Shafts of billowing hot water rose up into the air like weeds. I felt their heat from where I was standing, a considerable distance away.
There was no official entrance to the small rundown mining town. A long, dirt path wound down and around the hill until the tops of sooty roofs came into view. I tread slowly down the deserted street, careful to be quiet. I was a stranger, and the people of the Valley were known to dislike foreign people trespassing on their land as if they were a pack of dogs or rats. They didn’t have paved roads, didn’t use cars, didn’t have electricity…It was as though the entirety of the area had been stuck in some strange piece of the past 1800’s. A long tread lay ahead of me, past the rundown shops and old abandoned brick establishments. I knew that there were people here, but they were not in sight. Maybe they were watching from behind the boarded windows or hiding behind bushes. All I knew was that I was different to them, and the environment of hostility followed me all the way down the highway.
I stopped walking when I came to a fork in the road, the first one in sight. In front of me there was nothing but a small expanse of cottages, smoking from the chimneys, all the way into the dark hills. The sun was gone by now, but I could still make out the words marked out in front of me at the corner on street signs. The two signs read ‘Cunningham’ and ‘Prospect’. A left turn to destiny, I thought, and without pretense I rounded the corner.
I gasped at the sight of what lay down the stretch of road. A tall building, immaculately white and monstrous, stood out against the backdrop of the hills. I was taken aback. I could hardly believe that I hadn’t spotted it when I had first arrived. It wasn’t covered by anything, no buildings or trees lay in front of it. It was clearly out in the open, with nothing to guard it. I strode quickly down the beaten path, my feet scuffing against the path and kicking up clouds of dirt, making the air hazy. I didn’t care that I was coughing, and the dust was in my eyes. All that I could see was that building ahead of me, shining like a beacon of hope against the midnight sky.
The doors were in front of me in what seemed like hours but must have been seconds. They were tall, and made of thick metal. I pulled on the handles. Nothing happened. The doors were locked. I then noticed a button on the side of the left door. Ithad an intercom speaker above it. I pressed the button and said, “Hello? Is there anyone there?â€
“Do you have a card?†asked a light, tinkling voice.
“Um, yeah, hold on a sec…†I said, my nervous fingers fumbling with the piece of cardstock in my pocket. I drew it out. “Here.â€
“Please place your card in the slot,†the voice said.
“What slot?†I couldn’t see one near the intercom.
“Please place your card in the slot to your left,†the voice corrected.
I looked to my side. The curve of the building held a small metal slot. I took the card in both hands and placed one end into the slot. It was immediately sucked inside with a small sucking sound. Then, I was alone. I stood there for a few minutes, not knowing what to do because the voice was gone. Then, it returned, this time with a tone of what I thought might have been reverence.
“Welcome, Gail Lawson. We have been expecting you.†There was a small click, and the doors swung open with a whoosh. A white light filled my vision completely, and I shielded my eyes with my hand as I waited for something to happen. I stepped forward.
Suddenly, the white light dissipated and was lost to the sight of an enormous chamber. It was built entirely from strong metal and silver material, dim and slightly rustic. The main room was wide and empty of people, but surrounded by doors and more slots like the one outside. Silver elevator lifts with old fashioned, wrought iron gates stood at the far end of the long room. The light from hundreds of bright circular lamps lit the long main hall of the room, and they reflected off the glass of many stories’ worth of barriers that could be rooms. I gasped as something flew over me. It was a rolled up sheet of paper traveling quickly down a clear glass pipe. I watched it as it sped overhead and disappeared into the wall. There were more tubes, all filled with sheets over paper and rushing in a twisted sort of labyrinth above my head by the ceiling.
There were footsteps from behind me. I turned around to see who was coming. A tall woman with long red hair and wearing a black jumpsuit was walking toward me. It was strange clothing, even for this small sect of the village.
“Hello, Gail,†she said, and I recognized her voice as the one that had directed me from outside. “I hope I find you in good health?â€
“Um, yeah,†I said, composing myself. “I’m okay.â€
She smiled lightly, one to match her twinkling voice. “Good,†she said. “I’m glad. Now, if you could please remove your bandages…â€
“Um, I’m sorry,†I said, “but my arm is broken, you see, and I can’t take these off until it’s healed.â€
The lady laughed like a sparrow. “My, you do have much to learn,†she said. “But, you see, your arm is perfectly fine. Let me show you.†She pulled a small scalpel from her pocket and, before I could protest, she slit the white bandages around my arm straight up the middle. They fell to the floor. I examined my arm, a wide-eyed look of surprise on my face. All the flowering purple bruises that I had been told I acquired were completely gone. There were no scratches or burn marks anywhere. I pulled up my sleeve and looked at my other arm. Nothing. My ankle, nothing. My fingers, nothing. Every blemish, every bruise, even my freckles had simply melted away into my pale skin.
“You see?†the woman smiled. “You will have no reason to wear bandages any longer.â€
“How…how…†I stammered. “How did you..?â€
“Why, I did nothing!†the woman exclaimed. “This was all your doing.†She stared at me as if I were stupid. I must have looked like I was, standing there with my mouth gaping like a dead fish.
“It is time for you to see The Director now,†the woman said, and she began walking toward one of the lifts against the far wall. I followed her only because I had to. If she had not been commanding me forward, I might have stood there like a statue forever. This was way too weird to be true. I was still dreaming…or was I?
I was prodded into the lift by the woman. She pressed the button for the twentieth floor, and the button lit with a small ping. I waited for the woman to follow me inside. She did not.
“Aren’t you coming with me?†I asked, and I had to admit to myself that the prospect of being alone in this vast, empty building was making me a little scared.
“I cannot,†she said, regret tinting her voice. “This is something that you must do alone, as have the others before you.â€
“Others? What others?†I asked. She did not answer, but pulled shut the iron gates.
“My name is Chandra. If you require anything, please ask for me.†She smiled for a final time, and then the inside doors slid shut. And I found myself completely alone with my thoughts.
The lift was very silent, moving upward like a quiet predator, and the only noise was that annoying ping when I passed each floor. Questions were racing through my mind, and I didn’t know what to do. What was I going to say to this Director guy when I met him? What was going to happen to me? And what did Chandra mean when she mentioned ‘the others’ who had been in this situation before me? Well, I thought, at least I wasn’t the first to wonder these things. My stomach flipped over as I looked at the floor counter. I had reached my destination.
The doors of the lift swung open, and with my hands folded tightly behind my back, I walked forward. The doors clanged shut once again, leaving me utterly alone in the middle of a large room. It was triangular, and built of the same silver material as the rest of the building. However, the pipes in this room were gold, and were not visible other than the holes in the wall where the papers and telegrams flew into and out of the room. At the very end of the room was a large window that made up the wall, supported by steel bar fixtures, and directly in front of this was a large desk accompanied by a straight-backed black chair. The chair turned around, swiveling abruptly as I looked on and making me start slightly.
“I presume you are wondering,†said a deep voice, “why you are here.â€
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221- Thanks! I’ve written a bit more:
Cassandra W.
Unexpectedly, there is a hand on my shoulder. I’m about to turn around, but whoever-it-was yells “OW!†and jumps away. I stand up and turn to… oh, no. Mrs. O’Donovan. Now what am I going to do? She can’t not get me in trouble for this one. I sneaked away from the group, I’m trespassing in a storeroom that I really shouldn’t be in, plus I just shocked her or something.
“Cassie? Stella? Fiona? What are you doing?†she asks accusingly.
We look at each other sheepishly.
“I- I got lost looking for the bathroom,†I say. “Where is it?†I try to act as innocent as possible, but Mrs. O stares at me as if she doesn’t believe me. Which, I realize with a start, I can tell she doesn’t. In fact, I can almost tell what she’s thinking. How strange.
Stella jumps in. “I was feeling really weird and I wanted to find somewhere to sit down.â€
She does look a little strange still. Actually, we all do. I use this to our advantage.
“Mrs. O, I don’t feel too good either. I think I might be coming down with a stomach bug.â€
She still doesn’t believe us. Hey, what’s wrong with Fiona? She actually does look sick. Her face is kinda green and she’s swaying a little.
“Mrs. O, can you please show me where the bathroom is? I think I’m going to be sick.â€
Now Mrs. O is concerned.
Fiona C.
Ahhh! Mrs. O found us! I gotta do something! Think. Think. What would convince her?
Aha, a stomach bug. “Mrs. O, can you please show me where the bathroom is? I think I’m going to be sick.â€
Whoa, I think I actually convinced her! Where did that come from? She instantly ushers me out the door of the little room and walks me to the bathroom. I decide to use this to my advantage.
“I’m kinda worried about Stella. I think she’s got the flu or something. She looks like she’s gonna faint.â€
“Oh, dear,†Mrs. O mutters. This is strange. Why are they so easily persuaded that I’m telling the truth?
Oh, well. Since this is working, I might as well continue.
“And Cassie really couldn’t find the bathroom,†I say. “I don’t think she’s sick, though.â€
She nods like she’s considering it. “Well…†she says. “I suppose I could be lenient, just this once. Are you feeling OK?â€
I nod. “I think I’m still nauseous from the bus ride.â€
Even though the bus got here at least an hour ago, she believes me. How strange.
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Here is what I have so far–
It was her only escape. Dainai closed her eyes and stepped into the hole. She started falling, falling…
~*~@~*~
“You’ll never amount to anything!” Lena sneered, grinning wickedly at little Dainai as she stomped on her glasses. “Never!”
Dainai shrieked as Lena’s friend, Carlotta, shoved her into the mud. Her skirt was splattered with the filth. She tried to get up, but Carlotta grabbed her head and pushed her back down, Dainai’s face was shoved into the mud, and she cried. She could hear Lena and her posse cackled as they sauntered away, and she stayed down. She could feel bruises on her arms where Carlotta had hit her before, and they throbbed with pain. Tear dripped out of her eyes.
^^
Dainai felt the wind rush past her, her hair billowing. Soon, the top of the hole became a pinprick of light.
~*~@~*~
Lunch at Billowy Middle School. Dainai was used to eating alone; she had done it her whole school career. She made up friends so her parents wouldn’t add the thought that she was miserable to their list of worries, which was growing. A dark sorcerer was using his extremely powerful magic to destroy dimensions, and her mom and dad were the only ones who could help. So Dainai ate her lunch in a secluded corner of the library, watching friends study together and giggling. She felt an ache when she watched, a longing. But Dainai had never known a sense of belonging, not here, anyway. Never here.
^^
Dainai’s legs were slowly swallowed up by the darkness, and she felt a strange sensation all over herself.
~*~@~*~
Dainai always got the top grades in the class, and that was rather surprising, since she was probably the smallest and smartest eighth grader there. The teachers adored her, and couldn’t understand why she hated school. They didn’t get it. Every time she reached into her locker, someone would grab her and shove her face in. Every day, a new insult was scratched onto her locker door. She once put up a post-it saying, “I am innocent until proven guilty.” The next day, the note was gone. She was called a twig; a midget; an ant. And she, the ant, felt like someone stomped on her every day.
^^
The tingling grew stronger in her shoulder blades, and she felt something erupt out. She turned her head, and gasped.
Turquoise, fairy-like wings were growing swiftly, and light was pouring out of the place where they came. Dainai looked below the wings, and found three fox like tails. She cried out, and looked at her hands with the light her metamorphosis was providing. They were webbed.
She remembered something…
~*~@~*~
Dainai, five at the time, pressed her ear to the door of her parents’ room, eavesdropping on their conversation. “…if the magic has side effects??” she heard her father say. “This whole house is teeming with it, as are we! What will happen to her??”
“Don’t worry,” her mother said firmly, “If we work together, we can convert all the magic into one place.”
“Which place?”
“The portal.”
^^
A portal?
She, in a portal?
To where?
Why?
~*~@~*~
One Wednesday, Lena was bullying Dainai near the school water fountain when Dainai felt rage bubble up in her. How dare Lena push her around, the daughter of two powerful sorcerers with the task of saving the universe on their hands?! The rage swelled, and
Dainai, without thinking, shouted, “Sriynkja!” Gallons of water shot out of the water fountain as it blew up, splattering Lena and her crew with water and debris. Lena spluttered, “I’ll get you for this, Caraway!”
Dainai grinned, but faltered when the blonde yelled, “Like anyone cares what you think, nerd! Who’s with her?!” Lena yelled to the crowd that had gathered around them. Dainai heard no cheers of support. “Who’s with me?” People yelled and screamed their allegiance to her. Lena quieted them down and said, in a quiet, but unnerving voice, “Get her.”
^^
Dainai had stopped screaming, and was looking down. If this was a portal, something queer must happen. As an answer to her question, she dropped down onto a cold stone floor. Her landing was deadened by her new springy legs, but it still hurt very much. She picked herself back up, and looked around her. She could barely see the outline of an old, worn oak door, and she pushed it. It didn’t budge. She put all her weight against it, leaning her shoulder. It slammed open, and she looked around.
She was in a medieval square, with men and women in olden time clothes walking around her. She looked down at her clothes and found she was dressed in a long blue skirt, a puffy white blouse embroidered with flowers, and her hair was in a braid. She was barefoot. When Dainai lifted up her hand, she found there was writing on it–
Her secret is your strength.
Trust only those who have the talent.
Be strong, be wise, be safe.
Do not take refuge in the sanctuary.
Choose granite over jewels.
Combine your strengths into one.
She puzzled over it. Who’s secret? What jewels?
She realized that someone would eventually notice the golden light spilling from her left palm, so she clenched her fingers quickly, looking around to see if anyone noticed. It didn’t appear anyone had. Then Dainai remembered her transformation in the portal. She stifled a yelp, and looked for the wings; the tails; the webbing. They weren’t there. Her body had absorbed them so she could remain undetected. She smiled, and walked toward a blacksmith’s shop. Suddenly, a hand came out of the shadows of an alley and grabbed her, pulling her into the darkness. “I wouldn’t advise you do that,” a girl’s voice said. “That blacksmith has strict orders to serve only nobles.”
“Who-who are you?!” Dainai gasped.
“Jocunda Sykes,” the girl said, pulling out a dark blue jar with a flickering candle inside. “Come on, follow me. It’s a bad time for us to be out on the streets.” In the dim light, Dainai saw her gesture for her to follow her deeper into the alley. “Come on!” Jocunda hissed.
~*~@~*~
A little while later, Dainai found herself in a small hovel at the very back of the alley, along with about ten others. “Where are we?” she asked as she sat down on a crate.
The others glanced at each other, and a girl with long brunette hair said, “We don’t know. This could be 15th century AD or who knows what DC.”
“Don’t ask,” Jocunda said to Dainai as she opened her mouth. “Artemis here is a mutant. This is the first time she’s felt the sun.” The girl swatted at her playfully, and Jocunda darted away.
“Super! Another super friend!” a voice piped from the darkness. Dainai heard Jocunda mutter, “Not her, anyone but her. I thought I pushed her into a well, but nooo, Mary Sue Jones always gets out of every sticky situation she finds herself in…”
A girl around the age of 13 bounces in, wearing a funky hat with puff balls on strings. Her complexion was perfect, one of her eyes was purple and the other was gold, and she was tall and slender. Jocunda stood up, her fists clenched. “So we meet again, leech,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Mary Sue said, turning her head towards Jocunda. She was still smiling.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Dainai said, freaking out. “I am in one of two ages, I’m surrounded by weirdoes, I might have magical powers, and I have wings, three tails, gills, and webbed fingers!” A girl with auburn hair looked surprised at her tirade, but none of the others did.
“Well, we might as well tell her,” Jocunda said, biting her lip. Artemis frowned, and began-
“All of us are gathered up from different centuries and millenniums, plus some others who haven’t arrived yet. For example, Mayne is from the 27th century, Jocunda is from the 35th century, I’m from the 3rd century DC- you’ll know more about that later-, and Mary Sue is from the 20th century. You, I think, are from the 21st century.
“We’ve all been gathered together because we all have very special abilities. I’m a mutant archer, Jocunda’s a juvenile delinquent, Mary Sue’s a Mary Sue, Mayne can foresee the future, and I believe you are a rookie in the dark arts. I don’t know why we’re here, but we know one thing- we have a cause.
“That cause is a secret, important cause, and we hold the fate of the universes and everything in them in our hands. This is our deadly secret–
“None of us actually exist. We are the figment of some author’s imagination. At any given moment, the author- whom, I believe, is an eleven-year-old girl- could abandon this story and move onto a different plot. We would cease to exist.
“So, we, as her main characters, must be fascinating and have fun and shapeable personalities that get us into situations that she can write about in detail. That is why people have mood swings- the author gets bored with their personality and messes with them. That is called angst. Our appearance changes, time speeds up and slows down, and everything turns out perfectly in the end. Don’t worry, we’re the good guys. Most of us will survive.”
“Oh holy Zarquon, she’s done it again!” Jocunda’s voice rang out. Everyone turned to look at her.
Dainai stifled a giggle. Jocunda was now wearing black jeans and a bright purple shirt that read, “I VISITED THE BIGGEST DUCK ON EARTH!!!!!”
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222) OK……… interesting…… I wonder what’s gonna happen next. I’d say your character is entirly too curious for her own good, or that she’s too desperate, or that she’s crazy. I mean, to follow the advice of some stalker and then to walk all that way and then to actually walk through a crazy scary town to an ominous building….. yeah…… pretty crazy…… hmmmmmmmmmmm. Maybe she’s suicidal after her parents death? Or maybe she wants to get rid of the stalker? Or maybe she’s employed by the enemy of this dude and she’s going to assasinate him! Or not. Just kidding.
223) Hah! That’s kind of funny. That lying thing she has going on. But why would the teacher be there away from the rest of the group?
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((225- I have a plot, I promise. Wait and see. ))
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I’m gonna be writing a Xion fanfic (’cause she looks awesome) once I get 358/2 days. For now, I’ll have to try and come up with some sort of prologue…
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I *hate* writer’s block. But it’s finished now!
And so is chapter 4, in which we meet some more gods.
Chapter 4 – Purple Skies
“You did WHAT?†bellowed the king, springing to his feet.
Damon shrugged. “I sent him a message. It’s a common enough practise.â€
“He is dangerous!†cried the king, beginning to turn purple.
“Easy, Tyrone,†said Damon calmly. “You’ll put a hole in the roof. Again.â€
The king of the gods glared at his brother. “This could destroy everything,†he said hotly.
“Yes,†agreed Damon. “But it won’t.â€
“You can’t be certain of that,†snapped the king. “That boy could destroy everything.â€
“That boy is mine,†said Damon stiffly. “He will not destroy anything, least of all your precious peace.â€
“You take responsibility for his actions, then?†asked the king with surprise heavy in his voice.
“Yes, brother, I do.†Damon smiled.
The king sighed and strode to the great window. He stared out at the golden field, and at last said, “Very well.â€
Damon smiled, and turned to leave.
“But if he destroys the peace, I’m holding you accountable!†called the king after his retreating back.
“I have no doubt,†muttered Damon.
~
Damon hurried down the hillside, away from the marble palace. The place made him uncomfortable, far to square and prim for his liking. He was glad to be out of it.
The death god took a flying leap downwards, his black cloak flaring out behind him like a sail. He landed in a dry stream bed, and the golden daylight shifted and blurred and spun around him in a tornado of blinding colour. A few seconds later Damon was standing in the Underworld.
A dimly lit cavern, open to the sky and the moon with her fleet of glittering stars. The arm of a galaxy shone in an east-west band across the dark purple sky and the twin tips of the crescent moon sliced through the misty wisp of a single, pearly white cloud. Damon smiled up at the sky, the light of a thousand burning suns reflecting in his clear, gray eyes.
A splash redirected his attention to the great lake at his feet. The water, dark polished obsidian and laced with the glittering reflection of heavenly diamonds, stared back at him. Below the still surface danced hundreds, thousands of skeletons.
Damon shook his head, a smile playing across his face, and stepped into the water.
A few skeletons turned to wave or nod in a friendly sort of way, but most took no notice, as they were too busy dancing and swaying in time with the piano to be bothered with the comings and goings of the death god.
Mot Caulfield waved from his seat on top of the piano. Damon’s lips twitched at the sight of the skeleton in the top hat, his toes dancing along the ivory keys, a crystal goblet of wine in his left hand, the silver pocket watch hanging from his ribcage, waving across the sea of swaying skulls and clattering joints.
Damon wove his way through the mass of skeletons, careful to avoid stepping on any toes. He pulled up beside the piano and grinned up at his friend and first mate. Mot leaned down.
“Delivered your message,†said the skeleton, teeth clacking against each other.
“He get it?†asked Damon.
“‘Course not,†said Mot contemptuously. “Not everyone thinks in riddles like you do. But he will. Oh, and Belinda’s looking for you.â€
This was news to Damon. “Oh? What crime have I committed this time?â€
“None,†replied Mot. “I think she’s trying her hand at being nice, just to throw everyone for a loop.â€
“Interesting,†said Damon musingly. “And definitely Belinda’s style.â€
Mot nodded, sending a cascade of snaps and pops down his spine. “She’s upstairs,†he said, jerking a thumb up towards the purple sky.
“Thanks,†said Damon. He skirted around the edge of the crowd and darted back up to the surface of the Black Lake.
A tree had grown in his absence. A great, leafy thing, it stood tall and silver in the moonlight, its branches swaying over the water in an almost nonexistent breeze. Belinda sat on a branch, leaning back against the smooth bark.
The goddess seemed to glow in the silver light, her eyes closed and her thick raven hair curling in her lap. Her myrtle-coloured garb blended perfectly with the tree’s leaves, and the dappling of shadows caused her to almost disappear. A thin, delicate-looking brown snake twined around her fingers and flicked its forked tongue towards the diamond splattered heavens.
“Hello, Belinda,†said Damon warily. “Mot said you’re giving ‘nice’ a go.â€
“Only a little,†said Belinda without opening her eyes. “It’s rather boring though, I’ll probably slide back into my old habits soon.â€
Damon stepped forward to lean against the cool, smooth trunk. “Be sure to warn me before you do,†he said.
“Ah,†replied Belinda, opening her emerald eyes and smiling rather maliciously at him. “But why would I do that?â€
“Because at that point you’d still be striving to be nice,†said Damon.
“In that case,†Belinda said, “I shall make not giving you fair warning my first act of regression into nastiness.â€
“Does the nastiness begin now?†asked Damon lightly.
Belinda laughed. “Of course not! How could it? Telling you that not giving you fair warning will be my first act of regression into nastiness would be quite the same as giving you fair warning. No, the nastiness begins at a later date, when you least expect it, I assure you.â€
“A relief, ma’am, to be sure,†said Damon with a mocking bow.
