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Category Archives: Speakeasy

Revelations

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the stars. All she could see was his face. The way she’d gotten his trust, lured him out and rid the world of one more evil. Her purpose was to root out evil and put humans back on the right path. She had gone to this daemon, something they would call “vampire” and gained his trust until the day she convinced him to come outside. The Sun was rising and as soon as the light hit his face she saw his once bright eyes lose their lustre as his face become even paler. He was dead before his skin started to burn and there was no light in his bright blue eyes, she never knew daylight could be so violent!
Something had gone horribly wrong, she was supposed to purge the world but this man had not been the monster he was supposed to be; now that killing him was no longer taking up all her thoughts she realised that she had felt with him a closeness she had never experienced before and she knew then that she had been tainted. She tried to climb back to Heaven, the place with a thousand happy faces but she kept seeing his dead one with no light in those bright blue eyes and now she was stuck in that place between Heaven and Earth because she had pitied a man who deserved Hell. Now she vacillated between up or down, the world no longer making any sense. She had failed and now that she was no longer pure she must fall in turn. Her small hands no longer held on and her frail wings failed her as she plummeted, the long fall down to Earth made it impossible to think anything was real anymore. 
And yet, God decided to save her, and in a church so far down below choir boys gaped as they caught a falling angel…

………………………………… nolightnolightinyourbrightbleueyesineverknewdaylightcouldbesoviolent………………

Whoever chooses the music has good taste! And after having tried to sing “No Light No Light” I now respect Florence (and the machine but I’m not sure it sings) even more because I realised that the song is at that pitch between two voices (the quiet high one and the normal one, I know what they’re called in French but not in English) and she has a good control over her voice. I have already trained myself with “bring me to life” by Evanescence (which killed my voice after the first time I properly sang it) so I managed to sing this right after about three or four times; it’s never perfect though 🙂

 
29 Comments

Posted by on 8 September 2014 in Banzaï, Speakeasy

 

DS YW177- Shadow in the Snow

He waited for an hour, his hooded ear against the dusty wood. Around him, the abandoned Soviet library lay, filled with fragile bookshelves and still stacks of frozen paper, a solid block of concrete abandoned with many others in the middle of Siberia, an uncharted remnant of a dark era. The cold air sent shivers through his bones, shaking some of the frost off of his hair and teenage scruff. He held his trusted 9mm handgun tightly in his hand, a long silencer attached to the barrel. The bulletproof vest under the three layers of Alpine clothing wasn’t exactly comfy, and his patience was running out.

Suddenly, the heavy steel doors were thrown open, the loud metallic clang followed by heavy Russian voices. He grabbed his radio. “Delta here. The rat is in the den. Eagle clear to take-off,” he whispered. Deep breath. He checked his watch. Five minutes ‘till Eagle gets here.

A few seconds later, the metallic click of a briefcase hitting the ground resonated through the library. That’s the signal he was waiting for. Several months of investigation, all for that sound. He shut his eyes tightly, grabbed the detonator on the ground besides him, and squeezed the trigger…

… Thus detonating the intricate network of flash bangs laid throughout the library for maximum effect. Straight after the initial flash, he ran out of his cover, gun in hand, quickly spotting the eight people in the room, and sprinting towards the man with the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, while placing two precise shots in the skulls of the men carrying the assault rifles. His close combat reflexes basically took over for the next seconds.

He threw a kick into the briefcase carrier’s bodyguard while reaching for the knife strapped to the back of his belt, tipping the still dazzled man onto the hard floor. He promptly thrust the cold steel into his primary target’s throat, and fired a bullet at the small chain to free the briefcase from the man’s arm. As soon as he held the precious cargo, he sprinted towards the heavy door. Two of the men had recovered from the flash bang, and had already taken aim at the dark figure scurrying through the bookshelves. The muzzle flashes illuminated flying sheets of paper, thrown into the air by the bullets flying past his chest. Too close for comfort.

He continued his sprint through the heavy doors, the floor alive with sparks from bullet impacts. The chase continued through the obscure, concrete halls of the Soviet complex. Having not prepared to be ambushed, the men hadn’t anticipated to give chase, and quickly found themselves isolated in the dark.