“Don’t call me ma’am,†said Belinda, her thin, elfish features pulling into a grimace. “It makes me feel like an old, matronly hag, or something to that effect anyway.â€
“And while you are quite old,†said Damon dryly, “I don’t think anyone would be so disillusioned as to call you ‘matronly’ or a hag.â€
“Flattery, my dear, was never your strong point.â€
“…Unless, of course,†continued musingly, “unless they were completely lacking in a sense of self-preservation.â€
Belinda laughed, and transfered the whip-like snake to her other hand. She leapt lightly down from the tree branch, landing beside Damon and grinning up at him.
“I think,†said Damon mildly, “that I’m rather lucky you’ve the capacity to laugh at yourself.â€
“Indeed you are,†said Belinda, hitting his elbow lightly. “Indeed you are.â€
“You were looking for me?†asked Damon.
“Mm.†She looked upwards, the moonlight shining on her pale face. “What’s this boy everyone’s been talking about?â€
Damon laughed. “You too?â€
“Not much else to really talk about, is there?†she replied, shrugging.
“There’s not a lot to say,†said Damon with a sigh. “He was put to death by the kings guard… Elior got it in his head to reincarnate him-â€
Belinda hissed through her teeth at that.
“-and something went wrong.â€
“Bound to happen sometime,†said Belinda. She sighed. “I wish he wouldn’t do that, though…â€
Damon nodded in agreement. “Anyway, now he’s one of mine.â€
“Because Elior wasn’t up to the task of fixing his mistake?†asked Belinda dryly.
“Precisely.†Damon grinned.
Belinda sighed deeply, and walked out away from the tree, across the fine, black earth. Damon followed a step behind, watching as the moonlight caught in her hair, and reflected from the eyes of the snake. “Does he know?†she asked.
“No.â€
“Poor thing…†said Belinda mournfully. “He have a name?â€
“Not yet. Although I think the thief lord has taken to calling him magpie.â€
Belinda laughed. “Humans! Remarkable, aren’t they?â€
“You have an odd sense of humor,†remarked Damon. “Have I told you that?â€
“Yes,†said Belinda. “Numerous times.â€
“Well, you do.â€
She sighed, and turned to look at him. “Does he remember anything?â€
“Only in his dreams,†said Damon softly. “And even then he does not realize it.â€
Belinda returned her gaze to the sky. In a dreamy, almost trancelike voice, she spoke: “Funny thing, dreams…â€
“Oh?†asked Damon, his voice barely audible.
“The land of lies, the noble land of lies… All things pass through at one point or another…â€
“Ah, so that’d be your territory, yes?†asked Damon teasingly.
She shrugged. “One could argue that, I suppose.â€
For a few moments they stood in silence, staring up at the purple sky with its blanket of glittering silver light. Several times Belinda seemed about to speak, but fell silent at the last moment. A point of light blazed suddenly and flared across the sky, leaving a trail of dancing sparks behind it.
“Perpetual sunlight…†murmured Belinda. “Who needs it?â€
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228) OK, so I really like that. I feel really sorry for the kid though.
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229- thanks. But if you feel sorry for him now just wait till I start killing people. *wide, innocent grin*
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Sorry, no Pantagruel’s Ring recently due to homework and other projects. Will continue at some point this year.
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230)
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232- What? The only question is, Tacitus first, or Sable?
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233- Hmm, Tacitus. Sable’s death would be silly this early on. Develop her some more and THEN kill her. Your readers will scream.
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Oh my!
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You see? Kiwimuncher’s practically screaming already!
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234- Probably that’s what I’ll end up doing.
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A tiny bit more of mine.
Stella M.
I still don’t quite get what’s going on, but as far as I know, we were all turned into zombies by some rock that’s a different color for each of us. What happened to my nails? Why didn’t I know what was going on? I have so many questions that I’ll probably never have answered. As I walk out of the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
HOLY CRAP! Why do I have red and orange streaks in my hair?!? My hair is black. I don’t have highlights. Whoa, what’s happening to the weird streaks? Why are they moving around? This is totally creepy.
Suddenly, I notice that my eyes are still red. Am I a vampire or something? Did someone shove red contacts in my eyes while I was out cold? Or am I hallucinating? I can’t think of any reason why black eyes would randomly turn red, any more than I can find a reason why I blacked out and woke up with my hand on a red rock. Hey, I remembered something! The rock looked like tongues of fire were moving over it. Why can I remember that?
Cassie walks out of a stall, looks in the mirror, and screams. I stare at her, then notice the… pulsing… green streaks in her hair. Her eyes are bright green.
Fiona walks out of the next stall, tripping over someone’s purse as she goes. Without thinking, I reach out to it and put it back where it belongs. It takes me a couple of minutes to realize that I didn’t use my hands.
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239: Me likes…maybe they should have elemental powers(sorry, I’m a sci-fi, action nerd).
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239) Awesome! Maybe the rocks radioactive! How are they going to conceal their um….. changes? I guess you’ll get to that later though…….
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228- Good luck getting that published! It is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay to dramatic.
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242- Oh, aren’t you just the epitome of encouragement. I haven’t even finished it yet, I’m not thinking about publishing.
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More Gifter, cont. from post 222:
“I presume you are wondering,†said a deep voice, “why you are here.â€
A man sat in the chair ten feet away from me, and already I could see the deep lines in his white face behind his sunglasses. He was older, certainly, but his hair was still a deep shimmering black and bulging muscles were visible underneath his black jacket. He was, to say the least, intimidating, and I felt like running right back into that elevator, out the tall doors and all the way back to my aunt and uncle at the hotel. But my feet were planted firmly to the ground.
“Come closer,†commanded the man. “Let me look at you.â€
I walked slowly towards him, tentative, not trusting him one bit.
“Ah, yes,†he said. “Gail. You have the mark, certainly, but not held the knowledge.â€Then, he motioned me to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit. You must be tired. I realize it has been a long journey.â€
“Thank you,†I said, and my aching legs collapsed beneath me, forcing me against the hard-backed seat. And suddenly, all at once, the dam of questions I had been withholding burst out of me all at once.
“Who are you? What is this place? Why am I here? Did you send me the flowers? Did you…â€
The man held up a hand, and I fell silent. “Patience, young woman. All will be answered in due course.†He leaned back into the leather chair, and swiftly removed his tinted sunglasses. A pair of steely grey eyes looked me in the face. “My name is Damian Green. I am the head Director of Gifted Intelligence, and this…â€-he gestured around the room with a sweep of his hand-“is our headquarters.â€
“This…is an incredibly different building from the ones outside,†I said, trying to force my dry vocal cords to speak legibly. “How come people don’t come in here all the time? It seems as though it would be the center of all attention.â€
The man called Damian chuckled. “You would think that, but looks can be quite deceiving, as I’m sure you know. This building,†he said, â€is invisible, to all but those who know where it is.â€
“That’s impossible,†I said skeptically, leaning back in my chair.
“Nothing is impossible,†he replied. “You will soon realize this to its’ fullest extent.†The man stood up from his chair, and began pacing the length of the room with his hands behind his back, still talking. “I must confess that I am rather astounded that you came here on your own free will. Many of the others were hesitant to come on such short notice, and also being without so much vital information. You seem very trusting.â€
I disregarded a lot of the last statement. “What others?†I asked.
Damian stopped pacing the room at once, and turned sharply to face me. “Why, the others who have had The Gift.†He turned to look at me, staring right through me.
My voice was shaking as I spoke. “What…is The Gift?â€
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242) really? How so? I liked it…….
244) He’s right. She’s entirely too trusting. There’s something up her sleeve! Right?
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240- HOLY CAKE, you just read my mind!!!! That’s exactly what I’ve been planning. Cassie is Earth, Fiona is Air, Stella is Fire, and they have to find Water. I think they’ll Google it or something. That was the only thing that worked in Twilight BTW.
241- I was planning to have their changes be unnoticeable to everyone who hasn’t touched the whatever-it-is (haven’t decided what that is either). That way they’d know who else knows. But in some sort of subconscious way everyone else would kind of know that something’s changed, and when they look at the three of them a certain way they see something weird, but they kinda dismiss it… it’s part of the spell, you know?
Any ideas for a title? Who should be Water? What is the rock/mineral/thing/whatever-it-is?
Anyway, I’ll post some more of it in a few minutes. SFTDP in advance in case no one else posts here.
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246: Tess or Cathy? Maybe the hoozamacallit could be of alien origin (sorry, l just finished Nabooti island.).
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247: I was kinda thinking about that, but an alternate idea that’s just barely formulated is that there’s some kind of portal to a fantasy world/alternate universe and that’s where they find Water. I’m really not sure yet. If I did that, the whateveritis would be from that place. Except then there’d probably have to be a stupid prophecy and it might get too Mary Sue-ish.
The “more” I promised, cont. from 239:
Cassandra W.
I stare at my reflection. My eyes have changed from gray to green, my hair has these weird green streaks in it, and there’s some kind of faint glow around me. Is that an aura? My mouth opens in a silent O, and I stare at my teeth. My braces are gone! It’s like I’ve fast-forwarded until the time I’ll get them off or something, ‘cause my teeth are perfectly straight.
Turning around, I see the strangest sight I’ve ever seen. Fiona trips over a purse, which goes flying into the air. Somehow, it stops in midair and flies back to where it was. No one touched it. I look at Fiona, but she’s just as stunned as I am. Stella just stands there looking normal, like nothing odd just happened.
“Stella, what did you do?†I shriek.
She looks puzzled. “What do you mean, Cass? I just picked it up and…â€
She stops short. “Wait. Why am I still over here?â€
Fiona gapes at her. “Stella, how do you not realize what this means?â€
I can see Stella’s brain working for a minute. Slowly, it begins to dawn on her. “You mean…â€
“Yes!†Fiona and I yell in unison.
“So, I have telekinetic powers.â€
“Seems that way, yes,†I say.
“Well, if I’ve got powers…â€
“Then we must, too,†Fiona finishes for her.
“Fiona, did you notice anything unusual that you did after you touched the… thing?†I ask.
She thinks for a minute. “Well, Mrs. O believed whatever I said.â€
“I was always good at picking up on others’ emotions, but after I touched that… whatever-it-is, I seriously felt everyone’s emotions and could pick them out from each other,†I tell them.
Fiona nods slowly. “Maybe the rock took our normal talents and enhanced them?â€
“This sounds familiar,†says Stella.
“They always do it in the books,†I tell her.
The wind blows in the open bathroom window. We all shiver. Then Fiona does something completely unexpected: she holds out her hand, palm toward the window. The wind stops abruptly.
Stella is the first to break the silence. “And I’m the one with telekinetic powers? Fiona, what did you just do?â€
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245- Is it ok? Should I keep going?
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246: Really?! Sweet!! But of course you forget the elemental powers of Electricity, Cold, and Darkness (who’s gonna be their enemy). Whoa, I spaced out for a second there. But really…
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243- Sorry. I think you would be better off writing mystery though.
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250) No necessarily. THose don’t HAVE to be their enemies……..
249) Yes! You should keep going! Although…….. I think that at this time you’ve reached a part in the story where it could branch off into 2 directions. Coolness or cliche/Mary sue-ness. But definately go on! *beams encouragement*
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252- Eeep! How do I keep it away from Mary Sue-ing?
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Guys, I really need a title. Any suggestions? I can’t seem to think of anything.
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254: Well, I saw that on the RCSB and thought, “The Finding.” But that’s just me. “The Binding” works also. I don’t know where you’re going to take the story, so don’t count on me for anything really good.
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255: I’m not sure… I guess I’ll have to go a bit farther with it before I decide. BTW, I’m up to 22 pages, 5302 words.
Here’s some more:
Fiona C.
I don’t believe it.
All I did was… well, I’m not actually sure what I did. I just sort of pushed the wind away, or something. That sounds so weird. OK, I’ll shut up now.
“Fiona…†says Cassie.
“Yeah, what.â€
“Do you think we have elemental powers too?â€
“What are you talking about?â€
“You know, like you can control the wind and stuff?â€
I stare at her. “You seriously think I can control the wind?â€
Stella steps in. “What did you do with the wind just now?â€
OK, so I honestly don’t know that. “Uh, I’m not sure,†I admit.
Cassie gets this weird look on her face. Then she says matter-of-factly, “Well, the elements are Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Other elements could be Light, Dark or Shadow, Mystery… well, there’s a bunch of them. Usually there’s either four traditional elements—Earth/Air/Fire/Water—or those elements plus three more nonconventional ones. They really depend on the author, who’s telling the story… or the universe of the story.â€
Stella and I stare at her.
“So, basically, either we’re being manipulated by some author, or we’re in some kind of fictional universe?†asks Stella.
“Well, maybe, or it’s possible that we’ve stepped into a real-world version of one of those universes. My suspicion is that there’s some kind of parallel universe or other world that’s opened up a crack to this universe, and the crack happens to be right around this museum. In that case, the strange mineral we touched could have slipped through the crack.â€
Before I can think, I blurt out, “And who made you the Professor of Fantasy at Fiction University? Are you KIDDING me? This is the stupidest-sounding thing I’ve ever heard!!!!â€
Cassie looks crestfallen. “It was just an idea, Fiona,†she says quietly, and then she walks out of the room without another glance.
Stella walks out, too. “You really didn’t have to do that, Fiona. That was really mean.â€
And now I’m left yet again, wondering—what did I do?
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253) Oh dear. I’m most likely not the best person to ask about that. However, I do admit that your plot right now is definately pointing in a Mary-sue direction. Thankfully, you haven’t fully developed your character yet, which gives you a lot of leeway. I would suggest trying to think logically about your character’s responses. Try to think in her shoes, keeping in mind her past experiences and outlook and use those things to determine what her response would most likely be. You could also compare it to what you yourself would do in that situation; that sometimes helps me to keep it real. So far, your character has done some things that no normal person would do, like walking an extremely long distance to a town that isn’t exactly a happy place after she’s lost everything she owns, on the word of a strange person she doesn’t even know who has been potentially stalking her and who may not exactly have her best interests in mind. Her past that we’ve learned of so far doesn’t give us any reasons to think that she’s a person of extreme trust, in fact, her circumstances point to the exact opposite. So, this decision doesn’t exactly make since for her. Unless there’s something you haven’t told us yet about her. She must have some reason for going to all of this trouble, unless she’s Mary-Sue.
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257- There’s a giant reason. This is the point of the entire plot, so I’m glad.
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251- Why mystery, incidentally?
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I have a story that I’m not sure what it is yet. Can someone notice and comment?
My family is dead.
Geitu remembered it when she woke up in her family shrine, shivering, her mother’s coat wrapped around her shoulders.
My family is dead, and my cousin is to blame.
She sat up. She was still in her best skirt from the night before. Well, it had been her best skirt. Now it was ripped and torn, and covered with dirt, blood, and sick.
She looked around. The shrine, at least, was clean and peaceful. Green light filtered through the canopy of leaves above. A small altar with three statues on it rested in the center.
Geitu reached out a hand and touched the first statue. Hep, the god of all growing things. The other was Te, his wife. They were dressed in green and brown, hair shining like ravens’ wings. Of course they would be here, at the Strong Thunder tree shrine. Likewise there were statues of Yaash and Shaa at the Strong Thunder metal shrine, and of Bam and Ma at the Strong Thunder wind-
Memories slammed into her of the Strong Thunder wind shrine. Mother and Father, laughing and hugging her, Maatu running, love and peace- She pushed them out again, breathing deeply in the meditational pattern her mother had taught her.
Mother-
The memories swept around her again, fast as a river. Geitu was swept away, too grieving even to hold on-
Her cousin arrived in the afternoon, on a tall black horse he called Anasi, Wind Feet. Geitu loved horses. She led Anasi to the stables, giving the horse to the servants and flying to the courtyard just in time for the fruit ceremony.
Hana, her mother, bustled around chattering while Kiru, her father, told jokes and laughed his deep laugh. Her brother Maatu danced around, waving his toy sword and chattering to her cousin about fighting and battles and glory.
Her cousin sat there, smiling, enjoying Strong Thunder hospitality. He had brought an entourage of warriors, like any noble did when traveling-a bit larger than normal, but what of it? And he had brought his new wife, Puni Solid Depths.
Puni Solid Depths and Nataa Strong Thunder, everyone said. The names go well together.
When dinner arrived, they had barely begun the soup ceremony when-
Geitu’s memory recoiled. The Strong Thunder tree shrine slammed back into her vision.
Not the time, she told herself firmly. A lady of the Strong Thunder family does not give in. Be strong and you will avenge your mother and brother and father and…
Avenge?
The thought had not crossed her mind before, but now it took hold with a force. If she had been killed and Maatu had lived, it would have been his responsibility to slay her murderer and the murderer of her parents. She could do no less.
She stood up, blinking tears away, and looked at the last statue on the shrine. It was Dei, her family god, dressed in brown and gold.
She tucked it into her pocket, biting her lip, and wondered vaguely if Anasi was still there-
When dinner arrived, they had barely begun the soup course when her father quietly keeled over, face splashing into his soup, his skin growing first ashy then pale purple, his veins standing out dark blue. Her mother screamed. Her cousin leapt to his feet and drew his yuutsei, the ceremonial sword-or so Geitu thought. When it was out of its sheath, it was very much a tebiyaa blade. A tebiyaa was, among many other things, not ceremonial.
“Uncle Kiru is dead, Aunt Hana, I poisoned him,” he said. “And if you make another sound, I will cut off your lovely daughter’s head.”
Geitu’s mother had been silent, eyes wide. Nataa’s soldiers had burst into the courtyard, surrounding it with tebiyaa blades held at the ready. Nataa smiled, saying,”I now own the Strong Thunder lands and troops, Aunt Hana. Uncle Kiru never should have inherited. All this rightfully belonged to my father. Now he is gone, it is mine. All I do is claim my inheritance.”
Puni Solid Depths screamed, high and clear. Nataa’s face twisted in an ugly scowl. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, rich woman,” he hissed, and Puni’s head rolled on the gray stones of the courtyard.
Geitu remembered her mind flashing to earlier that afternoon. Puni Solid Depths and Nataa Strong Thunder, the names went so well together, so well, so well…
That was when she was first sick, all over her skirt and blouse. Nataa’s sword flashed to her throat. “You’ve got a choice, Aunt Hana,” he said calmly. “Tell me the password Uncle Kiru used to tell my troops all was well, or Geitu will die.”
“Ki tsei,” Geitu’s mother gasped. The word meant “whisker”. It had been Geitu’s father’s pet name for her mother.
“Thank you,” Nataa said, and cut Maatu’s head off. Geitu was sick again. Her mother leaped to her feet, grabbing Geitu’s hand and tugging. “Run! Run!” she shouted.
Mindlessly, without thinking, Geitu ran with her mother, taking her cousin by surprise and giving them time to reach the stables only a small ways away. Geitu’s mother shoved her up onto the first horse, quickly wrapping her coat around Geitu’s shoulders. Then she fell forward, an arrow suddenly sprouting like a sapling from her back. The sudden fall had spurred the horse forward, and Geitu was through the gates of the Strong Thunder manor before she realized what she was riding on was Anasi.
The rest was a blur. All she knew was arriving at the shrine, and realizing it was hidden and she was safe.
Now she opened her eyes, finding herself staring at a tree. It was a frozen second before she realized it had two characters carved onto it.
Ki tsei.
Hardly daring to believe it, Geitu spotted a gleam in the roots of the tree. She knelt down. The gleam was a piece of a gold coin shining in the sun, almost all hidden by the color of the dirt. Geitu drew it out with trembling fingers.
Inside were enough gold, silver, and copper to buy a piece of land twice the size of the Strong Thunder manor. And a note, in her father’s handwriting.
Shaking, Geitu looked at the first line. It read, To my dear Ki tsei. To her mother.
To my dear Ki tsei.
You believed my suspicions are unbiased, and I hope you will prove me wrong. But I believe Nataa is willing to kill anyone to gain the Strong Thunder lands and troops. He knows the location of eight of our shrines; only this one has not come under his notice.
Now that you are reading this, I am most certainly dead. Use this money to survive. Keep Maatu and Geitu safe. Someday there will be justice. Until then-
I love you.
Geitu found she was weeping. She dried her face on her sleeve, blinking hard, and tucked her father’s note into the pocket of her skirt next to Dei. There was no chance Anasi was still waiting outside the shrine. She had left the horse untied, and in all likelyhood it had run back to Nataa’s manor.
Breathing deeply, she pushed herself to her feet and began to walk on the path that led out of the shrine. It would lead her through the forest aways, and into a nearby town, Tugiwoyo. With her money she could buy some new clothes, and get a meal, and survive a while, and, and, and…
And learn to fight, then track her cousin down and kill him, and avenge her murdered family.
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260) I like your plot. However, I don’t think that the cousin would out right tell his aunt that he killed her husband. That would bring out unwanted conflict. He would most likely go for a more innocent passage. “Oh how sad, your husband is dead. I guess that means that with a heavy heart I take up his estate.” But besides that, I think it’s an awesome idea! I would definately keep it up!
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Stella M.
OK, there is just wayyyy too much stuff to process here. Elemental powers? Enhanced normal qualities? Fiona being mean? Ughh. And I still don’t know exactly what happened to me. I don’t think anyone does.
Suddenly, I realize something. Each of us has a… well… different appearance right now. How’s everyone going to react to this? I mean, red and purple eyes aren’t exactly the most normal-looking stuff in the world. And braces don’t exactly disappear overnight, not without retainers or anything.
I try to imagine how Kate will react to me. Will she think I pulled a Chris on her and got streaks? I pull out my compact mirror and stare at myself. They don’t look bad, really… actually, it looks kinda cool. The streaks make my hair look like it’s on fire. The really creepy thing is my eyes… they look so… well, vampire-ish. It’s starting to creep me out a little.
“Can I see that for a second?†asks Cassie behind me.
I turn around. “Sure. How weird do you think I look?â€
She looks at me for a second, blinks, then says, “Um, you look… well, red. You have a red aura, by the way.â€
“Wait, what?â€
“You have a red aura. It’s a glow around you… I don’t know how else to put it.â€
“That’s funny. I can’t see it.â€
I look in the mirror again, but there’s no red glow. “Maybe it’s part of your power.â€
“Would you think that would be an elemental… never mind, it’s stupid.â€
“No, it’s not. Don’t listen to Fiona. She’s what’s stupid.â€
Cassie laughs a little. “What’s up her butt, anyway? She’s never said a single thing to anyone in her life that isn’t mean and sarcastic.â€
I think about that for a minute. I seem to remember her being actually nice last year. She wasn’t the same when she came back to school in September. Did something happen over the summer? Before I can tell Cassie, a shadow falls over the glass case I’m pretending to look at, and I stare up into Cathy’s face.
“Hey,†she says, a little coldly.
“H- Hi! Why aren’t you with The Group?†I stammer.
“I could say the same for you. I was looking for Fiona, anyway, not that it matters.â€
“She went to the bathroom,†says Cassie.
“Yeah, I know.â€
There’s an awkward silence. Then Cathy remarks, “Your nails look cool, Stella. Did you paint them this morning?â€
Here it comes, I think. Now she’s gonna tell me my streaks are… interesting. I can just imagine.
“Yeah, I did,†I say curtly, and hope she’ll leave it at that.
“So, um, I heard… hey, what’s up with your hair? It looked like it was shining or something for a second.â€
I stare at her. How can she possibly not notice the GIANT FLAMING RED, ORANGE AND YELLOW STREAKS in my hair?
“It’s the streaks,†I say.
“Streaks? I didn’t notice any… oh yeah, I see. Sort of. When did you get them? They’re, like, really subtle!â€
I stare at her, openmouthed.
“Hey, so, I got these great green contacts!†Cassie breaks in.
“Huh? I don’t… oh, now I see!â€
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s from Cassie:
can only c changes when u tell them
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260–wow, I really like that! It’s well-written, first of all, and I like how the flashbacks are interspersed with real life. I don’t mind the fact that the cousin tells the mother that her husband is dead–he would have to if he were to demand the password, in order to show that he was dangerous. Really nice job, keep writing.
Ok, I need some advice. As some of you know, I’ve been working on this “Trystan Evander” story for FOREVER and I’ve finally narrowed down the styles in which I’m writing it to two different versions. One is less interactive, the other has a lot more dialogue. What I need (if someone has the time) is for someone to read the beginning of both versions, and tell me 1) which version they like better and 2) WHY. I would love love love to have multiple opinions on this, so if you guys have the time, I’d like to hear from lots of people. Thank you all soooo much!
Brief background info: There’s been a military coup in the US, and a dictator known as the Ahriman has taken over (this is all explained in a prologue before this excerpt, btw). The heroine–Kyrra Nyx–is the daughter of a wealthy man who is the Ahriman’s minister of war, besides owning many lucrative businesses. There are a few extraneous details that are different between the two versions here, but the basic story is the same.
Anyhoo, here we go. (Sorry for the super-long post, GAPAs!)
1st version:
I came to Jefferson in the year 2114, when I was seventeen years old. I came against my will; my father, after five years of treating me as his business heir, had finally decided that an education among my peers would do me good. I couldn’t disagree more.
Nevertheless, it was not within me to cross my father, and I entered Jefferson without complaint. I remember my first day vividly: it was the first time that I realized the full effects of the Ahriman coup.
I arrived by armored car—an unnecessary precaution, I thought—and was greeted with the utmost deference from the office staff. They gave me my schedule and books, and before I went to my dormitory, the Headmistress appeared and asked to speak to me in private.
She led me to her office, telling me that her name was Stalina Vladislav, and that she’d been the Headmistress of Jefferson for thirty years. She was a tall, thin woman with an angular face and short-cut hair; I could see in her steel-grey eyes a no-nonsense attitude that bordered on cruelty. I knew from my father that she was a “Red”, a staunch Ahriman supporter.
“First let me welcome you to Jefferson, Kyrra,†she said as we sat on opposite sides of her desk. “We are honored to have you.â€
“I am honored to attend,†I murmured.
“Thank you.†She leaned forwards slightly. “Before you go to your dormitory, I wanted to speak to you briefly about the delinquents here at the School. I don’t wish to frighten you, but as the daughter of Aldric Nyx, you may be subject to special harassment.â€
Perhaps, before I go further, I ought to explain the special circumstances occurring at Jefferson School. Jefferson had originally been a facility for juvenile delinquents—criminals under the age of 16 who’d committed minor crimes. However, as the state prisons got more and more crowded, the age was bumped up to 21. Then the Ahriman coup occurred, state funding was cut, and Jefferson went private.
You must understand that the times in which I was living were times of fear. Everything was motivated by the defense instinct. Wealthy Ahriman supporters—ironically the people who most of the population feared—saw the rising rate of crime and began pulling their children out of school. State-funded security wasn’t enough; parents wanted taser cannons and guard towers, not outdated padlocks and easily-bribed aids. Jefferson, with its privately-funded top-of-the-line security, was waiting with open arms.
So the children of the Reds went to school with the underaged criminals of society, safely imprisoned together. Jefferson became the premiere private school in the country.
I regarded Vladislav evenly, unafraid. “Are the delinquents dangerous?â€
“On their own, perhaps,†she answered. “But here they are treated with the utmost discipline. Mr. Herrod is our Head Disciplinarian—you may have heard of him?â€
I nodded. I’d actually met him once or twice, through my father. Herrod had worked in the CIA before coming to Jefferson; he’d been accused several times of using torture, but had never been charged.
“I only bring this issue to your attention to prepare you. And to tell you that anyone who you feel threatened by will be punished with the utmost severity. You have only to say the word.â€
I thought of the cruelty that lurked behind Mr. Herrod’s pale blue eyes, and vowed never to utter a sound. I knew what punishment to him, and to this school.
The Headmistress’ tone became more businesslike. “That’s all I have to say to you for now. Let me call someone to escort you to your dormitory—†she pressed a button on her desk—“and you can get accustomed to your schedule and the plan of the School.â€
An aid led me to my dormitory a few minutes later. I was housed in the Plutarch building, one of three exclusive apartments for the high-paying students. The Delinquents were housed in barracks on the other end of the School.
The escort took me to my room, then left discreetly. One thing I could say about this school—they valued privacy above all else. My lodgings were sumptuous, to say the least: a large queen bed stood in the corner, covered in purple trappings—the color of the Plutarch dormitory, I was to learn later—and a table and chair set was across the room from it, next to a large iScreen, and a couch (purple again) which took up most of the right-hand wall. I noticed that my trunks were already at the foot of the bed; I opened one and began airing out my clothes. Most of them were sets of the school uniform, but I took pleasure in the few sleek gowns my father had pleased himself to gift me. As I unpacked, I thought about what my coming to Jefferson meant, and would mean to its inhabitants.
I was the daughter of Aldric Cronus Nyx II; many here would be seeking my friendship, and it would be easy for me to be accepted, to become one of the Reds, the Ahriman supporters. The thought should have pleased me—it would have pleased of my peers—and yet, I was uncomfortable at such an idea. Using my wealth and standing to gain an easy acceptance with the Reds seemed like cheating, somehow, socially and morally.
I’d often been alone as a child, you see. My mother died when I was four—the same year as the coup—and though I could barely remember her anymore, growing up as the only child of a cold and wealthy Minister of War was a predictably lonely experience. As I grew older, my father had begun to treat me less and less as a daughter and more and more as a business partner, an heir to his empire and his station. I took solace in stories, in movie chips and even ancient books, but those pieces of metal and dusty paper were the same to me as I was to my father: an object, a pawn, something to be used when the time came, and discarded if it was less than perfect.
And the second version (I think I’ve posted this before on a previous thread, in pieces):
My first impression of the School, upon waking in the back seat of our armored car, was of an enormous, inescapable fortress, designed to keep in rather than to keep out. The fence surrounding it was taller than the height of two men; its posts were steel, with unforgiving lasers criss-crossing the spaces in between. We turned a corner, and an airbrushed-metal sign loomed above the gate, reading:
THE JEFFERSON SCHOOL
for JUVENILE DELINQUENTS
A guard met us at the entrance. After verifying our identity, he waved us through with a bored gesture, and we entered the School, proper.
The buildings of the School were as depressing as the outer wall, and if anything more foreboding. They were constructed out of gray concrete, a set of low, squat buildings, impenetrable as bomb shelters and twice as macabre. Their windows were narrow and frosted, so that I couldn’t see the students inside; my mind briefly wondered what they were like, trapped in an environment such as this. Another fence surrounded the entire complex, this one merely reinforced steel bars, set vertically to discourage climbing.
We landed on the pad catercorner to the front office, and upon our touchdown, a man in a suit came down the walk to meet us. He was of average height and build, but pale, with piercing blue eyes and an oily smile. I wrinkled my nose but quickly smoothed my expression to one of polite boredom.
My chauffeur, Alden, opened the door, and the man was there to help me out of the car. His touch was cold and clammy; I pressed my lips together in an effort to not to show my discomfort. Alden remained next to us, a respectful distance away—probably under orders from my father to see to my safe enrollment.
“Welcome, Miss Nyx,†said the man. “We are honored by your attendance.†His voice was surprisingly pleasant, compared to his demeanor; I softened a bit towards him.
“As I am honored by your attention, Mr.—â€
“Herrod. I am the Head Disciplinarian of the School.â€
Head Disciplinarian. The title told me two things: that this man was in charge of punishing wayward delinquents, and that meeting him was not the highest honor I could receive. Someone else waited to greet me inside.
As if reading my thoughts, Herrod said, “If you’ll follow me, the Headmistress would like to speak with you before your enrollment.†I acquiesced, and allowed him to lead me towards the school, surreptitiously gesturing for Alden to follow us. He fell into step a few feet behind me.
The doors to the Front Office were glass and inscribed with the school crest: a red shield bearing a crown and crow, with axes and chains crossed behind it. The school motto was written above it: “Commodum ex iniuria sua nemo habrere debet.†No person ought to have an advantage from his own wrong.
Herrod held open the door, and I entered the front room of the main office. The centerpiece of the room was a large faux-wood desk, backed by a wall bearing a copy of the school crest and motto. A young male secretary sat behind the desk. I’d just taken in his bear-like build when a female voice came from my left.
“Ah, Kyrra, you’ve arrived. Welcome to Jefferson School.â€
I turned. A woman was standing to the side of the room, as if she’d wanted me to see the crest and office before her. She was middle-aged, but tall and strong-looking; clear gray eyes glinted from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles, and there was no hint of hesitation in her speech. Her air was one of someone who had complete confidence in their power.
She came towards me and held out a hand. Contrary to Herrod, her grip was firm; I returned the greeting with one of equal strength. Her mouth turned up in a faint smile, as if she would welcome me, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes.
“I am Dr. Vladislav, Headmistress of Jefferson,†she said. “In a few minutes you will be shown to your dormitory, but I would like to speak to you privately first.†She gestured to my right. “If you’ll follow me to my office?â€
We walked down a hallway to a dark-colored door. A keypad stood in place of a handle; she punched in a series of numbers, and the door opened of its own accord. We entered.
Her study was impressive, and seemed to be built expressly to make its owner seem more powerful and its visitor more helpless. The walls, constructed of a dark wood synthetic, formed a half-circle behind the Headmistress’s enormous desk, and the large bay window behind it was covered in heavy drapes. The only chair in the room was a stiff, uncomfortable affair covered in heavy green cloth; as I sat in it, I let a hand brush against the desk, feeling its smooth grain. It was real wood, an expensive luxury in such resource-depleted times.
Vladislav sat in her own chair and rested her forearms on the desk. “First let me welcome you properly, Kyrra. When we heard that you were considering enrolling at Jefferson, we were astounded. Honored, of course, but astounded.â€
I had no obligation to answer her hidden question—why I’d chosen Jefferson above other more conventional private schools— so I merely said, “I believe it was your high security that attracted my father here.â€
“Well, we are the best around—and we do house some of the more dangerous Delinquents. But there are plenty of other children such as yourself—ones that are loyal.â€
With that word—loyal—I knew where the Headmistress’s allegiances lay, or at least where she wanted them to lie. She was an Ahriman supporter, one of the Red Guard—which meant that she probably knew my father as well. My caution level inched upwards; I would have to be an infallible actress to seem compliant. Might as well start now.
“I’m happy to hear that, Doctor,†I said, letting my voice slip towards a higher range. “I must confess I was a little nervous when my father selected Jefferson. Are the Delinquents very dangerous?â€
“On their own—perhaps. But here at the School, they adhere to the rules with the utmost rigidity. Punishment is swift and effective. You met Mr. Herrod—he is in charge of seeing to the Delinquents’ behavior.â€
I shuddered inwardly, thinking what cruel punishments lurked behind that man’s pale blue eyes. Outwardly, of course, I smiled. “That’s reassuring.â€
Vladislav shuffled some papers on her desk. “Yes, well, what I wanted to tell you, Kyrra, is that as the daughter of Aldric Nyx, you may be singled out for special harassment by the delinquents. I don’t wish to frighten you,†she added, as she saw my eyes grow wide, “only to prepare you. And to say that anyone who you feel threatened by will be punished with the utmost severity. You have only to say the word.â€
I vowed never to utter a sound. I knew what punishment meant at this school.
The Headmistress’s tone became more businesslike. “You don’t have to worry about all this quite yet, though; right now the Delinquents are in class. I’m going to have someone escort you to your dormitory—†she pressed a button on her desk—“and you can get accustomed to your schedule and the plan of the School.â€
I thanked her as the secretary who’d been sitting at the front desk entered. “Liam,†said Vladislav, “please escort Miss Nyx to her dormitory. She’s in the Plutarch house, room 827.†The man acquiesced and waited for me to stand. After a nod of thanks to the Headmistress, and a few reassuring words to Alden, we walked into the Jefferson School for Juvenile Delinquents.
Liam was talkative, to say the least, and judging by his frequent admiring glances, it wasn’t all idle conversation. I don’t pretend to be ugly; I knew the advantage I had over those around me. But that didn’t stop me from ignoring most of the males around me completely.
We made it to the Plutarch dormitory (without my uttering a single word), and Liam unlocked the gate with a strip of metal that hung from a cord around his neck. “You won’t need this,†he said, holding the door for me. “The camera will be coded to your features by tomorrow.â€
He led me to an elevator, and we rose to the eighth floor. My room was at the end of the hall—a private apartment—Liam opened it with another swipe of the master key.
My room was rich, to say the least. A large queen bed stood in the corner, covered in purple trappings—the color of the Plutarch dormitory, I was later to learn. A table and chair set was across the room from it, next to a large iScreen, and a couch (purple again) took up most of the right-hand wall. I noticed that my trunks were already at the foot of the bed. I doubted even Mr. Herrod had such sumptuous accommodations.
Liam was still in the doorway, leaning against the frame. I sighed inwardly. Ought to end this sooner than later.
“Thank you for showing me to my room, Liam,†I said, trying to ignore the way he was eyeing me—like I was a particularly juicy steak. There was a keypad on the wall, with a button labeled CLOSE on it; not caring much about civility, I punched it, and the door closed on the secretary’s face.
I began to unpack my trunks, to air out my clothes and sooth my humming nerves. I was the daughter of Aldric Cronus Nyx II; many would be seeking my friendship, and it would be easy for me to be accepted, to become one of the Reds, the Ahriman supporters. But in spite of this reassurance, I was nervous for today’s meetings.
After about fifteen minutes, I began to hear footsteps outside my room, as the students of the Plutarch dormitory began returning after class. I heard many curious voices outside my door—no doubt the digital card outside now displayed my famous last name. I’d just finished unpacking when the first knock came on my door.
I checked the camera and found myself staring at someone with bleached-blonde tresses. The girl’s face was familiar; I recognized her as Bianca Kent, the daughter of one of my father’s associates. We had once been friends—if you can call a person who describes her wardrobe for hours while you sit and listen a friend.
However, upon opening the door, it became apparent that Bianca had no doubts whatsoever about our friendship. “Kyrra!†she squealed, throwing her arms around me. “I haven’t seen you in absolutely forever!â€
I decided to return Bianca’s enthusiasm. “I know!†I replied, pulling firmly out of her strangling embrace to look her in the eyes. Her makeup was too perfect; it looked like Miss Kent had been spending some of her father’s fortune on a new face, although I doubted he knew it. Beneath Bianca’s dumb-blonde looks there lurked a canny and ruthless nature.
With these thoughts in mind, I smiled brilliantly. “You look amazing,†I said, flattering her shamelessly. Bianca put a hand to her blushing cheek—no doubt it was plastic—and laughed lightly. “As do you, hon,†she said. Her eyes took on a greedy look. “Who’s your doctor?â€
I was briefly offended, but smoothed the emotion under another sickening smile. “I’ll give you his number.â€
A bell sounded somewhere, and Bianca lay a hand on her stomach. “Ugh, another meal. How am I supposed to lose all this weight when we’re fed so much?†She seemed to be addressing the crowd at large; several girls nearby leapt to compliment her figure and reassure her. Bianca waved them away, trying not to look too pleased. “Come on, Kyrra, let’s go down.â€
The dining hall was centrally located on campus, about a block away from the Plutarch dormitory, and Bianca took advantage of the short walk to give me an unintentional lesson in the Jefferson social hierarchy. By the time we reached the cafeteria, there was no doubt in my mind: Bianca Kent was Queen of Jefferson School.
The level of incivility was astonishing. To one girl, Bianca waved and smiled, then turned to me and proceeded to tell me every affair the little minx had been involved in. Another student was icily ignored, entirely because of an affront that had occurred three years ago, at another school. All of the good-looking boys were graced with an impish smile; heaven help those deemed average. I saw Bianca smile at a girl and sneer at her after she’d gone by, and laugh in another girl’s face. It was like living in a game of Sudden Death; one wrong word, and the loser was out of the court forever. Those who Bianca greeted went away with relieved faces; the rest were either dejected or resigned to their fate. I found myself wondering what would happen when it was my turn to be on trial.
We reached the dining hall shortly, and wound our way through the corridors until a dark, cavernous room came into view. The walls were draped in purple, red, and gold—the colors of the three upper-class dormitories. Bianca led the way to a table in the front of the room, and her coterie quickly arranged themselves in the seats around her. Then the food was brought out, and we began to eat.
Bianca’s friends showed a healthy interest in me, something which their queen didn’t take so kindly to. It didn’t help that I already knew several of them; many of those present were children of my father’s associates. One, a sandy-haired boy with a smirking smile, seemed particularly keen on my attention; I couldn’t be sure if it was my looks or my father’s high standing that caused him to continuously engage me in conversation, while a disgruntled Bianca looked on.
I’d just finished my dinner (a rubbery imitation of chicken marsala) when I happened to catch the delinquents filing past the open door. They all wore the standard school uniform—navy blue blazers for the boys, grey skirts for the girls—but what intrigued me was the level of individuality they expressed, even while dressed identically. I caught flashes of dyed hair, red ties, and dress shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest, things that would be unthinkable amongst the people in this room. Contrary to what I would expect, they were happy, too; even once they’d passed, I could still hear their merry chatter echoing down the hall.
Bianca caught me watching them. “Don’t worry about them,†she said, taking my fixation for fear. “The School keeps them quiet, usually. Jefferson doesn’t need them, really–our tuition finances it now.â€
“Why are they here, then? How did we get put with them?â€
She sniffed, looking disgruntled. “Without them, the state wouldn’t force the school security to be state-of-the-art. And then we wouldn’t be here, either.â€
I went back to my food without comment. Such an odd situation—if there were no delinquents, we wouldn’t need the security. But because they were here, we were safe, imprisoned together.
After the meal, I excused myself and walked back to the dormitories alone, leaving Bianca to say what she would about me behind my back. I wasn’t overly-concerned about making or keeping friends in this place; I was a solitary creature, and if everyone was more interested in my money than in me—I could manage better on my own.
Once in my dorm, I undressed and slipped between the violet satin sheets, pulling off enough quilts and comforters to make up another bed. I sighed and looked up at the canopy above me; for all my talk of independence, beneath it all, I was lonely. My mother died when I was four, about the time of the coup; my father, embroiled in business and politics as he was, rarely spoke to me as a father should to his daughter. To him, I was the future, his replacement.
And as for my so-called childhood friends…Bianca was only the start of the sorts of children I’d grown up with. Most found my interest in movies only faintly understandable, and my love for antique books completely inexplicable. I’d grown up cocooned in the books I so loved, surrounded by the only things that didn’t call me the freak of an otherwise respectable trillionaire family…
I closed my eyes, shutting out the memories. That was enough for one night. I sighed, and turned out the light.
The next morning, I woke early and got dressed quickly. I thought ruefully of all the fine clothes I’d brought—they were useless here, where a uniform was required. Although the pleated skirt and v-necked navy sweater did suit me…but then, most clothes did.
I brushed my thick auburn hair slowly, taking my time to work out all the kinks and tangles. My hair was my best feature; it fell softly about my shoulders, complementing my naturally pale skin and deep green eyes. I suppose that was the Irish of my mother coming out in me; I certainly hadn’t inherited any of my father’s looks, just his icy silences and imposing height.
I met Bianca in the hallway, and we went to the dining hall once again, with her chattering about the latest gossip. I gathered that her friends liked me very much (her jealous overtones did not go by unnoticed) but that they thought me quiet. So be it; I would rather be called odd than some of the names other girls were called here.
Breakfast was a passable version of a mushroom-and-olive omelet; after downing it with a swig of synthetic orange juice, I hurried to my first class: Chemistry.
Walking down the hallways of Jefferson School was a strange experience. Clumps of delinquents and wealthy children floated down the corridors to their destinations, talking and laughing; yet in the five minutes I roamed the hallways, searching for my class, I did not see a single exchange between the two groups. Not a glance or word was spoken by either side. It was as if they were invisible to each other.
Even inside the Chemistry class, the room was segregated, with my kind on one side, delinquents on the other. The teacher, Mr. Robbins, sat me dead center, front row, so that I was right on the line between the two groups. As the bell rang and class started, I sighed, sat up straight, and tried very hard to look neither right nor left.
So anyways, I would really appreciate any comments/criticisms between the two. Thanks much!
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263) I have to say that I’ve been completely drawn in! What a fascinating subject! Totally awesome! I like the second one more. I like how you show the man character acting deliberately innocent. All in all, in the second one, you get to know the character better. I can relate to your character in the second one better compared to the first one.
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More Gifter, cont. from 244
CAUTION! CONFUSING DIALOUGE AHEAD!
Damian walked slowly back to his desk, pulled the chair in, and folded his hands on the desk. He sighed, rubbing his forehead in a massive, paw-like hand. Then, he sat up straight, staring at me with grey eyes boring into my own. “Please, listen closely, for I will only say this once.â€
“The Gift is something unexplainable to anyone but somebody who has possessed it before. It is inexplicably old, as old as time, and with it comes the trail of a story that the past has left to us to pick up the pieces. When the heavens created the first man, he had all abilities that a normal person does today: the five senses, the ability to walk, to talk, to think… all of these which were necessary to our survival. But along with those, he was also given special gifts: the ability to know without learning, to talk without speaking, to move things without touching them, to go places without lifting a finger-these things that are strange to us now, as normal beings.
“Man was content living on earth. He had everything he could ever want. He was able to hunt the fiercest creatures, to climb the tallest mountains, and in his life was able to see most of the Earth by traveling there whenever he pleased. Woman was created, and together they had a child. But man was too curious for his own good, and trespassed on land where he was forbidden to go. When he had committed a sin, the Heavens were alight with black clouds, roaring thunder, lightning that split the dawn in two. And down from the sky, fire rained down upon Man, and he was instantly destroyed.