He knew this, and hid behind a corner, quietly catching his breath, waiting for the predator to become the prey, drawing the dagger once again form his belt. As soon as the first man appeared, he stabbed the blade into his temple, leaving the weapon in the falling corpse. Without waiting for his accomplice to recover from the unexpected attack, he ran towards the nearest window, and broke through the already fractured glass, falling into the crunchy snow bellow.

Quickly rising up from his fall, he ran out towards the edge of the abandoned town, putting the library’s entrance to his back. Hearing the door open, he stopped and turned around, hoping the dark would conceal his silhouette, only to find a well-aimed bullet grazing his right shoulder.

“Hands in the air!” One of the four men yelled at him in Russian. He complied, checking the time on his watch in doing so. It had been exactly 5min. He smiled inwardly. The man had started to ask who he was working for, but was interrupted mid-sentence by a blinding light from above, quickly followed by the chopping sound of rotors, which had until now been overpowered by the whistling wind.

As he resumed his escape, disappearing into the night, he heard the radio on his chest burst to life. “Eagle has landed. Over!” Despite himself, a smug grin appeared on his face. Even if he would get no credit in the official report, even if his jobs required him to take lives, satisfaction resonated throughout his being.

Now all that was left was a trek through the windy Siberian tundra to get to his extraction point…

………………………OPERATION//HAILstorm//…………………………………//GRIMREAPERintheSNOW//…………

Had to stay up very late at night to complete this one… Anyway, another spy story for this week. Hope you enjoyed. Comments appreciated!

 
28 Comments

Posted by on 2 September 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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New Life

Everything hurt. All the muscles in my body, my eyes, my head, my bones and something different, that was hurting too. My head was ringing and the light was too bright and the absence of noise too loud. I coughed as a tube was removed from my throat and out of my mouth and then I was breathing on my own. It was rebirth. Except that I didn’t remember the first one, or anything after it. There was an emptiness in my head, a big gaping hole where I felt there should be something, anything. 

I was lying on a table, that’s the first thing I noticed (after the light and the silence). It felt like tables shouldn’t be meant for lying on. But I wasn’t sure… I waited for something to happen. Nothing happened. So I got up. That’s when I noticed some of me looked a certain way and the rest looked different. Some of me was pale, pink and soft, some of that had hair, my head, my arm… the rest of me was different. My right arm was almost all silver, it started on my shoulder a bit then took up most of the space from my shoulder to my elbow, all of the space from my elbow to my wrist and the back of my hand and fingers (no doubt including partly inside my hand too). On my right leg it started on the knee and covered all the way down my leg including my foot; my left leg was entirely robotic and this went up my side and stretched halfway across my skinny, flat chest. I felt like I was burning. I didn’t know my body. I didn’t know who I was. I still don’t know who I was. 

Some panels swivelled out of the way to reveal a flat screen in the wall.
“HELLO ADAM” said the green writing.
Suddenly I remembered speech.
“Who are you?” I asked, not angrily but curiously.
“I AM DAWN” answered the wall.
“Who am I?”
The line flashed a while before writing “YOU ARE ADAM”
I never got more than that. Ever.
“Where am I?” Deciding that if I couldn’t know who I was I might as well know where, if I could get a good answer.
“YOU ARE SAFE”
Decidedly not I guessed (a good answer I mean, I didn’t doubt my safety much). Although I later learned that the place was in fact called SAFE, I don’t know if these are initials or just got caught up in the caps-lock that rules letters around there but I don’t much care for it. 

A rectangle of panels to my left danced away as a drawer slid out and DAWN (I’m not entirely sure if these are initials either, for all I know Adam might be ADAM and be initials too) explained:
“THESE ARE CLOTHES… YOU MUST WEAR THEM”
There was white underwear (labeled “male” inside), baggy white cotton trousers (also labeled “male”) and a thin white t-shirt with long sleeves (“male”) which said ADAM neatly in red on the left. On the side of the drawer was a white watch with a black screen looking like a miniature DAWN and labeled ADAM on the bracelet. For the moment it only showed the time but something told me that wasn’t the only thing it did.

Once I had dressed the wall lit up again saying “THIS IS YOUR ROOM. COME BACK” and with that a door revealed itself behind more scurrying panels. Perplexed by that last message I momentarily forgot my pain and tried to walk, crashing into floor. The table beside me started sinking through the it and beneath me a bed came up. White, like everything.
“YOU ARE UNSTABLE” specified the informative wall, a little too late. 

• • •

My name is Adam, I am the perfect man, I can do jobs no-one else can, I now work for the American secret services and defence; not the CIA – the other one, the one people either cannot name or have been sworn to secrecy about, I work with my teammate Eve who, unlike me, remembers her past and will do anything to avenge the deaths she has seen. Together, we’re an ugly sight. But we’re the best you’ll ever find (if you do find us). We live SAFE. No-one could even get close to finding us in that maze of moving panels. And so, we’re pretty much invincible. Pretty damn proud of it too!…

* * *

Far off in the distance just outside the picture a woman cries out in the ruins of her city, looking for her son. His body was never found. 

………………………………………..tataratataterrificreturnofthecreaturewhohibernatesinsummerandjustdestroyedthemoodsheputyouin………………………… :/

I’m back! Yay! I have finally returned from the faraway places I went (which weren’t really that far by the way) to this thing of yeahwrite and caught up on a lot of stuff!
Ok so I had something I wanted to try this week. But that was before I saw the prompts. Absolutely not compatible with my idea! So I might try next week. In the meantime though I wrote this! I kind of ran out of time so instead of a proper story you can have a cyborg, I hope that works too. Shame on me for being late 😦

I’m glad to be back though and I’m looking forward to reading your amazing work 😀

 
10 Comments

Posted by on 27 August 2014 in Banzaï, Speakeasy

 

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DS YW176- Desolation

Everything hurt. It seemed every nerve in my body felt like the best way to hurry me back to consciousness was to scream pain at my brain. The cockpit was mostly intact, but the sheer strength of the impact is what got me. As I looked to my right, I notice my peripheral monitor was shattered. At least that explained why the right side of my body was covered in blood. Shrapnel is the bane of mechanised armour.

Heartbeat- slow. Pilot has regained consciousness.

I grunted as I sat back in my seat. No time to waste. I brought a status report of my mech up on the screen. Looks like I wasn’t the only one in bad shape. Hydraulics for the right leg were badly damaged, perhaps beyond repair. The left arm was basically torn off. Thrusters won’t be able to reach maximum efficiency. At least there were no leaks. Thank god there were no leaks.

As far as weapons went, my rifle was god knows where, my assault knives forgotten in the armoury during the scramble, and my magnum was low on ammo. The only weapons that were still fully operational were the wrist mounted light machine guns. Talk about firepower. I turned on the main camera, grabbed the joysticks, and powered my robotic armoured suit back to life. I felt my eyes widen, as the rest of my body froze in a mix of surprise and terror. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t turned the camera on. To say the moon base was annihilated would have been an understatement. Those bastards took a whole chunk of the moon with them. All that was left of the sprawling military complex was a couple floating rocks. In the lunar sky, cadavers of ships where slowly drifting down to the surface. Hundreds, if not thousands of destroyed mechs lay on the surface, lifeless. A quick glimpse at the comms told me I had lost the signal of all my squad, including Commander Carter, as well as mission HQ. The sensors couldn’t pick up a friendly signal for hundreds of kilometre. I had been very lucky.

Heartbeat- normal. Pilot focused.

I threw my mech into combat speed, pushing what was left of the thrusters to their limit. Unable to achieve flight, I found myself leaping from crater to crater, some of them eons old, some very recent. I was headed for the equatorial comms relay. Earth had to know something had attacked us, clearly with the intent of leaving no survivors. They had taken us by surprise, and had the ability to do so again. The distance to cross was phenomenal, but despite missing some thrust, space armours were fast. The sophisticated inertial dampeners and the genetic modifications I had received at birth easily allowed me to surpass sonic speed, without turning me into a milkshake.