“Man was dead, but his son still lived. The Gift was not passed genetically to the boy, but it must always have a possessor. The inhuman properties of man were transferred into his son, as life left him. And so the child became the next Gifter, as his father had been before him. This is the way that the Gift has passed through the ages. No Gifter can grow older, they stay the same throughout their life, always in possession of their Gift.â€
Damian paused for a moment, and I spoke up quietly. It was hard to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Sorry to interrupt, but if this ‘Gifter’ can’t be killed, then how come man’s first son or whoever isn’t still alive?â€
“I was getting to that,†he said, annoyance evident in his voice. “There is no such thing as perfection, Gail, not even to someone with the Gift. We can be destroyed by fire, the substance that killed the first man, and that continues to blaze out each generation of Gifters, one by one. We are all descended from the first man and woman, that much is true, and share their weaknesses. The Gift is passed on to one person every generation of humanity. Only the one next in line to receive the Gift can truly possess it. And so, the next Gifter has at last come to possession. The one with the Gift now, Gail, is you.â€
My heart skipped several beats. This couldn’t possibly be true. I voiced my thoughts aloud immediately. “Why me? What’s so special about me?â€
“We aren’t exactly sure,†said Damian, turning around in his chair. “As I said before, only the current holder of the Gift knows who he or she must give it next, and when they are going to die themselves. The Gifter before you-his name was Samuel-knew that you would be in grave danger yesterday night, and he went to your house to deliver the Gift to you. When the fire had come for him, he passed it to you before his soul was completely consumed by the killing fire.â€
Of course, I thought. It all makes sense now. I recalled the shadow man, arms outsretched, the glowing mass flowing through my veins as the flames erupted behind him and destroyed his entire being. Realizing the truth of his words, I scrambled to my feet, able to move again, and rushed to one of the mirrors on the opposite wall.
“Oh my gosh,†I gasped, seeing my reflection staring back at me. It was me, wasn’t it? There was nobody else around to deceive my image. I was tall as I had been before, but now it was elegant, and my skin was smooth and no longer freckled. My hair was to my waist and a rich chocolate, and my eyes, previously dull, now shimmered in my skull like large sapphires piercing the mirror.
“You see,†said Damian, coming up behind me, “that the Gift is not only evident in your ability, but also your appearance. It is the way that the first woman looked when she was created. Over time, people became more and more false, distrustful, greedy, malicious, angry, and these attributes made the body and soul of humanity tragically skewed.â€
“So,†I said quietly, turning back around, “if I have the Gift now, then I have physical powers too?â€
“Let’s see,†he said, and without warning he lunged at me in attack.
Instantly, I responded to this action, using my arms to block every punch. It was almost lazy how I went through the defense movements, reaching up, down, sideways, to keep the sliding fists away from my face. It was as though I could predict, in the instants beforehand, where he was going to hit next and what I should do to stop him. Then, at the right moment, I swept my leg as fast as a snake into his shin. He flew backwards and fell with a thud to the floor.
“Good,†he grunted, getting back up. “You are a strong one. Now,†he said, “you are ready to accept your mission.â€
“What mission?†I asked. “So I’ve got this gift. All I have to do is wait until the right person comes along, and then give it to them. It’s cake.â€
“There, child, is where you are wrong,†he said, and we sat. Over the years, even though it is urged to be kept a secret, several normal humans have found out about the Gift. They are referred to as the Fathoms. They know of the Gift’s supernatural power, and want to harness it for themselves, to use the power to take over the galaxy and to wipe out the population of earth. If they do not achieve this, they will kill the Gifted. Each of the Generations has been asked to pass the Gift to a Fathom, and they all have refused. It is our job to protect the Gift, to make sure it does not fall into the wrong hands. It is my duty to tell you these things, Gail, because you are the only one who can protect us.â€
“The only one?†I squeaked. I had never been good with responsibility.
“Of course, many will be there to give you assistance along the way. You are not the only one with supernatural powers, Gail. Human mutations of the original Gift are not common, but they can be found. The reason that the Fathoms do not try as hard to harness the power of the mutations is because they cannot be passed down. Once the mutant is dead, their power is gone for good and cannot be obtained by any means. This organization tracks down the Gifter, and the mutations of his or her generation. We have already found you, and we have several of the Mutations already working for us. I believe you have already met Chandra, I believe?â€
I nodded slightly.
“Of course you do. She is the mutation of the intelligence factor of the Gift. Another, whose name is Mirabel, is the mutation of mind bending. Our newest discovery is a boy named Linus, who is the mutant of teleportation. Besides this , we have talented men and women in the field of hand to hand combat, weapon, and machinery, who will teach you everything you need to learn, if indeed you still need to learn it.â€
“And you?†I asked. I knew now that this man was not a threat, but that didn’t mean that I had complete faith in him.
“I am the head of these operations,†he said. “I have the knowledge, the strength, everything, because I have been in your situation before. I am the only Gifter ever to have survived, and I know everything about what it is like.â€
A worrying thought struck my mind. “Do they all die?†I asked, before I could think about it. I inwardly cursed myself for being so closed minded, but Damian didn’t seem to mind. He only laughed softly.
“It is unfortunate, to know you fate before you can choose it. I was the only one who survived, and to this day I do not know for sure how I was not killed. All I remember is that I gave the Gift, I passed it on knowing that I would die doing so, and was burned, but the next day I found myself awake and alive. I still do not know how I survived, and if only I could tell you, be rest assured I would.†He sighed, and rubbed his chin again. I was getting annoyed with all these pauses when I was learning about the rest of my life. “Death is not the important issue,†he resumed. “It is keeping the Gift alive that is important.â€
“So you’re saying that I should let myself die so that others can die the same way I did?†I asked incredulously, pushing away my chair. “Why should we have this curse? Why should we have to die for something that will only kill more people?â€
Damian stood up too, and even though I could tell he was angry his tone of voice was still a civil flow. “Because the Gift will never die. It is not human, it is something more, and the fact that it can even stay at bay in a human soul is more than I can understand. Those with true knowledge of it tell us that if the Gift were to have no harbor, the incredible power of it would rip the world in half. It is an amazing feat of nature that such immense ability can stay civil in something so weak as the human body. Nobody knows why we are chosen, it chooses us. The strongest, the smartest, the most able of us are the ones to have the Gift and to put it to use, and with the civil mental ability to give such power away when the time is right. That is why you were chosen, Gail Lawson, and that is why you are here with me at this moment. As of now, you are the most able human being in the entire world.â€
He let these words sink in for a minute, but my heart was beating to wildly to let them come. Something inside me was burning, fierce and bright, and I could not control it. But before I could say another word, Damian stood up, and walked to the lift.
“You must be very tired,†he said, pressing the button for the ground floor. “I will let you rest for the night. Go back to your aunt and uncle, sleep fitfully, and pack your things. In the morning, we will come for you.â€
I nodded, and walked sleepily, dizzily, to the elevator. I got inside and the guard gates shut behind me. The last that I heard from Damian as he slid out of sight was, “Good night, Gail the Gifter, and good luck.â€
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264–Thanks, that’s exactly what I wanted to know! When I write more I’ll post it here. Thanks for taking the time to look that over.
Anyone else?
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265) Hmmmmmm. OK. Wait, so she’s going to sleep there? Or at her home?
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267- back to the hotel. It’s terrible, isn’t it? I wrote it at night, really late, so kind of not my best work… But, I do have more.
More Gifter, cont. 265:
((NOTE- the first section up until the double space should have been in italics, but I still have no idea how to do those.))
“You are going to die, Gail, and you are going to like it.†The man’s deep, sinister voice bored through me as I lay, helpless and wounded, on the rock-solid floor of a dark room. There were voices around me, laughing, jeering, shouting insults at me as I struggled for breath.
“Don’t!†exclaimed a voice from my side that was choked and strangled with emotion.
“Be silent,†hissed the man, knocking my protector aside. His body fell to the floor. I gasped.
“Don’t touch him.†My voice shook with conviction as I tried to order the man what to do. But his black eyes sliced through mine, and a spurt of orange flame braised the skin on my nose. I could feel it, and it hurt. The first pain I had felt in months. Only then did I scream.
“There is no escape, Gift. You will die, and you will like it.â€
“Make me,†I whispered, and the flames carried me away.
I woke up in my bed, cold sweat covering my forehead. I scrambled out of the motel bed, mouth gaping, my body drenched in cold sweat. I rushed to the closet and pulled clothes on over me, then brushed my hair in front of the mirror. My eyes were dilated as they stared back at me.
“Good morning, sleepy,†said a voice from behind me.
“Thought she’d never wake up,†said another.
I whipped around, staring for the source of the voices. Two short twin girls stared quizzically back at me.
“How’s it going?†asked the first one, her red curls bobbing as she looked up at me.
“F-fine,†I stammered. What were these kids doing in my bedroom? “Who are you?†I asked.
“We’ve come to take you back,†said the second one. “My name’s Ransom. She’s Raid.â€
“Hi,†said Raid, waving a small hand with painted nails in my flushed face.
“Um…hi,†I said, shaking my head and mopping the buckets of sweat from my forehead.
“Were you having a bad dream?†asked Ransom. “I could tell. You were thrashing around and stuff.â€
“Yeah, I guess,†I said. It didn’t seem like it had been a dream. It had been real to me.
“Well, that’s enough chit-chat,†she said. “We’ve got to get going, we’re late! We were supposed to be there by four!â€
I looked out the window. It was almost completely dark. The sun wasn’t even up yet. “Yeah, how late,†I grumbled, grabbing the duffel from beside my bed. “I almost got five hours of sleep. Now that would be a sin.â€
We walked out the open front door and down to the lobby, and the entire way, both little girls pestered me with questions.
“What’s your name? Where do you go to school? How old are you?â€
“We’re both nine,†said Raid, pointing to herself and her sister. “We’re practically identical.â€
“But that doesn’t mean we’re the same!†protested Ransom.
“Yes it does, stupid,†said Raid, rolling her eyes.
“My name is Gail, and I’m sixteen,†I said, eager to stop the building argument.
“Sixteen, cool! Can you drive?†asked Ransom.
“Not yet,†I said, and as we passed through the lobby I tossed my room key at the front desk, where the concierge was slumbering fitfully. The three of us walked quickly out the front door, where a long black car was parked.
“Who’s driving?†I asked. I had completed Driver’s Ed, but I was sure that there was an adult in the car. Who else could have brought these two girls here?
“I wanna drive!†said Ransom.
“It’s my turn,†said Raid, pushing her sister away from the door. “You got to drive on the way here.â€
“Nope, no way,†I said. “You’re kids. You can’t drive.†By this time I had already been prodded into the backseat.
“Not anymore,†said Raid, and when she turned back to look at me it was all I could do not to shriek. The little girl who I had seen just moments before was now a tall young woman, at least twenty or more.
“Whoa-how-huh?†I stammered.
“We’re shapeshifters,†said Ransom, who stuck her tongue out at her now older sister. “But Mom says we can only shift when it’s necessary.â€
“All right,†said Raid, who put the car into drive. “Let’s see what this baby can do!†The car screeched away from the cur at an astonishingly fast pace. I was slammed into the back of the leather clad seat with such force that I could see stars.
“Take it easy!†I cried as the car sped down the black lane into the night.
“Trust me, lady, I know what I’m doing,†sighed the girl, and I could tell that she was rolling those eyes again.
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Some more of the Unnamed Story:
Cassandra W.
Now that we’re finally on the bus, I have some time to think about everything.
First: the mineral. It’s got to be from another world. Perhaps we’re part of a prophecy to do with it, since there’s that elemental control thing. Or maybe it enhances natural talents? Anyway, there must be something special about that museum. But what could be so special about a natural history museum in the middle of Central New York? Is it a coincidence and that’s just where the crack, or portal, or whatever it is, happened to open up? How often does it open? How long does it stay open for? Is it always in the same place? Is it supposed to happen? What if this is some kind of anomaly? Is the museum, like, an ancient center of power or something?
Second: our powers. Mine are obvious. I could always sense emotions; now I can actually feel others’. Is the aura thing part of it, or is it elemental? Have my powers of thought increased as well? I can’t help gasping a little as I realize how many talents of mine could have increased from this. But back to our powers. Fiona’s seems to be convincing anyone of anything; she was always a pretty good liar. I wonder what other powers she has. And Stella… telekinesis? Why? Then I realize that her talents are very physical—sports mostly. This must be the magic’s way of enhancing it. Maybe she can also do something else, something like running as fast as the wind, always winning in any sport… amazing prowess in battle… flying? Whoa, that’s kind of a scary thought. I would hate to fly. It’s not that I’m afraid of heights, because I totally love heights, as long as I’m actually supported by something. That’s why I’m a rock climber and NOT a hang glider.
Third: the elemental stuff. Is there a prophecy? Are we the chosen ones for Earth, Air and Fire? Wait a sec, how do I know what elements we are? Then again, it’s kind of obvious. Fiona is purple for Air, I’m green for Earth, and Stella is red for Fire. So… if we’re Earth, Air, Fire… who’s Water? Could anyone else have touched it at the same time as us?
Suddenly, I realize something that sounds like it came out of a fantasy book. Fiona was right, I think ironically, but at the same time I know it has to be true. There’s another girl in another world that touched that exact mineral at the exact same time as us. There must be. So whoever she is, we have to find her. Soon.
Fiona C.
I halfheartedly fiddle with my iPod on the way back. I don’t really feel like listening to anything right now. Why do I always have to be so stupid?
My cell phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket to see a text from Stella:
682-5672: Cassie has info about r situashn txt her but say sry 1st!!
Sighing, I poke “New Text†and write hey cassie, sry bout b4 idk wat got in2 me. Then I hit “Send.†A minute later, she texts back:
926-2355: U rly think im gna accept tht? U just want info
926-2355: jk its fine wat do u want
781-7912: uh well, s said u have info wat is it? Do I need 2 no?
926-2355: u will laff
781-7912: no I wont I learned my lesson haha
781-7912: so shoot, wat is it?
926-2355: ukwat from other wrld. Other grl frm thr must b water.
781-7912: huh??
926-2355: elements=earth air fire water rite?
781-7912: Ya I guess
926-2355: ok so ur air, im earth, s is fire so whos water?
781-7912: ohhhh ic
781-7912: so who is it?
781-7912: this person frm another wrld
926-2355: idk someone… but we have 2 find her
781-7912: y?
926-2355: idk I think w/e it is told me?
781-7912: wtf??
I’m about to send this one when I rethink it. That’s probably too mean. I hit Delete a few times and write a new text:
K I guess, so how do we get thr?
926-2355: we hav 2 go bak 2 the msm
926-2355: thr is sum kinda portal thr? I think?
781-7912: did u tell s this?
926-2355: ya I emailed her
926-2355: crap im prolly goin over my txt limit… bi!
781-7912: k ttyl
I pull up a new text to Stella.
She tld me evrythn so wat do u think?
682-5672: I think its tru wat else cud I think w/ all this
My fingers pause over the keys. Do I need to respond?
682-5672: dnt say nethin 2 ne1 bout this even changes, they only c if u say sumthin so dnt
781-7912: dnt wry I wnt wudnt neway… bibi
What did I just do?
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Um, hi! SFTDP! Where did everyone go? Can someone respond please? I’d like some constructive criticism…
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270- Agreed. As for your story, I’ve read it over and I think you’ve got a good plot going. Aside from the chatspeak, which I can’t understand, I think you should definetly continue! I want to read some more!
How about mine?
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270: *nerdiness and grammar consumes* I don’t think that Cassie would use chatspeak. I don’t use chatspeak on my phone!
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270- I hate to seem mean, and I don’t mean to mean, but…I’m not buying it. They all figure it out too quickly, about being Elemental and all and how the rock must have slipped though from another world and stuff. I don’t know… it just sort of ruins the fun. I would suggest that you drag it out a little. Make them play with their powers before realizing what they can do, that kind of thing.
No offense meant.
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Anyone with constructive criticism for mine (either version, but particularly the second one, post 263)? I think I’m almost decided, but I’d looove some feedback. Thanks much!
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271- It’s very good, but it seems kind of Mary Sue-ish. Was that intended?
272- I’ve taken out all of Cassie’s chatspeak except for “U”s, “UR”s, “2” for to/too, “4” for “for”, and left-out apostrophes. You’re right, she wouldn’t do that.
273- You’re supposed to think that. But it’s not all of them, only Cassie, for a certain reason that will be explained later.
A translation of the chatspeak:
682-5672: Cassie has info about our situation. Text her, but say sorry first!!
Sighing, I poke “New Text†and write “hey cassie, sorry about before. I don’t know what got into me.” Then I hit “Send.†A minute later, she texts back:
926-2355: You really think I’m gonna accept that? You just want info
926-2355: kidding its fine what do you want
781-7912: uh well, s said u have info what is it? Do I need to know?
926-2355: You’ll laugh
781-7912: no I wont I learned my lesson haha
781-7912: so shoot, what is it?
926-2355: the youknowwhat is from another world. There’s another girl from there who must be Water.
781-7912: huh??
926-2355: elements=earth air fire water right?
781-7912: Yeah I guess
926-2355: ok so you’re air, im earth, s is fire so whos water?
781-7912: ohhhh I see
781-7912: so who is it?
781-7912: this person from another world
926-2355: Don’t know, someone… but we have to find her
781-7912: why?
926-2355: i don’t know, I think whatever it is told me?
781-7912: wtf??
I’m about to send this one when I rethink it. That’s probably too mean. I hit Delete a few times and write a new text:
OK I guess, so how do we get there?
926-2355: we have to go back to the museum
926-2355: there is some kinda portal there? I think?
781-7912: did u tell s this?
926-2355: yeah I emailed her
926-2355: crap im probably going over my text limit… bye!
781-7912: ok talk to you later
I pull up a new text to Stella.
She told me everything so what do you think?
682-5672: I think its true what else could I think w/ all this
My fingers pause over the keys. Do I need to respond?
682-5672: dont say anything to anyone about this even changes, they only see if u say something so dont
781-7912: dont worry I wont. I wouldnt anyway… bye
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I agree with Alice. *moan* Me eyeballs hurt. It’s too late. And I’ve been on here too long trying to catch up. Oh my. Bleh. I think this is good night.
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275- Yeah, I kind of stole the idea from the RPG Superheores thread.
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Well, what the heck. New story.
The Deeps of Millennia were unusually quiet for 2300 hours. Even the rats skittered quietly, the scratching of their claws echoing only faintly off the dingy walls. No CyPos patrolled, no gangs roamed the streets; it was as if the Deeps had finally been deserted.
But then, at 2307 hours, the reason for the unsettling silence became apparent. It began as a distant revving, rising and falling, with the wail of the CyPo sirens floating above it. Louder and louder it grew, until the sound ricocheted through the Deeps like the roar of a giant mechanical beast.
A black car suddenly ripped around the corner, its tires screeching in protest. It righted itself with a jerk and sped down the street as a CyPo cruiser appeared behind it. The heavier car couldn’t make the corner; its driver lost control, crashing into the opposing wall as smoke roiled out from under the hood. A second CyPo came up behind the destroyed vehicle and the driver, with an oath, slammed on the brakes, jerked the wheel, and sped off after the stolen car that was now far down the street.
The radio in the cruiser crackled. “What’s your position, officer?â€
“Thirtieth—no, BL5 street,†the driver said, as he made another harrowing turn after the fugitive car.
“Request backup?â€
“Negative, Central Command. He’s headed for the Tube.â€
And strangely, miraculously, the criminal was. The Tube ran all over the City, up, down, and across it like a great plastic snake, but it was only wide enough for one car; the sides of it curved gently upwards from its flat base to meet at the top, leaving only a twelve-foot diameter at its widest point, midway up the wall. And, as if this were not enough incentive for the carjacker to avoid it, the Tube was controlled by the police; they could electrify the wide strip at the Tube’s base so that it melted the tires of any chosen car. The CyPos, equipped with carbon-synthetic tires, could then drive after it and take the driver into custody.
“Requesting permission to fry this sucker,†said the driver, his hand poised over a button on the cruiser’s dash.
“Permission granted.â€
He hit the button, and two hundred feet away, the Tube’s base sparked, then began to grow very, very hot.
The fugitive car entered the Tube.
And did not stop.
Peering into the glare of the halogen lights surrounding the Tube, the CyPo thought for a moment that his mind was playing tricks on him. But as his eyes adjusted, he could see that somehow, his brain wasn’t lying: the fugitive was, incredibly, driving sideways.
Inside the sleek black stolen car, Jaret Evander was having the time of his life.
“Catch me if you can,†he grinned, flooring the ignition. He’d had no reservations whatsoever about entering the Tube; he’d come up with the idea of surfing a couple of weeks ago. As he’d approached the glowing entrance, he’d fired the overdrive, shifted gears, and with a casual spin of the wheel, driven up the side of the wall.
“Ha!†he laughed triumphantly, listening to the chaos on the police scanner clamped to the car’s dash. They’d never seen anything like him before; most convicts didn’t even come near the Tube, let alone drive in it without tripping the electric strip. “Don’t even try to follow,†he said, glancing in his rear view mirror. “No way you could…uh…uh oh…â€
With a squealing noise, the tires of the stolen car were slowly but surely losing their grip on the plexiglass walls of the Tube. Jaret spun the wheel in vain, but it was no use: the electric strip was coming closer and closer to his tires…
“Crap crap crap come ON!†he yelled, as the chassis groaned in protest. A smell of burning rubber filled the air; his back right tire had been caught.
“@*$#,†said Jaret Evander, as he was hurled through the windshield of his car.
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278- I like it. Very action-filmy.
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278–I like it very much as well. I will be looking forward to more….
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278) Ooooooo. Cool. ACtion!
But what about your other stuff? 
I really liked that last one you posted…….
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279-281) Thanks It was originally a graphic novel, accounting for the action-movieish-ness.
281–Oh, I’m still working on it, I just wanted to get this down on paper before I lost it. Although, really, this story goes with the other; Jaret Evander is (possibly) the son of Trystan Evander, the hero of the other story. I say possibly because I haven’t decided for sure yet.
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278-very good i like it a lot. i wish i could think of ideas that are original but i can just do fan fic type things that continue stories. sad to say i want to be a writer when i grow up. i just need to come up w/ ideas. not sure if that is a good plan.
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278- i can just do fan fic type things that continue stories. sad to say i want to be a writer when i grow up. i just need to come up w/ ideas. not sure if that is a good plan.
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278- Good start. I’d like to read some more.
281- Did you read my last installment? It’s post 268.
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284- I used to have that problem. Now I have more original ideas than I know what to do with. Maybe I can give a few to you to get the juices flowing.
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I have a possible title… but I’m not sure yet.
Stella M.
I stare at the latest text from Fiona, trying to puzzle it out. It looks something like “NTD YWR I TNW DUNTW YENAW… BIIB.†Dyslexia makes everything harder to read. Sighing, I gather that “NTD†is “DNT,†“don’t,†and “YWR†is “WRY…†is that “worry?†“I TNW†is easy. “DUNTW†takes a while, but I realize it’s “WUDNT,†and the rest is easy from there. OK, so I don’t need to respond.