Heartbeat- fast. Adrenaline levels rising

The situation didn’t improve though. As I got further away from the battle field, the sky began to clear. The Earth was piercing the horizon. My sensors were able to extend their reach, no longer impeded by the leftovers of the battle. Quickly, my radar started to send alerts to me. I was picking up a number of large heat sources between me and the Earth. I focused my sensors on it. The image appeared on my screen. My blood froze in my veins.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands of huge ships doted the sky, their silhouette invisible without a filter. They were headed to earth at battle speed. Their architecture wasn’t earth-like. They could not have been built under the constraints of gravity. This wasn’t a rebellion from the colonies. No. This was a full-fledged invasion force.

Heartbroken.

:…………………………….WEAPONS//warfare…………EMOTIONS//driver.of.will…………………..::

Man what a great summer. It’s good to be back, though. To start the school year off with a bang, here is a quick sci-fi piece, stepping away from the action heavy pieces and trying something a bit more on the descriptive end of the spectrum. Hope you enjoyed! Comments, criticism, random thoughts, and advice is welcome!

 
16 Comments

Posted by on 25 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Metal and Rain

The air around me was cold, yet I didn’t feel it. All I felt was fear. Fear, and the adrenaline pulsing throughout my body. I was out of breath. My shoes fell heavily onto the floor as I ran, accompanied by a cold, watery sound as they hit the wet pavement. He was hurrying me along, his hand in mine, his face invisible in the dark night, my sight further weakened by the heavy rainfall.

Through the constant sound of rain hitting ground, an engine, a big one, roared somewhere behind. He spat a cuss and ran faster. Just as my resolve wavered, headlights illuminated the street from behind, causing another pulse of adrenaline through my body.

Hearing the engine get dangerously close, he turned around, grabbed me, and leaped in a perpendicular alleyway. Too late. Being in front of him, I got through safely, but the side view mirror exploded against his left shoulder as the Hummer drove by, projecting the two of us to the ground.

After a few moments, I gathered the courage to stand up. Astonished, I found him standing above me, hand extended towards me. His shoulder showed no sign of damage. However, his jacket seemed to reflect light like the wet armor of a knight where the car had hit him. Failing to puzzle out the situation, I began to ask 100 questions at once. “How did you…. The car… Your shoulder… Are you OK?” Without a word, he pulled me up, and nudged me behind him. Just as he turned to face the alley, familiar headlights blinded us. Doors were opened and shut. Mechanical clicks echoed off the walls of the narrow alley. Guns.

Abruptly, the cold hit me. I was suddenly aware of being drenched to the bone. I fought the rising anxiety and tried to keep a cool head. We didn’t do anything wrong! What do these people want with us? This HAS to be a misunderstanding! Since when is going to the cinema a crime? Are these people even part of the police? Yes, they had gyros at the beginning. Why did he run away? What’s going on here??

My puzzled thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice ahead. “Alright, Shape-shifter, you’re coming with us. Come peacefully, and I can guarantee your safety, and that of the Telepath as well!”

Did he just call him a shape-shifter? Did he just call me a telepath?

I was about to voice my interrogations when he disappeared in a blur. The headlights went out, accompanied by a noise of shattering glass. It was instantly followed by the whistle of air flowing at high speed, and something that sounded like a knife cutting through meat. I ducked and closed my eyes instinctively. A moan of pain and a blind gunshot soon gave way to more brief whistles. I opened my eyes to find a silhouette landing on the hood of the car, crumpling the thin metal, triggering the alarm.

The orange blinkers lit up three figures collapsed on the ground, each with a rifle next to them, the metal shining in the night. I instantly noticed the eerie spike poking out of each body. It had the same metallic texture as the firearm. Pools of dark liquid were spreading around each cadaver, mingling with the pouring rain.

Frightened, I turned my attention to the car. I recognised his slender frame, yet…. Something was off. He stepped down from the hood and calmly walked towards me. That’s when I noticed the oversized talons on his feet, and the long, xiphoid shapes that prolonged his arms. They all had the same metallic texture as the spikes in the bodies, and his shoulder which, as it turns out, was his skin showing through a gaping hole in the fabric of his jacket, torn by the impact. He stopped perhaps a meter in front of me, avoiding my gaze, his expression nervous, almost tense.