Damn, another text. Wish there was a translator for dyslexia. It’s from Mom; I do know that, because of her picture. It’s the same text she’s sent me several times before, or at least it looks like it. I’m pretty sure she’s asking if I can take Julie to the bus after school. Julie’s in second grade this year. She’s a great little sister, but she doesn’t make up for Owen. I miss him. He’s a sophomore at Harvard now, but he was the greatest big brother ever! Jack is just annoying. Of course Johnny is adorable, but he’s TWO. He doesn’t get anything that’s going on. He can barely talk. Of course, none of them can make up for Dad. I hate his job. The US Army sounds heroic, but really it just means his family is on edge all the time. We never know where he is. We never know if he’s OK.
You know what? I just realized. I’m lonely. It’s not that I don’t have friends, or that my friends don’t have time for me… I don’t have time for them. I have to work twice as hard as anyone else in school because of my dyslexia, and I have my sports and theater, and I’m just busy all the time. I bet no one knows that I’m an actress and a singer. I love theater. I’m in two productions right now, plus I take voice lessons. Then there’s tae kwon do and yoga and soccer and basketball, and I barely have time to do my homework, much less get extra help.
Whoa, I think I blacked out again. What did I miss? I’m holding my cell phone. Apparently I’ve just texted someone. I open “Sent†and read:
To: “Cassie†926-2355, “Fiona†781-7912
Message: can u cum 2 teh mall 2moro after skool?
I honestly don’t remember typing any of that. How long was I out for? Was it the rock thing again?
My phone buzzes. Cassie’s texted back.
926-2355: sure I called my mom she said ok
781-7912: sure, y?
682-5672: idk!!! I was thnkin abt like how buys I am and then I blaked out!
926-2355: buys? Busy u mean?
781-7912: were nowhr near the museum!!
682-5672: ik! But its gotta hav sumtin 2 do w/ the w/e/it/is
926-2355: we should still go 2 the mall
781-7912: y?? wat if sumthin bad is there?
926-2355: were supposed 2 go there, we should listen
682-5672: besides its the mall!
781-7912: haha yeah. So were on.
926-2355: YUP… cya 2moro
682-5672: yeah, bye
I’ll ask Mom once I get home.
Cassandra W,
The bus comes to a stop outside the school. I see our silver Prius immediately. Mom’s waving from the front seat. I give her the “Wait†signal and run in to pack my backpack. Argh, sometimes moms can be so embarrassing. Maybe it’d be easier if I had siblings. Being an only child sucks.
I shove my bag into the backseat and slide in the front. “Hi, Mom,†I mutter.
“Hi, honey! So who’s this Stella person that invited you to the mall? And… Fiona, who’s that?â€
“Oh, just a couple people I talked to at the museum today.â€
“A couple of people, Cassie.â€
“Sorry, Mom.â€
Sometimes I hate having an English professor for a mom.
“So, are they your new friends?â€
I roll my eyes. “Moooooom, before today they didn’t even know I existed.â€
“So they’re your friends, then!â€
How do I explain that we’ve been thrown into some kind of weird magic adventure together? And that we’re most certainly not friends?
“Uh, no.â€
She sighs. “Honey, of course they’re your friends!â€
The car goes over a bump, and suddenly I find myself telling her everything. I can’t seem to stop—until we turn onto Skyline, at which point I stop abruptly in the middle of a sentence.
She stares at me. “Go on,†she says. “What happened after you ran into Cathy?â€
I almost burst into tears. I didn’t intend to tell her any of this! Why would I be saying it now? Deciding to use my new power, I reach out to her emotions. To my surprise, I feel nothing but curiosity, and a little sadness. Is that a memory? I reach for it.
Mom is my age, thirteen. She’s standing on a beach looking at someone… a boy, dressed in strange old-fashioned clothes. He waves, then disappears. She’s crying. Who is he? What is he doing?
Another girl comes up to her and gives her a hug. She says something I can’t make out, then takes a step forward and disappears as well. There’s a shimmering in the air, the sense of a door closing, and then the memory fades.
I don’t quite understand all of this yet, but there’s definitely a pattern.
Fiona C.
When the bus pulls up at the school, our car is conspicuously absent.
Groaning, I pull out my phone and call Mom. “MOM, where are you?†I yell as soon as she picks up.
“Sean has karate today! I SAID I’m picking you up late!â€
“And when was that?â€
“Yesterday after… oh, wait, I didn’t, did I?â€
“No, you didn’t, Mom.â€
“OK, well, I’ll see you at four.â€
“Great, Mom. See you then.â€
Stella M.
The afternoon passes by in a blur. I have rehearsal right after school, then soccer practice, and I have to get my homework done. I can barely remember if I did it or not. At home, all is chaotic: Jack can’t find his biology textbook, Johnny is wailing, Julie needs help with her homework, and someone stole my flash drive. Then Dad calls and we all fight over the phone. He can only talk for a few minutes, but at least he’s OK.
Before I know it, it’s almost midnight and I’m still not asleep. I yank on my pajamas and climb into bed. Suddenly, I realize that I haven’t thought about the museum since I got in the car. It’s kind of like the game, I guess—the busier you are, the easier it is to forget about it. Darn it, I just lost the game.
The next thing I remember is dreaming.
The first thing I see is the rock. I recognize it instantly, although in the dream it’s aqua blue. That’s strange. It’s supposed to be red. It’s also supposed to be on an old table in a little storeroom, but it seems to be on a marble pedestal instead. Suddenly I realize that I’m underwater. My breath is running out, but I’ve almost swum to the rock. My hand stretches out and I touch it.
I get the feeling that my dream has skipped something, because now I’m walking along the shore of a lake with a person who reminds me of water. I can’t tell you what en looks like, because I honestly don’t know. All I know is that the person has been saying something about the rock.
“Beryl, I hope you realize what this means. Not only has the—“ here en… she… why do I know it’s a she? says something that sounds like “airnahâ€â€”“helped you to find your hidden powers, but it has chosen you.â€
Words come out of my, or Beryl’s, mouth: “Chosen? How? Why?â€
“There is something none of the—“ anara? Anhara? “have told you. We have withheld this knowledge from you in hopes that you would be the next Chosen for Nerea.â€
“Nerea?â€
“Water. The four elements are Gaea, Wentus, Pyros and Nerea—Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Three others will be found, but it must be by full moon tonight, or you will die.†Huh? Wentus? What the heck is that supposed to mean?
Beryl-me stares into the lake at her reflection. I glimpse a tall girl wearing odd clothes. She has long, straight red hair with blue streaks, and her eyes are two different colors: one blue, one green. Then the reflection ripples and changes, and I see us at the museum. A voice is calling, but I can’t make out the words…
“Stella! Time to get up!â€
I sit up and grab my hand mirror. Same black hair, same red and orange streaks, same me. So why can I remember the face of that girl Beryl so clearly?
Cassandra W.
I spend the whole school day searching for a word, or maybe a phrase. It’s just out of reach. I dreamed about it last night, but I can’t remember what it’s—they’re? called. I can’t even remember the dream, now. I just remember a glowing line, but that couldn’t be anything important.
9th period seems to drag on forever. When it’s finally over, I bolt out of the band room, grabbing my backpack on the way, and race to the Circle. Fiona and Stella walk out of the cafeteria. Silently, all listening to our iPods, we walk off campus to the bus stop and wait there.
Finally, Stella takes off her headphones and says, “I had a really strange dream last night.â€
“So did I!†I exclaim.
“Me too,†says Fiona.
“You go first,†I tell Stella. The bus pulls up, and we all climb on as she talks.
“Uh, I dreamed of the… you know. And for some reason it was blue, and I was underwater… I think I was someone else, because she kept calling me Beryl…â€
I stare at her. “Stella… the only thing I got out of that was ‘she kept calling me Beryl.’ She, who? And… Beryl?â€
None of them would know this, but beryl is the basis for emerald and aquamarine, some of the most valuable gemstones around. In fact, emerald is my birthstone.
“OK, OK. First I was underwater, touching the you-know-what again…â€
This provokes several stares from old ladies on the bus.
“…and for some reason it was blue…â€
The ladies gasp and give us disapproving looks.
“…and it was on some kind of a marble pedestal!â€
The old ladies have had enough of our “inappropriate discourse,†as I hear one of them remark to another. They all give us one last scathing glance and walk away, muttering something about “girls in my day.â€
Stella hasn’t noticed anything, and keeps talking. “Then I was walking along the lakeshore with some strange woman…â€
At this, I can’t help cracking up, and neither can Fiona.
“Do you hear yourself?†Fiona giggles.
“It’s a good thing those old ladies left!†I gasp, and we both burst into loud peals of laughter.
“What?†Stella asks, and this sends us off again. She realizes the joke a little too late, but as it is we spend about five minutes laughing our heads off.
When Stella calms down, she continues telling us about the dream: “So then she said something about the… airna? I couldn’t tell what she said, but it sounded weird. Anyway, she said this thing chose me for, uh, Nerea, and the Anhara withheld some kind of knowledge from Beryl because… I got the sense that if she was told, the airna couldn’t choose her. And she said something about Gaea, Ventus, Pyros and Nerea being Earth, Air, Fire and Water.â€
Airna? Hmm, how would that be spelled? Èrna? Érna? I’m no good with languages. It sounds like Gaelic to me, but I don’t understand a word of Gaelic. I should focus on Gaea, Ventus, Pyros, Nerea. “They sound almost like…â€
“Latin,†Fiona finishes. “But there’s something weird about them.â€
I stare at her. “What… you know Latin?â€
She starts talking rapid-fire. She seems to be getting more excited every second. “Gaea is Mother Earth. Terra would have been more appropriate here. Ventus… Wind. Why didn’t they just use Aer? Pyros… now that’s a strange one. Pyros means bronze, not fire, but it sounds like the Latin for fire. Shouldn’t they have used Ignis or Incendia, or even Flamma? And Nerea. That seems to come from Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea, but…†She finally notices our stares. “What? I like languages, OK?â€
“Fiona…†I start, but I don’t know how to finish. What am I supposed to say? “I thought you were shallow and stupid?†“I didn’t know you were good at anything besides being mean?†“That speech sounds like it should have come from me?â€
Stella takes over. “Fiona, I didn’t know you were so good at languages! I thought…†Before she can finish, I elbow her side hard.
“Stella!†I hiss.
“Sorry!†she says brightly. “I’m not too good at judging that stuff.â€
“You can say that again,†I mumble.
“What?†she asks innocently.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.â€
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Cake! I have this part of a story I wrote while I was in the country, but I don’t know where the other part is! It’s not in my computer, I don’t think. It can’t be in my dad’s computer. I thought I might have put it on here, but I didn’t. Dash it all.
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I’m writing a book right now… maybe I’ll post some of it.
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More Gifter, Cont. from post 268.
At this time of the morning, there was hardly any traffic, so we were more easily able to navigate the narrow streets. For some reason, Raid seemed to be able to remember where we were going down to the last stop sign.
“Have you visited this place before?†I asked her as the car skidded on the asphalt.
“Of course we have, silly,†she said. “We live there.â€
“So, it’s a house?†I asked.
“No, it’s a big white skyscraper in the middle of nowhere,†said Raid perkily.
I groaned, ever so quietly, not wanting to go back to that giant and intimidating tower. It was all I could do just to convince myself that surely this was a dream and when it was over, I would wake up at home in my bed, and none of this would have happened. But somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, I had the strangest feeling that this was one vision I would never wake up from for as long as I lived.
“You oughtta get some sleep, miss,†said Ransom. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.â€
“Hey!†I exclaimed. “You’re a kid. Don’t swear.â€
“How do you know if I’m a kid or not?†she asked, and I had to admit that this was a good point. “Take my advice,†she said. “You’re going to want to rest. You’ve got a long day waiting for you.â€
This was good advice, and I took it. The last I saw before I fell into dreamless sleep were the great hills ahead, rising before my bleary eyes.
“Wake her up, Ransom. We’re here.â€
A smooth voice drifted through my ears, like water down a burning throat. Small palms met my shoulder, shaking them every which way. I was jolted back to reality so forcefully that the seat buckle made a dent in my scalp.
“I’m up, already, I’m up!†I groaned, massaging my aching head.
“Sorry,†squeaked the blushing the nine-year-old girl on the seat next to me. Her red curls were now spiked every which-way, and I could tell that she had taken a long overdue nap as well. She opened the car door, and we both scrambled out, I grabbing my bag quickly off the seat before the door slammed shut behind me.
Before us, twinkling in the morning sunrise, lay large hills etched with grass and swift pines all a deep satin green. Inlaid in the natural beauty before us was an enormous flowing waterfall on a bed of red rocks, roaring in my ears and spraying mist onto the car and out small group. Raid stood there, outlined by the forest, still tall and twenty-two.
“Where are we?†I asked. “This isn’t the place.â€
“Yes it is,†sighed Raid. “This is the cliff entrance. They switch it up every day, the designers, just to confuse people. This is why we’re late. Took us an entire hour just to figure out which one we’re using today. You’re lucky you came when they were using the doors. You might have had to crawl through a sewer.â€
“Glad that we’re here then,†I said. Then, after a few moment sof silence with nothing changing, I asked her, “Aren’t you going to…â€
“Oh yeah!†she said, and I blinked once. Even in that split second, the lanky young woman had snapped down instantaneously into a little girl with the tiniest pop.
“Wow,†I said, blinking again. “That was fast.â€
“You get used to it,†she said, shrugging. For a moment, I wondered if I would ever be able to shift like that. I hoped I would.
“No time to waste groveling over our abilities, we’ve got things to do, people to see…all that jazz,†said Ransom, pointing to a pink daisy watch on her tiny wrist. “Tick, tock, tick, tock. Let’s get a move on.†We walked to the edge of the waterfall, and I become extremely apprehensive. The mist that blew outwards from the sapphire waterfall breezed me gently across the face, a complete opposite feeling to those that were churning deep in the pit of my stomach. I knew my eyes were clouded over as it was, and I could barely tell what was going on.
Ransom and Raid led me across the red rocks, which were beginning to grow hot as the sun grew fuller in the morning air. They seemed firm enough, but looked like some sort of mutant silly putty. We reached a point next to the rushing water, and then both of the little girls knelt down, swung their legs over the side and began to scale down the cliff. I stood there like a dummy, not moving, not breathing. I was just staring down at the rushing rapids and the thin outcropping of rock that we would have to climb down onto. It was practically eaten up by waves.
“What are you waiting for?†yelled Raid from below. “Are you afraid of water or something?â€
“No,†I gulped. “Just falling off a cliff into water.â€
“Come on, it’s not so bad!†yelled Ransom. “Swing over and climb down. I’ll show you the footholds.â€
“Okay…†I said, my voice trembling, and without thinking or looking over my shoulder, I swung a leg over onto a small dent in the rouge hillside and began to climb down. My arms felt surprisingly stronger to me, but that didn’t help anything. At once I yelped. An enormous spray of icy cold mist clashed against me like a gong, soaking my sweatshirt. I didn’t concentrate on anything but the next foothold, and then next after that, and then after that.
“Be careful, lady!†yelled Raid. “It’s going to get wet!â€
She was right. Further down the cliff, each hold grew tighter, thinner, smaller under my groping fingers We were so close to the water now that each one was coated with a wet layer of slippery slime. Suddenly, I reached down with my foot to find that there was nothing underneath me. I tried to grab back onto the cliff, but my hand slipped away, and I fell.
I swept downwards like a bird shot out of the sky, hands scrabbling wildly in the open air and trying to find something, anything he could cling onto, but this was in vain. I looked upwards, and saw that in a moment, Ransom had swirled around and become a boa constrictor. Clinging to Raid’s arm, she swung her scaly tail around my wrist, and I saw the strong muscles in her back flex as she pulled me back to the cliff ledge. We had reached the thin outcropping.
Ransom shook off, smoothly shifting back into her regular self. “You’re heavy,†she complained.
“You didn’t HAVE to catch me, you know,†I said, brushing off my jeans. “You could have just let me fall.
“Relax, I’m kidding,†she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?â€
“Stop insulting the girl, and let’s go,†said Raid, pushing her sister a bit over so that she could edge her way along the outcropping. Ransom followed, and I went last. I did a tightrope walk along the ledge, trying not to look down at the roaring rapids. It took a full five minutes to get next to the falls, and even when we were there, the journey seemed pointless.
“Why are we here?†I screamed over the rushing water.
“Just watch and learn,†yelled back Raid. She reached forward and pointed to a rock that was embedded in the wall. But this rock wasn’t the same as the others. It was hardly red, but instead a strange shade of creamy brown. To the ordinary eye, it really wouldn’t have stuck out. But Raid spotted it almost immediately.
“Well, what do you expect to do with that?†I asked. Admittedly, the short nap I had gotten hadn’t done me much good.
Ransom stared up at me incredulously. “Haven’t you ever heard the statement ‘Patience is a virtue’?†she asked. Then, without further adue, she pressed a thin finger to the rock. It sunk into the wall.
A cool, clean voice projected itself from the wall. There was no visible source of it, and it came almost from thin air. It asked us, “What is your purpose, please?â€
“It’s the twins. We’ve brought the Gifter. Let us in.â€
Immediately, the waterfall made a strange whirring noise. All noise in the clearing completely stopped. From behind the waterfall came two long, shining wet pieces of metal on rods that appeared in mechanical conformity from the center of the water. They stopped in the middle, slicing cleanly away from the clear liquid that flowed from above. Then, they turned slowly and carefully to face upwards and meet the waters themselves. They rose up until they completely blocked the water, and came together with a loud clang. Everything was silent now, except for the steady dripping of water as the flow misted over the planes. There was now a tunnel under the falls, a long empty space which, when led inward, exposed a cavern.
The twins walked confidently along the ledge, now significantly wider, and turned left into the cavern. I followed quickly behind, not wanting to be left behind in this confusing and deadly labyrinth. But I couldn’t contain a gasp of surprise when I caught my first glimpse of the tunnel.
The tunnel that we stood in was lined with hundreds and hundreds of numbers, all different shapes and sizes, but all the same deep black color spreading across the vast space ahead. They stuck out from the wall in three-dimensional conformity, similar to a huge Sudoku puzzle seen with 3-D glasses. The twins walked purposefully along the tunnel, eyes glancing off the wall until Ransom stopped abruptly. She was shaking a bit, and looked as though she were seeing something. I noticed that one of her index fingers was now a scanner similar to one you would find at a store checkout line.
“Gail, come here,†said Raid. I walked over hesitantly, just in case something strange or painful was waiting in the depths of the glassy shape. A particularly large number 9 stood in front of me, glinting mysteriously from the inside.
“Look inside, and tell me what you see,†said Ransom, whose eyes were closed tight as if she were concentrating. I looked into the depths of the slightly gleaming black number. Inlaid inside were several differently colored numbers, all opaque and gleaming. It was like looking through tinted black window glass in a car full of expensive jewels.
“A code,†I whispered. “It’s a code.â€
“That’s the one,†said Ransom, and then Raid told me, “Read it out loud as fast as you can.â€
I peered deeper into the glass, consumed by it, the numbers rolling off my tongue like bullets. “999718345209,â€I said, loud and quickly into the echoing cavern. Suddenly, the waterfall began rushing once more. The bars had been released from the falls, and as they made their descent, the wall at the end of the tunnel was coming up. Ransom took my arm and Raid pulled us both down the tunnel towards the growing light. As the deafening roar from behind us echoed strangely around the area, sharp white mist and light engulfed us, and the water roaring behind us spurred us into the hole in the tunnel wall.
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More Trystan Evander, then (post 263. I decided to go with the second version).
As the bell rang and class started, I sighed, sat up straight, and tried very hard to look neither right nor left.
Suddenly, however, I felt a hand tap my shoulder, and I turned to see the sandy-haired boy sitting behind me. He grinned lazily at me and proffered a hand for me to shake. “Hi. I guess you don’t remember me, huh?â€
I frowned slightly as I shook his hand. “No, sorry. Should I?â€
“I’m Chase Richardson—‘water boy’?â€
Ah. Of course. I reached back in the annals of my memory for the time just after my mother had died—when I was just learning my power over the people I knew. I was an arrogant little girl, and without the guidance of a parent, I lorded over the more compliant of my playmates. Chase’s nickname referred to an incident where I’d ordered him to fetch me a glass of water. He’d complied by dumping an ice-cold glass over my haughty little head, serving a timely lesson—although that was our last play date together, according to my father. I smiled faintly at the memory.
Chase caught the expression, and his own grin widened. “I promise I’m better behaved now.â€
I couldn’t help but laugh, and the happy sound was startling to my ears. It had been a long time since I’d done that. As class began, I turned back towards the front with a strange feeling settling heavily in my chest—something like happiness, something like pain.
Although I’d initially looked forward to Chemistry, my hopes were quickly dashed. Mr. Robbins seemed more interested in keeping the class under control than teaching us anything new; we spent a large portion of the class listening to him as he droned on about double-replacement reactions, something I’d known since I was ten. I leaned my head on my fist, and sighed.
A sudden flash of movement to my left caught my eye, and without thinking, I turned my head to the delinquent side of the room. A paper airplane floated lazily through the air, carried by the warm draft from the heaters, moving so slowly that it seemed to hang in the air. I watched, mesmerized, as it drifted gently through the air to hang a gradual right, dive sharply—
–and connect squarely with Mr. Robbins’ unfortunate head.
There was a muffled cheer from the left side of the room, and Mr. Robbins glared at the general population angrily.
“Who threw that?” he snarled, but of course, no one answered. The incensed teacher glowered for a few more moments, then turned back to the board, the back of his neck a flaming red. The classroom settled back into its customary stupor.
But it was not to last. My ears caught the sound of paper being folded; turning my head only slightly so as not to expose the culprit, I searched for its source.
My eyes came to rest on a delinquent on the far side of the room, with his hands below desk level. I guessed him to be about my age, with shock of black hair and tanned, swarthy skin. In spite of myself, my first reaction to his appearance was favorable—he was very good-looking, in a roguish, outlaw sort of way.
Suddenly, almost so quickly I didn’t see it, the boy’s hand flicked out from under the desk, and another paper airplane went whizzing towards Mr. Robbins. At the same time, the delinquent laid his head on his desk and pretended to be asleep.
It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to avert my gaze; our eyes locked for a millisecond, and I saw that his pair were a stunning, luminous amber color, surprising against his rusty skin. I also noticed with a start that a long scar ran across one eye like a lightning bolt—I wondered where he’d gotten that.
Unfortunately, while the boy was a picture of innocence, I wasn’t so quick–I didn’t turn my head back to the front of the room fast enough to escape Mr. Robbins’ notice. Fuming at the second airplane (and the affront to his dignity), he caught me looking at the delinquent side of the room, and advanced on my desk.