His feet turned back to normal and the long blades gave way to five fingers that slowly lost their initial metallic texture. He began to speak, his voice hesitant, barely loud enough to overpower the falling rain.

“I didn’t plan on telling you until I knew you a little better but…” He sighed deeply and looked straight at me. “I’m not what you think I am. Fact is, you aren’t what you think you are.” He pointed towards the car. “However, these people know, and they’re very interested in us…”

::……..SHAPE//percieved……………PURPOSE//assigned………….DETERMINATION//stateofmind………::

 

 

 
34 Comments

Posted by on 17 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Drumbeat of Egora

I felt strange in my cloak and doublet, my naked feet bathing in the pearl white sand. I had been sent to the south-eastern nation of Egora by the guild in order to escort another mage back to the royal city. Being from the war-torn western coast, the culture of Egora was a truly fascinating thing to me. The people were dressed lightly, revealing their dark skin to the harsh sun, challenging it. The outfits themselves weren’t ragtag, battle hardened armors like those I used to wear as a young man, nor did they resemble the humble, practical outfits worn by the inhabitants of the central provinces. They were colorful, carefully crafted masterpieces.

Jewels were imbedded in the cloth. Precious metals made up the structure of the more complicated outfits. Cloth-of-gold stitching were made on the edge of the clothing. Rare dies colored the cloth in exotic colors and patterns. The people painted their bodies extravagantly, sometimes leaving no skin untouched. Women wore the feathers of birds of prey to ornate their hair. Men wore the skin of feline hunters to show their worth.

Tonight, the outfits and body paintings were particularly spectacular. Tonight was the eve of the Summer Solstice, a sacred day here. The sun was a red semi-circle sinking into the horizon before me. The sound of drumbeat started as soon as the last sunbeam fell beyond the horizon. I let the vibrations guide me to the town plaza. The space that had been empty shortly before was now dominated by a row of eight huge, elevated drums. A crowd was forming around a tall, ebony skinned woman. She wore a pearl white outfit lined with cloth of gold and ornamented with blue stones. Her abdomen and collar bone were decorated with azure body paint that also swiveled around her arms. That same blue paint ornamented her eyelids and cheekbones.

When she opened her eyes, I was struck by the cold blue light that lived within, like a piece of arctic sky imbedded within her dark frame. A quick look at the drums revealed the true nature of the musicians. They were magical beings summoned, animated and controlled by the blue-eyed sorceress. The same blue light lived within their eyes and the runes that ran throughout their bodies. The mage’s singing began than, her crystal voice amplified by magic, and accompanied by the drums as well as another sound, as if fingers of metal were plucking strings of lightning, summoned by magic, causing a deep vibration throughout my body. The crowd around me was dancing wildly, the only light coming from the village’s torches, and from magical holograms that appeared in the sky, animated by a familiar blue light. The air was fresh and alive with music and happiness.

Hours later, the music died down and the mage stopped her nimble and fluid dance. The flying lights died out, the black silhouettes disappeared from the drums in a cloud of blue particles. The eyes of the mage regained their natural color. The crowd was in awe. She then spoke the local language, her crystal voice reaching the edge of the village. I didn’t need to speak the exotic, fascinating tongue to understand that she was inviting others to join the spectacle with skills of their own.

I dropped my cloak from my shoulders and pulled up my sleeves. The people around me started to move away as my hands started to glow with a crimson light. I let magic flow from my palms, allowing a cloud of red-and-gold particles to form around my knees. I sent a flow of magic through my legs to levitate me and used part of the cloud to materialize ornate wings on my back. The circle the crowd had formed around me now rivalled that of the mage. I cracked my neck and breathed deeply as I pushed more magic out into the night, extending my consciousness, creating bright red figures of my own. I closed my eyes to better focus. Creatures of western myth materialized in the air, re-enacting the stories of my childhood on an epic scale…

… And I was only getting warmed up!