“Miss Nyx, would you be so kind as to tell me who has been so rudely disrupting my class?”
The delinquent opened one ochre eye.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t happen to see,” I said smoothly. If there was one thing my father had taught me, it was how to deceive faultlessly.
It was not within the beleaguered Mr. Robbins to cross his most honored pupil; whatever his true feelings on the matter were, he turned around and walked back to his station at the front of the room, grumbling.
As he resumed his lecture, I snuck a glance at the delinquent. He was staring at me unabashedly, with a curious look in those eyes of his. I tossed my hair and turned back around in my seat; unorthodox as I was in my sympathies, I wasn’t ready to be making friends with delinquents just yet.
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Cont. 287:
Fiona C.
Everyone seems really surprised that I know Latin. And, of course, they wouldn’t think I’d be interested in Latin, much less any language. You don’t have to be Cassie to figure that out. But yeah, I’m interested in languages. There’s a lot they don’t know about me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,†I say aloud. “Like, did any of you guys know that I like to draw? Or that I take dance classes?â€
They all stare at me, so obviously they didn’t.
“So! Um, Stella, was there anything else in your dream?†asks Cassie tactfully.
“Uh, well, I remember what she looked like. She had long straight red hair with blue streaks, one blue eye and one green eye, and she was tall and wearing weird clothes. I can’t really remember what they looked like.â€
That’s the same girl I dreamed about last night! “She was wearing a white blouse and straight leg pants tucked into—“
“Tall brown boots,†Cassie finishes. “I saw her too. I just remembered.â€
“What was your dream about?†Stella asks, looking at me.
I try to remember it. “I saw that girl… Beryl, I guess. She was in some kind of danger, but I don’t remember what, and she was calling for help. You two were there, too, and someone else. I remember yelling that we couldn’t save her, it was too late, and then, for some reason, I thought Why do I care?â€
Cassie stares into space. “All I remember is a glowing line with Beryl at the end of it… Oh! There were more lines with you at the ends of them, and some word or phrase I had to remember. But I don’t remember it.â€
I pull out my sketch pad and a pencil. I’ve got to draw Beryl.
Stella M.
Fiona pulls out drawing supplies and starts to sketch something. I’m assuming it’s Beryl. I decide to make the most of the situation and practice meditating. I will now focus on… oh, darn it, I can’t even think of what I’m going to focus on! Abandoning the idea of meditation, instead I’ll try to work with fire. Can I make fire appear out of thin air? Is that even possible?
The bus is getting hot. I concentrate on the heat first, willing it to become fire, and then I direct it at the unlit cigarette dangling from the mouth of the guy across the aisle. Suddenly there’s a flame on the end, and smoke starts to come out. Apparently he was just about to reach for his lighter, because he starts for a minute, then decides he got the lighter and didn’t realize it because he was drunk. At least, that’s what Cassie tells me.
Giggling, I find the lighter in his pocket. A little voice at the back of my mind asks how I did that, but I’m determined not to listen. I realize that I found it with an extension of my hands. That must be how my telekinesis works! I pull it out of his pocket and hold it up in front of him. He jumps.
“He’s freaking out!†Cassie whispers, and we both laugh quietly.
He stares at the beer can sitting next to him, obviously thinking Am I that drunk? I didn’t even need Cassie on that one. I levitate the can next, so he gets really freaked out; then I take the cigarette out of his mouth.
By this time, Fiona has looked up from her paper, and she’s trying not to laugh. “Sir, are you OK?†she asks him, looking concerned.
“Do you see that?†he asks frantically.
She stares at where the beer can is supposed to be. “Uh, I think what you’re seeing is coming from there.â€
He looks wildly around. “That’s—that’s where my beer used to be!â€
“It’s still there. You’re extremely drunk. You should cut back, or you could die!â€
He nods, bemused. “I’ll cut back,†he says, dazed.
“You also need to quit smoking. Smoking is very bad for you.â€
“Yes, I’ll quit smoking.â€
“Is this your stop?â€
“Yeah…â€
With a little giggle, Fiona tells him, “From now on, whenever you drink even a little of anything alcoholic, you’ll see the same hallucination. Whenever you put a cigarette into your mouth, it will taste like your least favorite food.â€
The bus stops, and the hypnotized guy walks to the door. I can’t resist pushing it open a little earlier than it was supposed to. The driver stares at his hand.
“You didn’t see anything unusual,†Fiona tells the driver, and the bus in general.
“Why would I have seen anything unusual?†asks the driver.
“Oh, no reason.â€
I’ve thrown all the guy’s cigarettes, his lighter, and his beer out the window.
Cassandra W.
I’m beginning to think these powers are pretty cool, especially when we use all of them together. I mean, how awesome was that? We convinced a possible alcoholic to stop drinking and quit smoking! And I’ve found out that I can read thoughts and memories as well as emotions. I guess I’m the brainiac of the group. And whoa, Fiona can hypnotize people!
Then I realize that I’m the only one who hasn’t tested my powers yet. I concentrate on the road below us, willing it to hump up. The bus hits a bump. I grin. I’m tempted to try something a little more extravagant, but I know I shouldn’t.
The bus pulls up at the mall, and we climb out, blinking in the sudden harsh sunlight. Fiona’s still holding her sketch pad, but she refuses to show us her drawing, saying it isn’t finished yet.
“So, where should we go first?†I ask.
“I vote Aeropostale,†says Stella. “They have really cute clothes.â€
“That’s fine,†says Fiona.
“Sure!†I say. “Where’s the mall map?â€
That was obviously the wrong thing to say.
“Uh, actually, I already know where it is.†Stella looks a bit sheepish.
“Me too,†says Fiona. Her thoughts say, Duhhh, who doesn’t? Is that because you shop at Nerd Express?
Well, at least she didn’t say it out loud.
Comments?
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OK, so here’s the plan:
Merle Rowan is a girl version of the village witch, living in a remote town but seeing everything that goes on outside. She speaks little and privately laughs at humanity. Her family and community are perplexed but awed by her powers.
Irene is a perfectly normal girl, with a loving family, friends, at least one admirer…Living leagues and leagues away from Merle.
Merle has only one real desire, and that is…something I’m not sure yet. It doesn’t really matter at this point. Anyway, Merle is aware of a prophecy (maybe. That’s pretty cliche so I’m trying to come up with a better reason why she needs Irene to fulfill her goal, and it has to be a better reason than human sacrifice, that comes in later) so she spirits Irene away, drags her to a Dungeon filled with mysterious people (I’m sketchy on this point too) and they look into a [mirror, cauldron, crystal ball, lake (hey now there’s an idea)] and this is Merle’s Lifelong Wish, but she doesn’t see anything–but Irene does. So Irene gets dragged off to who-knows-where, and Merle gets a) thrown out, b) ignored, c) locked up in a dungeon from which she subsequently escapes. Anyway, for some reason she decides to go and rescue Irene (not sure why…possibly it’s not what Merle thought it would be, possibly Irene didn’t really see anything but they wanted her for other reasons…needs work), so she walks all the way to Irene’s hometown, enlists the help of Irene’s sweetheart, and together they rescue her. Depending on how I feel at this point they may go on to do something epic like rescuing a bunch of other girls who’ve also been kidnapped, but most likely they’ll just go home and live happily ever after, except for Merle, because her Hopes and Dreams have been shattered so she’ll become a sour old crone whose only friend in the world is Irene and her sweetheart (later husband). And then Irene’ll have kids and Merle’ll take in some foundling child and eventually there will be another Epic Adventure revolving around the kids.
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293- That’s a great plan.
I’ve never actually wrote anything great, just boring tales that go on and on and a Titanite essay that was very boring. I admit I kind of got bored of even writing it. I can’t imagine how bored my language arts teacher was… she had to read thirty of those essays.
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Hey Nthanda, do you mind if I use your idea from #47- the computer thing? I was inspired after my science test. Funny, that’s how Unnamed got started too…
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The following is: More of Unnamed, then the few paragraphs of Nthanda’s idea that I’ve written.
Fiona C.
From the look on Cassie’s face, she read my thoughts.
“I didn’t mean it! I- I’m so used to coming up with insults for people that I insulted you! I’m so sorry!â€
Stella stares from one to the other of us. “What did she think, Cassie?†she says in a slightly whining voice.
“Nothing, Stella. It doesn’t matter,†Cassie replies curtly.
Why must I always do this? I’ll attempt to apologize one more time. “Cassie, I’m really sorry! Please forgive me!â€
She smiles a little. “I forgive you,†she says.
When I look over at Stella, I have to laugh. She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot with her iPod on, jamming to something loud and “techno.†I realize I don’t even know what kind of music she likes. For that matter, I know almost nothing about either her or Cassie.
“Hey, want to trade iPods?†asks Cassie, reading my mind again. “Since we’re all in this together, we’d better get used to each other’s music.â€
“Sure!†I say, slightly relieved.
“STELLA!†Cassie screams, making me jump.
“Huh, wha’?†Stella mumbles, still into her music.
“WE’RE TRADING IPODS!†Cassie yells back.
Stella takes her earbuds out. “What?â€
“We’re trading iPods.â€
“Oh. OK.†She hands hers to Cassie.
“Here,†Cassie says in my direction, handing over her iPod. I notice that she still has her headphones.
“I’d prefer to keep my own headphones, if that’s OK with you guys,†she says quietly.
I decide not to say anything. Instead, I take out my own iPod and give it to Stella, deliberately keeping my earbuds and plugging them into Cassie’s silver Nano. She takes the hint and reaches over to her Shuffle, in Cassie’s hand.
“I’m going to use my earbuds, too,†she says.
Cassie hands them over, with a quiet “Thanks.â€
Stella stares at my Touch. “Wowww,†she gasps. “How much did this cost?â€
Dammit! The money thing again. I’m getting so tired of being asked how much my stuff cost. Just because Dad was CEO of an advertising company, everyone thinks I’m really rich. What they don’t realize is that, number one, he’s dead, so how could we possibly be getting a CEO income anymore, and number two, insurance money doesn’t last forever. Mom never says anything, but Sean and I know the truth. The money’s running out.
Cassie has a weird, faraway look on her face, and I realize that she must have been reading my thoughts again. Suddenly she says, “I- I didn’t know, Fiona. I’m so sorry!â€
“What?â€
“Your dad.â€
“Oh, really? You didn’t know? I thought everyone did. Then again, how could I tell if they knew or not? None of them seem to care. I don’t call going behind my back and posting malicious comments about me on FaceBook caring.†I can’t stop the raw pain from coming into my voice. “Do you remember me taking Latin last year? No? Didn’t think so. Well, I did. My dad loved Latin, and so did I. I switched to Spanish because he died, and because everyone was making fun of me. I don’t think any of my friends actually know me. The only reason they hang out with me is because I have money, and- and- stuff! Cathy’s the nicest friend I’ve ever had, and I just threw that away and told her Ellie was better than her!â€
“Now that we’re doing exposés, why don’t I say a little something?†says Cassie bitterly. “I am so tired of being made fun of! Just because I’m smart, just because I actually care about school, just because I like band, every single one of you popular kids has to find some place to get that snide comment in there. The worst ones are the ones who pretend they’re being nice. ‘Hey Cassie, my mom has those shoes! They’re… cute!’ ‘Hey Cassie, I love your binder! Is there a special store for those?’ Did I ask for a mom who’s an English professor, or a dad who’s an art history professor? Did I ask to be smart or- or nerdy- or good at flute? Did I ask to actually know what I want to do with my life?â€
Stella shoves the “up†elevator button with so much force that I worry about it being broken. “So what if I have a big family? So what if we’re poor? At least I have a life. That’s more than I can say for some of my friends. Did any of you know that besides soccer and basketball, I take taekwondo and yoga? Or that I love the theater? Huh? Did you know I take voice lessons? Did you know I want to be on Broadway? And how about this one. Did you know I’m dyslexic?†The elevator door slides open. “I hate it!†she bursts out. “It’s so frustrating! And none of my friends even care! Of course they see that I have to take the test in a different room with the ‘special’ kids. They say plenty about it behind my back!â€
So much for switching iPods… but hey, this works too!
Stella M.
There’s an awkward silence. Then, abruptly, we all start to laugh.
“That was interesting,†I say.
“How long till they call the mall cops?†asks Fiona, deadpan.
“Did we want to attract the attention of everyone in… what store are we in?†Cassie cranes her neck to see the sign above the door. “H&M,†she reports.
“How did we get here?†I wonder.
“I guess we were too busy yelling to notice which way we were walking?â€
“Is there something more behind it than that?†Cassie stares thoughtfully into the distance.
“If it was… whatever that was… I would have blacked out. So it’s just chance.â€
“Hey, look at this!†Fiona walks over to a bin on one side of the aisle. “This headband matches my shirt perfectly! It’s the exact same shade of pink!â€
It is, too. Not only that, but it makes the shirt look amazing. What was at first an ordinary… uh, scratch the “ordinary…†pink tunic top has become something, um, even more amazing than it already was? Wow, it’s hard to describe anything that expensive. Oops, I can’t say “expensive†either. Did you learn nothing from that? Cassie can hear you, you know, I berate myself.
“Hey, stop it! Something’s pulling me! GUYS!â€
Looking up, my eyes meet an extremely strange sight. Fiona is trying to walk through the bin! Or, perhaps, she’s being pulled through it?
“I can’t move! I can’t stop!†she shrieks.
If the thing is influencing her… how long will it be until I black out?
Krista had always wanted a computer, so when she saw the box in the closet, she had a pretty good idea of what it was.
Today was her fourteenth birthday, and she had gotten up before anyone else. It was six-thirty. She had jerked awake just a few minutes before with the feeling that something was going to happen. It was the perfect setup for an adventure.
She was just about to pick up the box when her foot hit a chair, making a scraping noise across the hardwood floor. She cursed under her breath.
I’d better get out of here before they find me, she thought.
It was too late. Her parents had already walked in.
“Krista!†her mom said in a mock-angry tone. “I can’t believe you’re sneaking a look at your presents!â€
“She does it every year,†laughed her brother Nick. “Just can’t wait to see those presents, can you, little sis?â€
“Oh, like you can talk, Mr. Stole-His-Own-Car!â€
The whole family laughed. Krista was referring to Nick’s sixteenth birthday, when he got up at 5 AM to see if their parents had gotten him a car. They had, and he couldn’t resist taking it for a spin. Of course, when the family woke up they thought someone had stolen it.
“Present!†called Krista’s three-year-old sister Rose, tottering into the closet.
“Not for you, honey,†said her dad, picking the little girl up. “It’s Krissy’s birthday.â€
“Krissy present!†Rosie yelled frustratedly. “Put me down, Daddy!â€
“Krissy present?†asked her father. “Which one, Rosie?â€
“Dat one!†Rose pointed at the box.
Krista’s father exchanged looks with her mother. “I didn’t get her that… did you?â€
She shook her head. “I don’t remember it coming from any of the family, either.â€
“Krissy present magic!†said Rose, pointing. “It glow!â€
“Uh, Krista, do you want to, uh, open that one first?†said her dad cautiously.
Krista tore the wrapping paper off of the box, which contained exactly what she thought it would: a MacBook laptop. She stared at the Mac logo, the apple with a bite out of the left side, with delight. “Thanks!†she said. “Whoever got me this, I mean.â€
“See, Rosie? It glows when she turns it on!†said Nick.
“How would she know that?†whispered Krista’s mom to her dad.
“Little kids know lots of stuff, Valerie.â€
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I know that I’m kind of late on coming in the thread now, but I’m a new MBer and I love to write! My story is called “Unwritten.”
i’m only 12 so I don’t think my writing skill is very good, but what the heck!!!!!
(This is a prologue and this character is not part of my story, but he leaves some questions…..)
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297- I think the prologue of your story got cut off, you’ll have to post it once more.
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297: Meh, who cares about your age (well, if you were three, we’d be a little surprised…)! I’m 11, along with a few others, and there are at lest two ten year olds here. We’d love to hear your story!
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297; Age doesn’t matter here. I’m twelve and I don’t write anything interesting. But whatever you’ve written, it’ll be wonderful (at least, WAY better than my Titan essay thingie.)
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I got cut off sorry………
He ran.
He didn’t have much time.
He crouched down and dug. He clawed at the moist soil passionately with his chewed up nails. He had recently been under an immense amount of stress and pressure, and discovered nail-biting as a way to compensate. His nails were torn off by the small rocks that would appear more and more as he dug down.
“Faster, Faster,” he thought. His state of mind made him believe that this was necessary, and it probably was. He heard the sound of police sirens, and he froze.
“There’s no time to panic!” he thought. He began to dig again.
“FASTER, FASTER,” he screamed loudly as if it would help.
He was a very good digger under the circumstances. He managed to get down about a foot and a half down when he knew he had to stop.
He took it, and threw it down the small pit as if it would hurt it’s feelings. He pushed the pile of soil back over the Book.
The Book. This book had caused him the amount of stress and terror that would have simply killed anyone else. He patted the soil down.
It was done.
IT WAS DONE.
The Book was gone. No more trouble, no more horror. This is the relieved feeling that he was waiting for. He shouted in thanks to the gods that looked over this park that he couldn’t name in all of the excitement.
He could never do it again. He could never-
The thought was cut off. He could not think anything anymore. His body fell limp on the floor.
He was dead.
It was later discovered to be heart attack, but if you asked the victim of this “heart attack,” he would know that it really wasn’t.
But even death was better than his life before. Anything was better than listening to that Book. And that sentence is meant to be taken in the most literal way possible.
*The next day*
MURDERER FOUND DEAD IN CENTRAL PARK
‘Late last evening the muderer of Tom Dunbar, Jack Smith, and Father Nicholas was found dead in central park. It was first believed to be suicide, but the autopsy confirmed it as a heart attack. Several nails were found to be torn off, which suggests that he was digging. The police have decided against looking for what he was digging up. He was believed to be crazy, and was probably digging towards a hallucinated goal. Forensics released that it was the murderer. The investigation is over, and sadly the only consequence for this murderer was a fast death.’
Your probably wondering why they didn’t use the name of the murderer. Lots of people thought the same thing. The murderer was known by most to be a hero, and was believed by some to still be on vacation. His name was Timothy Dunbar. But because of a large cover-up by his brother and the police, few people would ever know…..
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The book plot turns into a young student finding this book. I will say no more.
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301- exciting! That is very exciting. A great beginning for a great story.
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295–Go for it, I’ll probably never write it anyways
A smidgen more of TE. I’ve been trying to force myself to write a little each day, just so that I can get this thing done. I’ve got a lot to go…*sigh*
Over the next few days, I began to get acquainted with life at Jefferson. Days unfolded with depressing regularity: classes in the morning, lunch outside or in the cafeteria complex, more classes, and then up to my room to read or watch movies until dinner. I had no homework; I finished most of it in class, while the teacher was still lecturing on its subject.
I continued to sit with Bianca and her court. I didn’t find many friends among them, in spite of their obvious interest in me; most of them acted only according to Bianca’s wishes, so I found few real people among them. Chase was one of the few with real intelligence, but it was marred by his blind conformity to the Red party. He always had a pleasant word for me, though, so I continued to be marginally less frosty towards him. Bianca noticed, and pretended not to care.
The Queen herself was a curious mix of cold power, bravado, and insecurity. If anyone of her group questioned her, Bianca whipped them into line with a quick and calculatedly cruel remark. She knew everything about everyone–except for me. I could tell that the fact frustrated her; often, when I was talking to Chase or when I gave a correct answer in class, I caught a glint in her eye that seemed to say, Just you wait. But while I still gave her nothing to crush me with, she remained civil. She was very much like me in that respect; we did what we had to, until fate handed us an opportunity.
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Comments on either story in 296?
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Fine, SFTDP, here’s some more of both.
“Little kids know lots of stuff, Valerie.â€
“Little kids don’t know about computers, Owen.â€
They walked out into the hall, whispering so the kids wouldn’t hear.
“She thinks we got it for her,†said Valerie.
“She can think that if she wants. I didn’t get it for her, Val. We don’t have enough money. You know that.â€
“We didn’t have enough money for Nick’s car, either, and you bought that.â€
“That was before the economy started collapsing!â€
Back inside the study, Krista heard her parents’ rising voices. “They’re fighting again, Nick,†she said in a worried tone.
“It’s gonna be OK, Kris,†he said. “They’re just worried about money, but it’s really not that bad.â€
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.â€
“Krissy!†called Rose. “Wook!â€
“What is it, Rosie—oh!â€
The computer really was glowing, and not just the screen. There was a blue glow around the whole thing.
“Nick… do you see that, or am I imagining things?â€
“I see it, Krista.â€
“So what is it?â€
“Probably just a glitch in the system,†he said dismissively.
“I wouldn’t say a computer that glows blue has a glitch in the system! It—“
She stopped short, staring at the screen. The computer was back to normal.
“What just happened?â€
Nick stared at her. “Nothing happened, Krista. You turned on the computer. Rose thought the screen was the most amazing thing in the universe. Pretty standard issue, don’t you think?â€
“But, but, the whole thing was glowing!â€
“What are you talking about?â€
Rose bounced up and down. “Krissy see, Nick! Krissy see pwetty glow!â€
“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing, isn’t it, Rosie?†He turned to Krista. “See? Nothing happened!â€
Krista wasn’t so sure.
Cassandra W.
In that split second, I remember. Ley lines. That’s what the dream was about. That’s what I need to remember. But what can it have to do with Fiona’s predicament?
“Ley lines are imaginary lines on the earth!†I think out loud. “How can…†Then I remember something I read once about them. “They can also be lines connecting people and things. And I have a feeling that these aren’t imaginary.â€
Stella is standing frozen in one place, afraid to move. I reach for her thoughts, but find only fear and frantic half-explanations. The only concrete thought is, Where are we anyway? At first that makes no sense, but then I realize that I honestly don’t know what floor we’re on or…
What floor we’re on?
“Stella!†I yell.
She looks over at me, her face pale. “W-when am I going to black out?†she stammers.
“Stella, are we on the ground floor?â€
“How am I supposed to know that?â€
“Guys!†shrieks Fiona. “I seriously think this thing wants to pull me through the bin! I need a little help here before it kills me or something!â€
I have to do this alone. My power is the only one that can stop this.
Suddenly I know what I have to do.
I reach out to the earth, to the power I know is hidden inside it. I sense where we are: it’s not only the ground floor, it’s belowground. We’ll never be safe unless we get out of this store, and fast. Can I stop the ley line from pulling Fiona? Can I disable it? Probably not, but I may be able to use others to my own ends.
I grab Fiona’s arm to pull her away, but I’m not strong enough. Maybe her power is!
“Fiona,†I hiss, trying not to attract attention. “Use the wind! Just a foot to the left and you’ll be fine.â€
What if we can’t do this?
I’m not going to think about that.
Fiona C.