:……………..PARTY//tilyourlegsgivein…….DANCE//tilthesunstartsrisin……..:

Part four of my Souleater series, introducing a second character. Previous part here and all parts here.Trying a more descriptive approach this time around, perhaps less exiting, but something I need to get better at, meaning feedback is very welcome this week, and I’ll gladly take in opinions, and random thoughts as well! Thanks you for stopping by!

 
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Posted by on 4 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Crack in the window

The green bar completes its journey across the monitor. The screen illuminates the room, the only other source of light being the thin rays that filter through the paper blinds. Outside, the sun is setting. Despite the relatively cool air, I am sweating. The air is tense. My muscles ache from exhaustion. I control my breathing to be as quiet as possible, knowing it is useless. Security will be here soon. The comforting pressure of a 9mm gun on my left rib helps me to keep a cool head. A strange thought pierces the surface of my mental stream: How many 16 year olds have infiltrated tight security compounds over the course of espionage’s relatively short history?

Hurried steps echo in the corridor. A short moment of silence is interrupted by the mechanical click of a loaded firearm. A nervous voice is muffled by the wooden door, the crack of a radio following the stereotypical “Over!” A message of completion appears on the screen before me. The data transfer is over

.
Just in time…

I snatch the USB key from the computer and stuff it in the inner pocket of my suit. The door explodes behind me as I burst into a sprint. The blast of a shotgun erupts from behind. I hear the burning metal pellets whistle by my skull as they crash into the window before me, cracking it. My job thus made easier by my pursuers, I dive elbow first into the glass obstacle, and fall through it. The still, artificially fresh air of the office gives way to the dry summer wind. Thirty floors of empty air separate my falling body from the hot pavement.

After a few seconds, I pull the strap hidden under my suit, releasing a parachute camouflaged within. My velocity is reduced abruptly. Overhead, voices shout in anger. I hear the explosions of a familiar shotgun crack through the evening sky. A quick glimpse downwards allows me to estimate to about 15 seconds the remainder of my fall. I take my small gun from its holster and quickly shift my weight forwards, making the parachute dip back. My line of sight now clear, I aim the deadly tool up towards my assailants, and pull the trigger. The recoil of the gun doesn’t help my muscular exhaustion in any way. One of the men’s silhouette tumbles back into the office, a scream of pain accompanying his fall. Once the distance between my feet and the pavement is reduced to about 6 feet, I cut the strings of my parachute and let myself fall to the ground.

A Porsche 911GT3 pulls up, the new girl, Sam, at the wheel. “Where on earth did you find THAT!?” I ask, a little startled by the beautiful German supercar. “Does it really matter? Get in here now!” She replies, her voice barely understandable because of the engine’s steady purr and her heavy Russian accent. I collapse onto the passenger seat, exhausted, and let the muffled roar of the engine drift me away from reality, and into sleep, as Sam’s expert driving gets us far away from any possibility of pursuit.

Man, who knew being a spy was so tiring? They forgot to mention that in James Bond…

…………………………………….ISPY//w//..MYLITTLEEYES……………………………………………………

Stereotypical spy story for this week, also the sequel to this post. I decided to write in present tense this week, as a sort of experiment. And sorry for letting my petrol-head ways show in this post, but if you’re going to escape, might as well do it in style right? Consider yourself lucky. I could have talked about the 3.7L, 475 break horse power V6 in AGONIZING detail for anyone who’s not into that stuff… But I held it all in. That’s dedication right there!

 
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Posted by on 28 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014-Nightime Runaway

I burst forwards, using the trees as leverage. Movement behind me. I turn around in mid air and release a wave of magical heat, vaporizing the vegetation, illuminating the night with deadly flames. I turn back around to face the right direction, ignoring the movement in my peripheral vision, renewing my momentum with the nearest branch. Screeches of rage erupt from the flames behind me. Shivers crawl up my spine. I mustn’t let fear take over. Focus! Focus on the trees before you, not the shadows behind!

Tree. Right foot on the branch, left foot forwards. Eyes spotting for the next stepping stone. Burst of energy through the right heel. Left foot anticipating the next branch. Arms stabilizing the jumps and ready to fire death upon anything that gets too close. Spot. Land. Jump. Repeat.