I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but I’m going to listen for once and use the wind.
I reach for the wind, calling it. Just a foot to the left, I tell it. Just move me a foot to the left. There’s a rush of power, and I’m blown exactly where I asked. It’s not pulling me any more, but how long will that last?
Stella M.
I don’t want to lose control again. I can’t. I hate not knowing what I’ve done. The best thing to do is just not move.
I notice an odd purple and silver glow in the air. It’s, like, calling me. Creepy. I want to yell at it, “I’m not going over there! I’m not using my power!â€
Hey wait, did someone say something about using my power? Did the glow?
Cassandra W.
There’s a flash of power- mine? and then I see the world completely differently.
There’s a network of glowing gold lines across the surface of the earth. That is, all but one are gold. The one that’s being manipulated by the érna glows silver. Each has a sort of code, and I can understand them all! Just a little tweak here, and the silver one is… well, the best I can describe it is “hypoallergenic.†Somehow I know that Stella won’t be blacking out any time soon.
Fiona C.
Cassie’s doing something, but I have no idea what. Whatever it is, it’s drawing power to this purple and silver glow. Green and brown swirls are being added to the purple and silver ones. It’s taking shape, solidifying… holycrapholycrapholycrap, it’s a portal!
Stella M.
Now there are green and brown swirls in the purple-and-silver thing. It’s telling me to use my power. It wants… wait, does it want my power to solidify itself? No, I think complete is the word it used.
Blue and sea-green swirls start to appear faintly. An image takes shape in the air: the girl from my dream, a lake, someone underwater. The lake shimmers with power, and the image vanishes. The swirls are very definitely there.
It does make sense to use my power. With all this activity, people must be a little… worried… by now. Sighing, I resign myself and step onto the line, which somehow I know is a line even though no one told me what or where it was. Stupid powers again. Fine! I make a fire. Not a big one, just large enough to set off the smoke alarm and cause a bunch of confusion.
The swirls have become a concrete portal, with red and orange swirls added.
Cassandra W.
“It’s now or never.â€
I stare at the portal that has taken shape in the air. Hopefully, it’s nice enough to give us some supplies. I have a feeling that my science textbook isn’t going to be much help in another world.
Taking a deep breath, I step through.
I have no idea whether or not the others have followed me. All I am aware of is the swirling colors of the portal. As I walk through a sparkling, swirling fog, I notice my clothes melting, changing. My backpack has turned into a leather sack, and somehow I know that the contents have changed. I only hope the portal lets us keep our iPods…
The fog seems to be getting thicker, sparklier, more hypnotizing. Will this be my last conscious thought?
My last conscious thought: Yup.
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Geesh, where is everybody? I’m the only one posting. Come on!!
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“Vanessa?â€
“Um, I know this sounds cliché, but you’re kind of supposed to be dead.â€
“Yeah, I know, but that didn’t really work out like it was supposed to. Now come with me.â€
Vanessa sat up, but she didn’t pull her covers back. “Where are we going?†She still wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not, but if she was, there was no good reason to spoil a perfectly good dream. And if she wasn’t… well, she wasn’t quite ready to think about that.
Aaron stood, towering over Vanessa’s couch. “It’s like my hide out thing.â€
“I didn’t know you hid out.â€
“I’m supposed to be dead, remember?†He held out his hand.
Vanessa didn’t take it. “Right… where is this hide out thing?â€
Aaron jerked his hand impatiently. “Can we just go, before you wake up the whole house?â€
“Whatever.†Vanessa grabbed his hand, flinching a bit. Her hand had been under four layers of blanket, and his was abnormally cold anyway. “Where’s Dan?â€
A worried look crossed Aaron’s face. “Why, did Dan die?â€
“No, but I thought-â€
“If he’s not dead, then he’s probably not with me. Let’s go!†He hoisted Vanessa out of her couch, and the blankets fell to the floor.
Vanessa was about to ask how he got in, but he was leading towards the basement’s sliding door, not upstairs.
He slid open the door, and pulled her outside. The summer night wasn’t as warm as it should be due to his strange, freezing aura, but Vanessa was wearing long jeans anyway, so it didn’t matter.
They snuck up the hill behind Vanessa’s house, and Aaron quickened his pace when they reached the neighborhood’s playground.
“Can I ask where we’re going again?â€
“No.â€
There was no sign of life from the rest of the neighborhood, except for a couple of drunken laughs and a baseline from a car, probably more than a block away.
Aaron crossed out of the neighborhood, narrowing Vanessa’s idea of where they were going down massively. The streets they crossed bore no cars, and when Aaron led her behind the old elementary school, she was pretty sure where Aaron’s hide out was.
“Are we really going to your house? You call that a hide out?â€
“Um, it’s a bit different than you’ll remember.â€
“What, has it turned into a batcave while you were dead?â€
Aaron smiled creepily, which surprised and almost (but not quite) scared Vanessa. “You could say that, but I wouldn’t.â€
“Why?â€
He didn’t answer as they crossed the street behind the school. Vanessa turned towards his driveway, but Aaron pulled the other way. “We’re going through the side.â€
“What? I didn’t know you had a side door.â€
“We don’t. We’re going through here.â€
He was heading for a little gap that Vanessa now saw in the tall bushes lining his driveway. Substitute bus drivers had frequently missed his house, not being able to see it through the thick foliage.
Vanessa walked ahead of him, turned, blocking his path, and crossed her arms. “Why are we going through here? Aaron Faye, I demand an answer?â€
He smiled that creepy smile again, giving Vanessa shivers, and stepped around her, through the gap.
She didn’t follow, stubbornly standing in the same spot, waiting for him to come back out and make her.
He didn’t. She stood for five, ten, twenty seconds before she realized that the driveway next to her was gone. In its place were the shrubs. Were they moving? No, that wasn’t-
She screamed as a branch lunged at her, grabbed her by the ankle, and pulled her backwards through the gap.
She kicked and clawed at the branch, but it had already receded once she was in. Scrambling up, she looked around, ready to scream again if she was attacked by some other type of plant. Yes, this was a dream, but who wants to be attacked by bushes in a dream?
Vanessa turned, and screamed. Aaron was planted in front of her, smiling.
“What the F*** was that?â€
“Our alarm and defense system.â€
“I thought you just had those little beepy things!â€
“You were mistaken.â€
She was about to say something snarky, and then realized that she was in Aaron’s yard. But this was totally not the yard she had remembered.
The beautiful, graceful trees were bent over and craggily, reminding her of old people with back problems. Wind she hadn’t remembered outside whipped through their branches, causing them to moan, again reminding her of someone with back problems, but now in serious pain.
His perfectly cut grass wasn’t there, leaving dirt and patches of grayish stuff that probably couldn’t even be classified as a plant. The shining fence was now rusty and broken in some places, with flourishes she didn’t remember sprouting from the gate.
The house itself was the biggest change. She could tell that it had, at one point, been Aaron’s house, but it looked more like a Victorian mansion to her. She could tell where Aaron’s room was, and the study, and the windows to the living room, but the style was completely different and there was a third floor with turrets and gothic windows…
Vanessa turned to Aaron, who was still smiling. Dream people usually knew a lot more about the dream then she did. “Is this a nightmare?â€
“It could be. Now step inside.â€
She could have stubbornly stayed put again, but the branches from the shrubs had given her scratches. And the shrubs closest to her (which used to be magnolia bushes) were thorny, and didn’t look too great for her ankle. She crossed the lawn, Aaron behind her. The gate leading to the front door was off it’s hinges, and she stepped onto the porch.
“Where are the keys?â€
“It’s open.â€
____________________________________
I know, I’m terrible, but I had to write something, this idea was torturing me all weekend. It’s never going to be finished, don’t get your hopes up.
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307- MORE! That’s really good!
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Since I currently have nobody reading, I’ll take a break for a little while. Be back later.
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307–Yeah, I really like it. Maybe it sounded horrible when you were writing, but it’s good to read
Anyone care to comment on my TE story (posts…I dunno. Multiple ones.)? Criticism especially, if anyone has any. Thx.
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PLEASE comment on either of my stories. Nthanda, I’d like your critique especially, on the computer one. For obvious reasons.
More of Unnamed:
Fiona C.
OK, I guess it’s my turn. What am I supposed to—ahhhh!
The portal reaches out swirling tendrils of purple and silver light, grabbing me, pulling me in. I float out of my body, watching it walk through swirls of fog. My pink, silky tunic top grows longer and my jeans disappear. My shoulder bag changes into something really weird-looking. I groan. I look horrible! No tunic should be that long. Where is that thing’s fashion sense?
Huh, that’s odd, I’m not floating anymore. In fact, I’m seeing spots. What the—
Stella M.
Closing my eyes, I take a step forward.
The fog swirls around me like tendrils of flame. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost see pictures in them…
Someone lifting a sword
A green meadow
A lake
The meadow again, but this time there are people
Our faces
The meadow
Interesting. I wonder what it means… whoa, I’m getting woozy. What’s…
Cassandra W.
What’s my hand on? It feels… fringy. Argh, it tickles! Must be grass. Why would my hand be on grass?
Hey, why are my eyes still closed? I open them slowly. The first thing I notice is that my glasses are gone. The second, that I don’t need them. Ow! I’m staring right into the sun. I jerk my eyes shut again. How long was I out? For that matter, where am I?
I sit up slowly, surprised that I don’t feel dizzy, woozy or otherwise incapacitated. I just feel… different, I guess. Not better, just different. I look down at myself. My hands are just the same as they were. The similarity ends there.
The dark blue velveteen hoodie I had been wearing has transformed into the long, midnight blue velvet cloak I’ve always wanted. My pale blue flowered blouse, my favorite one, the one with the puffed sleeves and tie back, has become a long, empire-waisted dress with a silk sash. My navy cords have disappeared. Instead of my blue L.L.Bean canvas flats, I’m wearing blue slippers. The outfit doesn’t look practical, but somehow I know there’s more to it than it seems.
I reach for my backpack and find instead a weird leather bag. Sighing, I open it up. The first thing my hand falls on is a mirror. I hold it to my face. Hmm, same green eyes… if I can call them “same.†Same nose, same wavy, shoulder-length brown hair. The only difference is in my clothes.
I stand up, looking around me. I appear to be in some kind of meadow, and there’s a lake right nearby. At first, I can’t find the others, but then I notice two people passed out on the ground. I check to make sure they’re the right ones. Yup, one head of wavy, Taylor Swift-esque blond hair, and one black-haired person who looks like she’s asleep rather than passed out. Fiona and Stella didn’t get left behind.
Then I notice another person. This one is across the lake, and she doesn’t look happy.
Fiona C.
I hate being unconscious. It’s frustrating.
I can feel the grass, the sun, ants crawling over me, anything nature can throw at me, but I can’t move to get more comfortable or get whatever-it-is off of me. I can smell the flowers, but I can’t see what they are, and I can’t sneeze (one of those scents is definitely daisy, and I’m allergic to daisies). I can hear everything, not that there’s anything interesting: waves lapping on a shore, bees buzzing (I. Hate. Bees.), these weird clinking noises… Cassie or Stella getting up… but I can’t respond to it. I can’t talk. Worst of all, I can’t tell how long I’ve been unconscious. Gah, “unconscious†is THE worst misnomer ever. I’m conscious all right, just paralyzed.
Aaaaah! What’s on my nose! It’s a bee, I know it’s a bee! Gedditoff!!!!
It flies away, and my eyes blink open. The instant I know I can move, I leap up, half expecting to feel really dizzy and/or fall right back down. I don’t.
Cassie’s standing there, looking over the lake I heard.
“Come here,†she says quietly.
I walk over and face the way she’s facing.
“It’s…â€
“Beryl, I know. What do you think she’s doing?â€
I stare at her.
“Looks like she’s practicing swordplay? I don’t know.â€
“Yeah, but she’s also crying, and what is she practicing with? It’s not the air, or it wouldn’t clink.â€
“Dunno. Whatever it is, it’s not natural.â€
Cassie turns to look at me, and I notice that she’s wearing a long blue cloak and a light blue dress. I wonder what I’m wearing.
“Nice dress,†she says.
“What do you mean?â€
“I mean, I like your dress! Jeez, you’re so touchy sometimes.â€
I look down at myself. Obviously, the neckline of my tunic isn’t acceptable in this world. Instead, it’s become this weird pink thing that laces up.
“Must be the style,†says Cassie.
“Where’s my cloak?†I ask, only half joking.
“You can look in your bag. I’m not sure what you’ll find, but it’s worth a try.â€
I try to think. What was in my bag before I went into the portal? Uhhh, two notebooks, a binder, a history textbook—hopefully that turned into food or something like that—and, thank goodness, my makeup bag. One of the notebooks was pink floral, so hopefully that’s not my cloak. The other was, what, yellow floral? That’s not much better. And the binder was lavender.
I pull open the bag. A mirror—good, my compact survived. A folded-up pair of pants. Weird looking, but they’ll do, I guess. A blouse- kinda cute. Boots- to die for. Food. Oh, good. Aha- a cloak!
WHAT? No! It’s my makeup bag! It’s the exact same hot pink, with gold clasps and lots of pockets. So if there’s no makeup bag, what happened to three lip glosses, an eyeshadow compact, an eyeliner pencil and a tube of mascara? I don’t care if they turned into magical items, I WANT MY MAKEUP BACK!
Fine, so I’m a little fashion-obsessed.
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311–I like the computer one so far write more and I’ll be glad to comment on it.
A tad more of TE. NOTE: The leader of the coup, the Ahriman, has been changed to the name RabÃa. Sorry for the confusion Btw, this begins the second chapter of the book.
_________________________________________________
Daughter,
I am writing to answer your request for new of “the outside world†as you call it. While I applaud your thirst for knowledge, I warn you not to concern yourself too deeply in the affairs of the government. As I have often said, “The clever man does not know everything.â€
The most recent news I can give you occurs in my own department. I have been ordered to begin a mass reorganization of the military, beginning with the commanders currently in power and moving to the petty officers. Perkons, as one might imagine, is proving very difficult to remove; it has been suggested by more than one emissary that I dispose of him permanently. I have selected flowers for his widow.
What RabÃa intends by rearranging his forces, I can only guess—but my guesses are usually correct. The current commanders were meant to conquer and conquer only, which they did very nicely. They were loyal to RabÃa the leader. Their replacements, however, will be loyal to RabÃa the man; Perkons and his like have outlived their usefulness.
Outside the Department of War, I can give only a little news. There have been minor protests cropping up here and there among the lower classes, but they have been quelled with ease; I see no future threat there. In the Department of Agriculture, there has been some talk of plowing under a number of the fields on the west coast, to make way for a new arms development plant. Obviously, I am also involved in this, though it is my opinion that the deal will not be sealed for a number of years. In Education, it has been decided that all schools—public and private—will hold monthly mandatory political rallies. I shall expect you to be present at every one, Miss Nyx.
The final piece of information I have for you is this: the father of your classmate, Bianca Kent, has been accused of treason. It would appear that he has had illicit dealings with a female of ill repute, who in turn has been convicted of rebellious activities against the government. He and his household were seized last night. No doubt Miss Kent will be hearing of this some time over the next few days; I do not know what implications this will have for her. May I remind you, daughter, that this would be a prime opportunity for you to use your influence to aid or condemn Miss Kent—whichever is closer to your desires. I have no personal interest in the case. Do what you will.
Remain vigilant and, if you are wearing a mask, take care it does not slip. Suspicion is everywhere these days.
Your Father,
A.C. Nyx II
I read my father’s letter twice, then folded it and locked it in the trunk at the foot of my bed. As usual, he had given me much to think about. I began to undress for bed, my brain buzzing.
The military reconstruction was not the strangest thing I could have imagined RabÃa doing. I could see his reasoning behind it. I found the move wasteful, to say the least; it was a mark of the times how many men would die in this simple maneuver, and how few would care. I went over the old commanders in my mind–I knew many of them by sight–and thought that for many of them, even the widows would not mourn.
The other pieces of news were trivial. An arms complex in the west meant that RabÃa was building up his army–nothing that I hadn’t already known–and the protests were, as my father had said, not a threat. Of the three pieces of information, the mandatory political rallies irked me the most–I had little real love for our new government and its leader, and much less for mindless rallies.
The news of Bianca’s father didn’t surprise me; it was something that happened to many men these days. He’d be thrown in prison for a number of days–perhaps as much as a month–and then let loose, to be a lot more careful with which hooker he bought next time. What happened to his daughter was, as my father had said, very much within my power to control. If I stood by and did nothing, it was likely Bianca would be withdrawn from the School for the duration of the semester, if not permanently; the shame of her father’s conviction would be far greater a motive for her withdrawal than its legal implications. But if I showed support for her–even by simply continuing to speak to her when her so-called friends wouldn’t–other classmates would follow my lead, and she’d return to Jefferson after her father’s sentence was over. In fact, if I interceded with Vladislav, and complained against Bianca’s removal, she might not leave at all.
I lay in my bed and turned out the lights. I couldn’t decide what I wanted. On the one hand, Bianca’s removal–if even a temporary one–would be all the excuse needed for her court of followers to remove their support from her and back someone else–perhaps Chase, or even me. But if she stayed because of me, she’d be far in my debt, something that could perhaps be even more valuable than the support of her friends.
I sighed and closed my eyes. It was time for rest. The wheels of my whirring mind slowly ground to a halt, and my breathing evened. Time for sleep…
I was in my father’s study, sitting at his desk. A pile of execution orders were stacked on one side of the mahogany; a steady line of the past commanders moved past the desk, as each man dropped his own execution papers on the stack. They all wore masks…
…I stood in my bedroom at home. I walked to the mirror hanging on my wall, but instead of my own reflection, the glass held my father’s stern face…
…Bianca Kent was standing in the corner of my Chemistry lab, talking to Chase. When I came closer, she turned towards me, and I saw that she’d stolen my face and sewn it onto her own. Chase couldn’t tell the difference…
I awoke. The moonlight slanted across my face. I lay on my back in the silvery light and let my breathing slow to normal, willing myself to be calm. The moon rotated on in the sky, and I fell into an uneasy sleep.
By breakfast the next morning, I’d decided. I would aid Bianca. Usurping her throne was far too dangerous a move; it would be a far greater asset to have her in my debt.
________________________________________________
Well, so a bit more than a tad. Sometimes I write more than I intend
As always, (constructive) criticism much appreciated.
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I’ve got a prologue, but no story. Here it is.
Once, a different peopole lived in this world. A wholely strange fork, for they could not speak. Indeed, they had no vocal cords with which to produce sound. Their communication was entirely writte, stone an chisel, pen and paper, having existed from the beginning of their time. Slowly, as out people began to write, their people began to speak. Not with their mouths, mind, but with their brains. They spoke to each other without ever speaking, a telepathic people.
More after dinner! (There’s like two an a half more paragraphs)
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Continued!
War came, and disaster spread. Two hundred million, they’re people were before the war. But misunderstanding bred misdeeds, and soon all was lost. for thought they could communicate with each other, they could not communicate outside their clan. The others’ doubt spread. “Do they think they are better than us? Can they not come out of their homes, and speak to us like men?”
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And so they attacked, and the silent speakers, as they were known, fell, and their art with them.
Until, many years later, a new generation, a new breed was born. Bred to repair they damage, they could do so only once they found each other, and discovered their true talents.
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OK, I’m going to be using this thread to dump out and reorganize my weird ideas for the foreseeable future. Be warned. Oddness follows.
All right, so after reading a discussion of madness on the Random Thread and hearing the phrase “space fantasy,” I’ve got a bunch of really bizarre ideas bubbling up from the back of my brain, including a group of people who’ve willingly gone mad to gain more power (a la Jonathan Strange) or for various other reasons; an iron-warded village of lost children and musicians escaped from a faerie court; a city in which gravity is arbitrary; Shakespearean fairies on Mars, etc, ad nauseam. Aaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhh!!!!! How on Earth, Venus, Endor, Vulcan or [insert preferred fictional/nonfictional planetary body here] do I fit all this cake mix into a single work without it becoming completely ridiculous? I think what I need to do is come up with a central concept and the rest will follow. *mutters incoherently to self* I’ll be back.
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316–Have you ever read Ray Bradbury’s short story “The Exiles”? I think it would be majorly awesome to have some space travelers in the future travel for years to reach some new planet, prepare to meet with any intelligent forms of life living there, and find instead of aliens a group of disappointingly/disconcertingly earthlike-people, with earthlike mythology. Interestink.
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317- Nnno, I haven’t. I’ll look that up.
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Disclaimer: At this stage in the proceedings, Physics take a backseat to Plot. I urge Certain Scientific Persons to restrain themselves from correcting the numerous errors I will undoubtedly make.
•Phlogiston is an amazing word which conjures up all sorts of steampunk vibes. I must use it.
•If these mad people are living in secrecy, they’ll need some way to maintain their projects and goals, given that they’re not exactly the best at focusing on them now. Some giant, HAL-like computer which takes care of their day-to-day needs while they probe into the mysteries of the universe? I’ll make it a “calculating engine,” though, to preserve the Victorianish aura.
•Mars gains its distinct color from iron oxide which is scattered all over the surface. Faeries are traditionally considered to be driven off or harmed by iron, sometimes meteoric. Mars: greatest haven of civilization, protected by the metal in its very soil from the encroaching Fae? Needs work, but has potential.
•I’m going to have to make a major decision soon: Magical science, or scientific magic? It all depends on which theme takes priority. I have two directions in which I could take the “faerie” aspect of it, depending on which choice I make.
If I make them Elementals (perhaps according to the Paracelsan system? gnomes, sylphs, undines, salamanders) I’ll definitely be going down the Science-priority road. I came up with a few interesting concepts for that a while back, which I am loath to throw away. However, that would imply that they’re governed by scientific laws, and the whole point of Faerie is its mystery – the fact that it’s outside human knowledge. I’ll be going down that road if I make them half-fallen angels or similar. Perhaps I can strike a golden mean… Magicians harnessing forces that they try to control and classify, but are really far beyond what they know. Ugh, I can’t think any longer. I’ll return.
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I have a lot of ideas for writing but all of them are cliche. Or maybe I’m being to hard on myself. Or maybe I’m being truthful.
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Please comment on this. I need feedback before I take it to school.
(Part 1)
Annabell was in her dream room. At school she was constantly teased and her only refuge was this place, in her sleep. When Annabell’s head hit the pillow and her eyes winked shut, she was transported to her dream room, with its many doors, all leading to a different dream world. But tonight, there was a new door…
All of the other doors were colorful with pictures of the dreams they contained. This door, though, was the blackest black with only a bright, pure, white diamond in the center. Finding no door handle, Annabell ran her hands over the door. Her hands, outside the world of sleep, were those of an old woman’s. This was the result of a childhood accident. Here, in sleep, her hands were like they should be. These hands, the hands of a thirteen year old, were the ones that ran over the white diamond.
The door started moving, revealing itself to be four pieces. Slowly moving away, these in turn revealed the door to be a portal.
The portal was opened.
Annabell stepped in…
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(Part 2)
She immediately found herself in front of a horse, a black horse. In panic, she looked around for the door. It was nowhere to be found. It was just her and the horse, the black horse with a white diamond on his forehead.
When Annabell was 7, she had just started riding lessons, when the unthinkable happened – A snake bit the horse she was riding. The horse reared and Annabell fell under the horse’s pounding hooves. Instead of landing on their intended target, the snake, the horse’s hooves landed on Annabell’s hands. This caused her hands to be disfigured forever.
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(Part 3)
That horse’s name was Midnight Star and was all black except for a white diamond on his forehead. The horse in front of her was all black except for a white diamond on his forehead. Midnight Star was an Arabian. The horse in front of her was an Arabian. Midnight Star is dead. The horse in front of her was most certainly was not.
Annabell could only come to one conclusion – Midnight Star was back from the dead to haunt her in her most scared place – her dreams.
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(Part 4)
“No, I’m not.â€
“No, I’m not what? Who are you anyway?†replied Annabell to the voice.
“No, I’m not Midnight Star back from the dead to haunt you in your most sacred place – your dreams. I am Midnight†answered the voice.
“Where are you?†Annabell inquired of Midnight.
“Right behind you!â€
Annabell turned around to see the horse standing directly behind her.
“Boo!†said the horse.
Annabell shrieked and ran. Midnight easily caught up to her and easily trotted along as Annabell slowly ran out of breath and came to a stop.
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Here’s more of the first Unnamed. I’ve only got one chapter of the computer one thus far, I think I’ll work on it now.
Stella
Running through a dark tunnel… glowing underground river… have to get away…
My eyes pop open. I’m panting like I would after a bad dream, but I can’t remember what I dreamed. All I remember is darkness, darkness and running from something. Pretty standard issue for a nightmare, I tell myself. All the same, I’m not too sure—
Wait, where am I? What just—
Oh.
Riiight. I just went through a portal to… where? And how long was I asleep? And where is everyone else?
I sit up and look around, surprised at not feeling woozy or lightheaded. Usually after a dream like that I’ll wake up feeling really weird.
Oh. My. Gosh. A lake!!!! I totally want to go swimming right this minute—
WTH am I wearing???
OK, girl, calm down, I tell myself. Take a minute to look at your surroundings first.
I’m standing in a green meadow, filled with a bunch of flowers I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before. Nearby, there’s that lake I saw; the grass melts into pebbles, and on the other side of the lake I can just make out a beach, and a girl swinging a sword at empty air. Closer to me, I can see Fiona digging through what must be her shoulder bag, but looks nothing like it’s supposed to. She flings something to the ground and makes a disgusted noise. Nearby, Cassie is digging through her own backpack.
“Hey Cassie, what’d ya find?†I ask her, going over nearer the lake where she is.
“I’ve got a mirror, boots, a blouse, pants, food, a canteen… hey! Look!†She holds out a box of weird arrows. “Wonder where the bow is?â€
I pick up a long shape off the grass. “Looks like this is it,†I tell her.
“Oh hey, sweet! I took archery lessons awhile ago. This is a crossbow. It’ll be really useful!â€
I pick up my own backpack, which is now a leather—
Oooooh! I just noticed my outfit! Pants like the ones Cassie had in her bag, tall boots, a blouse and a cloak. And an awesome belt, with… OMG! I get a SWORD!!!!!
“Cassie!†I call, drawing my sword and swinging it around.
“What? Aah! Don’t take my head off!â€
“Sorry! I took fencing, so this ought to help too.â€
She nods. “Did you check out your bag yet? I predict a dress, a shift, nice shoes, a mirror, food, water, and magical items if you had any makeup on you.â€
Sure enough, the first thing I pull out is a long dress, with a mirror wrapped up in it. It’s sunny yellow, with tight elbow sleeves and a swirly skirt. Next is a white thing that looks like a nightgown, with yellow flats inside the folded-up mass. Then I grab a bundle that must be food, a canteen, and last, a little crystal bottle.
Fiona stomps over. “I cannot believe this,†she snaps. “My makeup bag turned into a cloak! That means… three lip glosses, an eyeshadow compact, an eyeliner pencil and a tube of mascara have either vanished into thin air or failed to turn into something useful.â€
Cassie says calmly, “Why don’t you look in the pockets?â€
Fiona digs around for a minute and comes up with a compact of eyeshadow that glows slightly, a dagger, a little box, a leather bottle, another dagger, and a crystal bottle similar to mine.
“Hey, I had a pencil in my pocket, maybe that’s how I got my sword?†I muse. “And I had a lip gloss in my backpack. What’s in the bottle?â€
“I wouldn’t try anything. Magical items shouldn’t be used unless the situation is urgent,†says Cassie, the resident expert on fairy tales.
Fiona studies one of the daggers. “Well, I know which one’s mine, so this one must be Stella’s.†She hands me a dagger. It’s got designs of fire on the sheath.
“Since they’re, like, symbolic and everything, where’s Cassie’s?†I ask.
I know immediately that it was the wrong thing to say.
Cassie
OK, Stella really needs to get some lessons in tact. She’s terrible with that stuff. I’m trying not to let my lack of a dagger get to me, but… OW!
“Uh, I found it,†I mumble, pulling it out of my belt.
Everyone laughs, but I get the sense that they’re not laughing at me so much as they used to.
Fiona
Still laughing, I collapse onto the grass. That was a bad idea, I think instantly. Daisies!
“Achoo!†I sneeze. “Ah- ah- ACHOO!â€
Um, okay, why did I only just notice the GIANT BOW that’s sitting right in front of me? Argh. Whatever. Not that I know how to use the damn thing, but from the fantasies I read when I was little I’m guessing the ability to use it will randomly pop out of thin air just when I need it. Stupid magic.
Absently, I reach into my pocket to play with my iPod. Oh yeah, I don’t have pockets, and my iPod is…
Where is it?
Oh God, don’t tell me. Right there, in the shape of a longbow and arrows. Oh, is that what they’re called? WHO CARES? I’m gonna DIEEEEE.
“Guys, guess what? Our iPods? They’re right here.†I point at our bows.
“Noooo!†Cassie screams. “I can’t believe this!â€
OK, so I’m guessing I’m not the only one here who’s addicted to her music.
“You have my iPod!!!!†she yells.
“Shit,†I say under my breath. “STELLA HAS MY TOUCH!â€
This isn’t going to end well…
Stella
I crack up.
“You can’t seriously be telling me that my Shuffle turned into…†I indicate Cassie’s bow and arrows. “That!â€
“It didn’t,†says Cassie. “My headphones did. There’s your Shuffle.†She picks up her arrows and waves them in my face. “And they’re not arrows. They’re bolts.â€
“Whatever.â€
“So this… is my earbuds? You’ve got to be kidding me.†Fiona flings her bow across the meadow. “Stella, WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY TOUCH?â€
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?†I shriek. “I don’t even know what happened to my f—“
“I wouldn’t advise finishing that sentence,†Cassie yells over me.
“Oh, shut up, goody-goody. It’s just a word.â€
“The word’s got nothing to do with it. There’s your Touch, Fiona.â€
There’s a black carriage sitting on the road. At first, it strikes me that I didn’t really notice the road before. Then it strikes me that those horses are my earbuds. I can’t help laughing at the thought.
Cassie’s laughing too. “Fiona—†she gasps. “L-look at your… bow!â€
“Huh?â€
Cassie holds hers up. I see something engraved on the inside of it: Nensiehsr
“Sennheiser. The brand name of my headphones,†she gasps.
Fiona checks hers. “Skull Candy,†she giggles.
By now I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “Will… the… ho-h-horses say… Apple?â€
We laugh really hard at that one, but I’m interrupted by a cold shadow on my back. I turn around.
“Are you quite finished?†says Beryl.
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Does anyone have any comments on 301?
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Murgh. I hate ideas that won’t shut up. Continuing…
Vanessa grabbed at the handle, which she couldn’t see in the dark, although she could tell it was a lot more intricate then the regular handle she was used to. The door also proved unfamiliar, resisting Vanessa’s first, second and third attempt at opening. The fourth time, leaning on the door with her shoulder, it cracked open. With the application of all her weight, it enough for her to get through to the entrance hall she didn’t remember being there.
Linoleum gave way after a few feet to a deep red carpet. Swirly wallpaper designs–she couldn’t tell if it was grey or purple, the lighting was terrible–lined the small room, filled with nothing but an intricately framed mirror and a closet.
“You should put your shoes in there.â€
Vanessa jumped. She hadn’t heard Aaron come in behind her, or close the door. She had also never been asked to remove her footwear, however dirty, inside of Aaron Faye’s household.
The closet door was slidey and the purple, or grey, that lined the walls. She placed her shoes on the bare floor, and stepped back to let Aaron remove his typical Converse. She waited a second, then turned and stared at his face, then his feet. They were bare.
“Okay… so this is your hideout? A creepily transformed, probably created by something I accidentally sniffed house?†Still firmly convinced she was dreaming, although considering the possibility she had mistakenly taken some sort of hallucinating drug, she glanced back at Aaron’s face. Now his creepy smile had turned into a smirk, which she desperately wanted to smack off his face. Smirking people always pissed her off, hallucination or not.
“Oh, it’s a bit bigger. C’mon.â€
A hall she hadn’t seen due to those stupid old fashioned lamps appeared next to and a bit behind the closet. Aaron stepped behind her, waiting for her to lead the way. Who did he think he was? This was his house–hideout–whatever.
Her shoeless feet slapped the wooden floor she couldn’t see, led by the lamps. The end of the hallway was in sight almost the second she stepped in the hall, and she reached it, noticing that the door was not the only option. There was another door to the left, and a second hallway to the right, from which she could see yet two more hallways. She assumed, considering Aaron hadn’t said anything, that—
Was he still there? She whipped around to see, and there he was, standing behind her as he had been, in the darkness. He raised an eyebrow, infuriating her more than she already was.
This house was making her jittery. She hadn’t remembered ever being jittery in a dream. And since when did she get infuriated at the raising of an eyebrow? She was probably the most skeptical person she knew, lord knew her eyebrows were probably permanently suck half way up her forehead.
She turned back and twisted the door knob. This time she could see it, golden and like everything else, old looking.
A base she hadn’t heard on the other side of the door slammed into her. This, and the image of what she immediately recognized as a party.
Her annoyance with Aaron ceased. Her real Aaron had brought her to parties, but never one this cool. Dream Aaron wasn’t as annoying as she thought.
“You brought me to a party, you dumb… Aaron?â€
“Yes?â€
“Could you stop DOING that?â€
She had turned to give him a hug, noticed he was missing, only to hear him in front of her.
“Doing what?â€
She waved her hand flailing her fingers. “You know, appearing and whatever! It’s going to drive me mad.â€
“Okay.†He said it like it was two words. Oh…kay… “I was just wondering if you wanted drinks.
“Plastic! Thank God. There’s nothing modern in here.†She grabbed a red plastic cup, downing the purple liquid inside. This place, she now noticed, was properly lighted. The also suddenly remembered that that was unusual for a party, but forgot about that, tipping the cup and her head backwards, getting out the final drops. The drink was amazing. “This better not have alcohol in it.â€
Aaron grinned. It wasn’t an annoying grin or a smirk, more like an “oops†grin. Vanessa playfully slapped his hand.
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301/326- Very suspenseful! I like the improvements you made, it flows nicely. Are you going to post the rest of it?
Beavo, write more!! Please?
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Well, now I have another fun idea, this time semi-hard science fiction. Will provide more detail when not out of head.
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I have an idea for a fantasy story that IS set in a world similar to Earth’s Middle Ages, but the protagonist’s civilization won’t be based on Feudal Europe. I’m thinking of basing it on either China, the Ottoman Empire, or the Maya.
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Okay, that last bit I posted a really long time ago failed epically, but I have really high hopes for this one! I’m writing it with my cousin and it’s going really well…
I have no idea what to call it. Any ideas?
The sky screamed.
Clouds were pulled over the heavens like a curtain, hiding them from mortal sight. The dread horses of thunder rumbled across the landscape, accompanied by their celestial whip lightning, which flew down from the celestial curtains, ripping trees and causing any human who saw it to stop, gasp, and say, “What was that?â€
Except one.
A lone rider galloped across the hills and valleys, ignoring the rain pelting his face, ignoring the lightning flying dangerously close. His horse, black like the night sky at new moon, seemed to fly across the ground. Its muscles, worked to the bone, pumped back and forth through the wet air. He rode with urgency, with a mission, with a matter of life and death.
A girl watched him from a lighted window. She was shielded from the storm, though she knew she would rather not be. What better time to be out than a time where the very air flew with excitement and magic? Storms were not common in this land, although that last week they had been more and more frequent. Her father was worried for his kingdom.
Silently, she rose from her exquisite and unbelievably uncomfortable chair and headed towards the door. Setting her hand on the golden knob, she quietly twisted it and tiptoed out into the hall. The tapestries on the wall, normally filled with the rich labor of the finest seamstresses, were bleached of color by the raging outdoors. Similar was the carpet, on which her future subjects had toiled. Each step she took on that beautiful carpet was as silent as the step of a wild cat stalking prey, for if her father knew she was out of her room, he would lock her in for a month, and that she could not survive. Because no one like her could survive being out of the open air for long. Then again, no one WAS like her.
With the utmost secret air, she opened a window and breathed deeply. Then she squeezed out of it and truly did fly, soaring up to the clouds and down again, coming to rest gently on a grassy knoll soaked by the rain. No one was like her. No one else could fly. She had known she was different since she was tiny-but not let anyone know. Even then, some instinct had told her they would lock her in more than ever. But now, her talent might come in useful, because who could stop angry heavens better than a flying girl? This wasn’t normal weather.
Just the other day, she had been hovering outside a window of a room she thought deserted, when a door had slammed shut. Raindrops splashing her freckled nose, she had leaned closer to the window.
“The gods are angry,†she had heard her father’s most trusted advisor, Sinaltu, proclaim in a lowered voice. “Angry with us, for we haven’t sacrificed anything in many a year. We must sacrifice something.â€
“Come now, Sinaltu,†her father’s voice had said uneasily. “N-no one believes in those old myths anymore. The people rebelled against human sacrifice long ago. They were unhappy about their sons and daughters dying for a pointless cause.â€
“Pointless cause?†Sinaltu’s voice had risen. “Pointless cause? Or needed cause? You can’t help but agree that the kingdom’s had bad luck since we stopped sacrificing to Nakiprel, the luck god. And our fish nets have been empty since Ruta stopped getting her yearly supply of blood. Face it, King Rubyan, the gods need sacrifice.â€
“Well- well, I suppose they might exist,†the king’s nervous voice had said. “B-but do they truly need human sacrifice? Cows or sheep-â€
“Humans.†Sinaltu’s voice was confident now. “The gods would not be happy with a mere animal. No, they need ones of true intelligence, ones who will worship them.â€
The king had sighed resignedly. “All right. I suppose we can find one from the sluts of the capital-â€
“No,†the advisor had said decidedly. “After such a long gap, they will need more. One of royal blood might do it.â€
“Sinaltu!†her father had gasped. “Surely you can’t be suggesting that I-â€
“No, no,†the advisor proclaimed, and by the sound of his voice the princess outside the window could tell he was smiling. “Not you. Your daughter, Princess Qayet, would be an admirable bride for Renduth, the rain god.â€
And then had come a sigh from King Rubyan, and his voice-“Well. I suppose we must.â€
Qayet could not hold back a gasp at this betrayal from her father, and immediately Sinaltu dashed to the window. “Who was that?â€
But by that time the princess was long gone.
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Oh Gosh! I haven’t been here in forever! How am I gonna read all of this and comment? *is aghast*
290) Good, though I still don’t get why she’s doing this.
291) Yay!
292) I like your charcters. THey’re believable, except for that one part right after they figured out their powers, but besides that, I think it’s great! ALthough, Fiona isn’t being nearly as mean as she was at the beginning.
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SFTDP
296) Very interestin rave from your characters. Perhaps they’re on PMS. But what happened at the end? Why is she gonna black out? I think I missed that.
301) Interesting. You can definately tell that he’s crazy. Though there definatley is more room for further craziness. I mean, were you going to crazy of major league psycho? You most likely shouldn’t say that the police decided not to dig up whatever they think he buried. That’s their job. If he was a murderer, then the police would need to uncover the dirt just to make sure he didn’t bury someone or something useful for evidence.
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332: Is it really that pointless? If so, I might continue with another idea I’ve had…
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OMG! SFTDP! I keep forgetting how much I have left to catch up with and it’s SO late, but this will most likely be my last chance to post for a while, so, yeah……
302) OK. I absolutely love this story.
305) Wowsers! What was happening? WHy was she being pulled through the wall, or whatever she was being pulled through? I think I’m confused.
307) That is pretty good. Aaron is one scary dude. Vanessa should run for her life!
311) Hmmmmm. OK. The portal thing was weird, but OK. And Fiona is funny. But I’m still confused about her personality.
312) I think I already told you I really like this story. The Dad’s letter was awesome! And how your character thinks is totally….. I don’t even know the word. IT’s too late. J’ai sommeil. Criticism? Gosh. I shall attempt to analyze later!
324) Hmmmmmm. I think it OK. But you definately need more detail! You’re taking it to school? For what?
327) Oh. Was she just drunk?
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334) I don’t know. Your story has potential. But I don’t understand why she’s going through all this trouble for strange, scary people she doesn’t even know, especially when she’s practically dying by falling off cliffs! There must be something!
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336- I guess it’s both because she has no choice, and also because she has a new calling (which is later going to become a romantic infatuation). I’m not sure. What did you see happening? Maybe some other ideas will help me get sorted out.
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Well, only two people commented on 301, BUT I SHALL PERSIST!!!!
Later today I’ll post more. HOPEFULLY TO GET SOME COMMENTS!!!!!!
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327: I like the way she keeps referring to it as a dream, and how you constantly make references to how it couldn’t possibly be real… which of course makes me dead sure it is real… but it’s kind of confusing. Is she just drunk?
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337) well, I mean, she didn’t know that she had no choice at first. A new calling? Hmmm. That could work. But that still doesn’t explain why she got into the mess in the first place.
Well, to tell you the truth. I had an inkling about what I thought was going on. But it’s not going on. So, yeah. Frankly, if I had just read it straight through, I wouldn’t have suspected anything. But when I read it in chunks like that, I began suspecting your character’s motives. It would be freakishly awesome if she was working as a spy to infiltrate this group. I mean, if she really were what they said she was and she learned from them and everything. And then, at the last minute, she betrays them to some evil dude. Maybe the evil dude promised her they’d bring her parents back or something like that. And when the evil person doesn’t follow through, she uses her newly taught powers of something to get revenge on him. Though I think my thinking is just twisted story-wise. So you should most likely ignore any crazy plan I dig up because it is what it is. CRAZY. But I just needed to get it out anyway. *sigh*
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340- I guess not, but after a while she might have noticed that she can will her aunt to death without even thinking about it…
But, oh my gosh, you’re a psychic! I might as well ruin the plot now…She was going to be trained, etc. track down some people, then the evil people are going to take away the guy she likes (who is also one of the Powers, by the way, the few people who have caught traces from the Gift but not the actual thing), and she has to betray their location to the evil dude and get the guy back, where…darn, I’m not going to finish the ending. But, anyway that’s pretty much what’s going to happen! You’re a psychic!
Or maybe I’m just tragically predictable…
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Part Two of my thus-far-ignored-story:
Far across the city, in the almost-farms of the border, a boy named Noshu was puzzling over the same thing that the princess was. He had a job of apprentice palace gardener of the same garden that Qayet had been hovering over the day the sacrifice was revealed, and had been innocently tending begonias. Well, really trying to catch glimpses of the princess. When she had come by, he had been forbidden by palace law to see her face, so he had to spy on her. At the time he was thinking of, she had gone over to the petunias by the window, and he was innocently (not) moving towards them. He knew that one more foot would allow him to see her-
And as he reached that one more foot, he saw her-flying.
Yes, flying. She was hovering by the window with a joyous expression on her face. Noshu had blinked, rubbed his eyes, and pinched himself-but whatever he did, she was still there. Intrigued, he silently climbed the toofra tree behind her and watched her. But then, when he heard the door slam, he inched forward on his steady branch and cocked an ear.
He had heard the whole conversation.
A poke got him from behind, and he spun around. “Dreamer!†laughed a tall and muscled boy. “Why stand around when there’s games to be played and won? Or had you forgotten that it’s Games Day at the capital?â€
Noshu’s face broke into a grin. “Lukin! I thought you’d never get here! Pretty faces hold you up?â€
His best friend punched him. Noshu hit back, laughing, and soon the two boys were wrestling in the dust of the road like brothers. As they pulled apart, still laughing, a horse trotted through, barely missing them.
“Seriously,†Lukin grinned. “Games Day. I thought you wanted to win the tzetze championship. I know I’d like to get that foot races trophy in my hands! Maybe you think the championship is too much of a challenge for the poor wittle baby?â€
“Maybe I’ll hit you again,†Noshu told him. “C’mon. We’d better get to the fields before the crowds arrive and you can’t move for girls!â€
Lukin punched him again, and laughing, the friends advanced up the road towards the sign proclaiming:
Games Day!!!
Test your skills against others!!
Become champion of your sport! Win fame and a golden trophy!
As they arrived at the fields, crowds bustled along the wet grass. Vendors barked their sales pitch into the misty air, calling for hot, hot chocolate, or sweet toofra fruit, come, no one can resist fresh toofra fruit, or milk from a real dragon, guaranteed to give you that added edge that just might make the difference, or even Medusa’s genuine head, sold to that particular vendor by Perseus himself. (There were several of those stands.) Noshu and Lukin navigated their way around the stands and crowds, stopping only once to take some toofra fruit. As they bit into the fuzzy skin to expose the delicious sugar-syrup-soaked-quince-like grape-textured flesh underneath, they scanned the fields for the foot race and tzetze signs. Others were settled on blankets, watching the podium for the governor of that part of the city to appear-and appear he did.
“Laaadies and gentlemen,†he bellowed out over the crowds. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Today is GAAAAMES DAAAY!!!â€
(Much cheering from the crowds.)
“And,†he continued, “once again, the trophies for foot racing, horse racing, wrestling, tzetze, and animal taming are UP FOR GRAAAABS!!!â€
(More cheering.)
“Will you be the one to win them? As always, the horse racing competitions are first, followed by the foot racing, animal taming, tzetze, and wrestling. Let the games-â€
But just before he shouted “BEGIN!†the bolt of lightning hovering in the sky plunged down, striking him square in the heart. He fell, a burned shell.
There was silence for shocked moment. And then the screams began.
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