How long I ran? Who knows? I came down to a stop when the trees did, at the edge of a cliff. It was too dark to see the bottom. My exhaustion could be heard in my breath. Soon, shadows landed around me, four colourful dots in each silhouette’s face. Their long arms nearly reached their feet. Their strange necks twisted around as they observed me. These things had haunted me, manipulated me ever since I escaped their lair, down in the depths of the earth. Then again, I had stolen something from them. Now they had cornered me, at the edge of a cliff, so far from civilisation that none will hear me scream. They waited, patiently. I spat a cuss, realising the predicament I was in. Slowly, I reached inside my pouch and took the artefact out. I laid the mysterious stone on the ground before me, the green runes eerily illuminating the grass.

One of the SoulEaters roared out of what seemed like satisfaction. The creature straight across from me stepped forward and grabbed the stone. I didn’t stop however and kept walking towards me. I tried to move away but I was paralyzed, held in place by a cold, invisible hand. It stopped before me. It rose the stone up to its mouth and breathed on it. The stone vaporised, revealing a bright green light within, like an emerald star encased a body of rock, floating in the monstrous palm of the creature. I shut my eyes.

I was fighting the dread rising within. Be logical. If it wanted you dead, you’d be dead! Then why keep you alive? Logic. Fear. Hope. Fear. Confidence. Fear…. Fear.

The familiar tingle of magical runes on my skin interrupted the mental ballet. The creature’s palm was next to my abdomen, the green light illuminating my doublet. Before I realised what was happening, the green star traversed my clothes, phasing through my skin and logging itself within me. A wave of excruciating pain crashed on my body. I heard myself scream. The invisible hand let me go soon after. My legs refused to obey my brain, and I fell to the floor. I saw the feet of the SoulEaters vanish. I wanted to scream, to move, but my muscles shut down, as if the pain had fried my nervous system. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. They shut despite my best efforts. I was drifting away from reality. The last sensory stimuli I remember came from my ears. “Am I dying?” a shaky, girlish voice said.

No. It wasn’t death. Dreams of terrible creatures chased me through my mind. Memories that didn’t belong to me flowed into my mental river. I saw a boat through a familiar explorer’s eyes. I saw a boy through the eyes of a mother. I saw a house through the eyes of an architect. I was somehow conscious of memories of those that had fallen prey to the SoulEaters. That green light gave me the collective knowledge of hundreds of people, as if I had a sensory library within me, one I could access at will. I was painfully floating back towards reality when I became conscious of the green star’s second gift: I felt a huge, distant reserve of dark power stored within my abdomen. I was focusing on it when the rising sun forced me out of the nightmare.

I realised the ground below me wasn’t grass but sand. The eerie silence of the mountain gave way to the quiet harmony of waves on a beach. The star within me produced a name: Egora, thousands of miles from where I fell unconscious.

::……………..PoWeR//PURPOSE//………………TOOL//VeCtOr.of.WILL//::……………………………………..::

Hello yeahwrite! For those of you not familiar with me (and the many of you who probably forgot), I am running a fantasy series on this blog. This is part three. You’ll find the previous part here, and the whole thing here. Thank you for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed! As always, your thoughts, criticism, and opinions are welcome.

PS: For those who remember the comment section of pt 2, yeah, I’m gonna make this character a girl…

PSS: Bookworm is gonna be at least less active, and at most completely absent from the blogosphere for the next two weeks. She’s out in what some people call “nature”. It’s a strange place where things happen without human intervention or wifi. Crazy right? So you guys are stuck with me for a while… Take that as you will.

PSSS: Isn’t it supposed to be PPS and PPPS, as in post post scriptum, and post post post scriptum?

PSSSS/PPPPS: If you are still reading, congrats! You have just received the Dwagon Seal of Awesome. Now you can brag in the comment section.

 
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Posted by on 21 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014-It’s a rough job…

“The shifts are demanding. Around 7pm-7am, knowing the starting hours vary depending on the day. You have to start the job at the exact assigned time, not a second earlier, not a second later. Everyone has to be in perfect harmony. We’re more synchronised than a orchestra of Swiss watchmakers.

Not only are the shifts hard, but the job itself is hard too. You are expected to be brilliant all the time. You don’t get brakes, not even to go to the bathroom. It’s a job that will anchor you in place for sure.

We’ve got nobody protecting us. We don’t have a union, politicians are always trying to cut our budget, and the media doesn’t give a crap about the real, hard working folks out there.

We’re never appreciated either. One flicker of failure, and any passer-by will be cussing at or about you. Nobody ever compliments us, even if we’re the one lighting up the city. Dogs sometime urinate on us for Christ’s sake! And don’t even get me started on the pay.

It’s a hard job being a lamppost…”

::…………:…………//HIKARI-SUPAKU::::…………………..alwaysrememberthethingsyoudon’t::..

I wasn’t planning on posting anything to the first supergrid this week, as I had already posted something for the Moonshine, and because I was traveling. The idea for the post above came to me while observing the city lights as the plane was taking off. So here is my humble homage to a piece of infrastructure we often forget.
Up next, traffic lights!! 😆

 
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Posted by on 14 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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Speakeasy 169 – On the Outside

He had already been living on the run when she met him on an old town where Order was slightly more relaxed than in other places. But she despised Them all the same. Everybody did in every place that wasn’t Free. And everyone had a different idea of what free was. No one ever knew, they had never been told. The Free did not contact the enslaved; in fact these people didn’t even have a name to categorise them. Not even people. For others, they were: Them. Those out there we rarely heard about. The imperfections of our perfect world, hidden in the shadows, doing all the dirty work, or left Outside to die, or become enslaved by the Order. That was all there was: Outside and Inside. There were no windows, just an unreachable barrier that separated the two. They were worlds apart. The Unnamed, as they called themselves, had chosen this wisely as not only their caste was unmentionable, but most of them had no name, as they had been thrown out at an early age because of an imperfection: A missing limb or a malformed one, a misplaced organ, heart condition, cancer, mismatched eyes. Anything that was below their standards. Unsurprisingly, after a while the Outside was not so sparsely populated anymore.

Walker had come to her town with another, older boy but he had been found. Dreamer’s Walker had escaped and found her accidentally by hiding in the same place she did when the world got too real. Of course at ten years old she wasn’t fully aware of the reason, she just instinctively left when the invisible weight on her skinny shoulders was top heavy. He was Walker because he travelled; the boy with him was also Walker. They didn’t have names so they gave each other names. She was Dreamer. The names they had categorized people. A smart No-name would stay that way, or at least not give away their names too easily, but children are unaware of such silly things as they would see them, so they exchanged names and two days later Dreamer ran away with Walker.

Dreamer then became one of the few with more than one name. They travelled together from village to village, not lovers but instinctively kin and by the time they were 15 they got caught up in some trouble. By that time they were a little less knowledgeable about the world but it could be argued that they were not less foolish for they were at the age when the young mind thinks idealistically and everything is possible.

Our Dreamer and Walker understood more of the world they lived in and its workings, and they would stir unrest in the villages they went to, they would rouse anger in the villages they stopped at, and they would incite the people to rebellion in the villages they left.

Eventually they were reported in one such village and found before they could leave. Dreamer got caught and Walker ran away. She loved Walker dearly as a brother, they had travelled alone together for five years and knew nothing or no one better than each other. She never got to tell him how much she loved him. The next day at the stocks in front of everyone she said nothing but thought it so loud that she convinced herself he had heard it. She died with no regrets and Walker never knew. He could only guess and hope she felt that way because it was the way he felt for her.

Though they were the same age, he had always acted the older brother, protecting her. But it still hadn’t been enough. And he hated himself for that.

And Walker walked alone while Dreamer dreamed above. A lone wolf crying out to the moon. Wolverine. And suddenly, he had a new name.

………*……*………….:…:………:………..DEMDOTS………………………??……….?….

The owner of this blog, B00kworm, is currently somewhere in England, with no wifi and a weak phone signal. It took her three tries to send this to me, one hour for me to type it all up, and god knows how long for her to write 600 words ON HER FREGGIN PHONE! Just barely making it on to the speakeasy Grid. GG bookworm!

 
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Posted by on 9 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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