| Sleepy little town | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 22 2013, 07:58 PM (87 Views) | |
| Azy Sidhe | Jul 22 2013, 07:58 PM Post #1 |
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A glowing orb hung in her vision hovering inches off the workbench she was working at. For a moment it was difficult to discern where the sunlight stopped and her creation began but as the colour stared to shift towards orange and make its way through the entire spectrum its borders became clearer. Pleased with its construction, Alex allows her attention to wander the room to see what the others were doing. There were 12 other people with her. Always 12. Eleven of them where comparable in age to her and practising their own forms of magic. A brunette and a white-blonde were making leaves dance while a ginger boy was creating a chandelier of fireballs. Their elements seemed to fit their personalities, some combing their talents with others as the girls had while some preferred to work alone. The twelfth person in the room was ancient by Alex’s standards and seemed to be there to give guidance or spare them all from disaster when something got out of hand. The room itself wasn’t very large but it was adequate for their studies, with books lining the walls where there wasn’t a four paned window letting daylight in. There were six desks in total with two people at each, male and female. Beside her was a boy with honey-blonde hair matching her own, creating tiny spheres of light that he juggled in one hand, rolling them around in his palm. The sweet aroma of springtime wafted in on the breeze through an open window and mingled with the scents of bound leather and old paper. Closing her eyes, she breaths deep and basks in the stimuli. In an instant her world darkens. Her chest becomes tight and she begins to gasp, drowning in the air that closed thick around her. The tips of her fingers start to grow numb as the cold takes over, turning her control of the orb into a tentative grasp. A dank tendril weaves its way around her core, slipping over a shoulder and down the arm where her creation perched. Unable to move, she watches in horror as the suffocating force gives it a little shove, rolling it off her palm towards the waiting floor where it shatters before dissipating into thin air. Just as quickly as the darkness took hold, she was released. Life returned to her limbs and breathing became an automated task instead of a laborious endeavour. Looking over her shoulder with a scowl, she sees a boy with black hair staring in her direction. When their eyes meet his lips part into a malicious smirk revealing how pleased he was by the destruction of something beautiful. “Aries, you ass. Now I need to make another one.” “Darkness, babe. It’s what I do. Not like you can’t make another one by snapping your fingers.” “That’s not the point!” With a huff, she turns away and focuses on creating another orb. This one didn’t come as easily to her now that her mood was foul and all she could muster was a grey ball that looked more like fog than a shimmering globe of light. Feeling hopeless that she wouldn’t get the task done in time, she is surprised to feel a hand on her forearm. The boy next to her was focusing with her, willing her to recreate the item that was lost. Breaking his concentration, he looks over to her and shares a delightful smile. His amiable nature seemed to melt the misery that had engulfed her and together they were able to form a sphere comparable to that which was lost. Letting it float in place, she would throw her arms around the boy in gratitude and laughter. Casting a glance back to the dark boy, Alex would stick out her tongue in a childish manner only to be greeted by the same gesture causing her giggling to continue. Despite his malevolent behaviour there was a kinship among the twelve that superseded their elemental differences. In half a breath the laughter was gone as the blissful scene began to melt, running and swirling into oblivion. Voices could be heard from all sides, some yelling, others pleading but none of them held an iota of joy. Discussion of death and torture filled the dreamer with hopelessness, vision obscured by the haze one gets when they try and remember a dream. The brilliant colours had bled into ashy greys and deathly blacks. There was no light here. There was no hope. As if a plug had been pulled, the dreamer feels herself being dragged down in to the darkness. Nails clawed at the shadows but this was always how it ended. There was no happy ending. ~~~~~~~~ Alex groaned and rolled onto her back, shielding her eyes from the green illumination that showed it to be the unholy hour of 3am. The dreams always ended the same: A joyful scene destroyed by an ending so macabre that there was no point in sleeping further. When they first started happening, it was frightening, making her feel that it was some omen of danger or peril. Her dreams had occasionally come true before but it was never with enough consistency to say she was a fortune teller or any hocus-pocus like that. This one was different though as nothing ever came from it and eventually the frequency desensitized her to the suffocating blanket of misery that clung to her heart when she awoke. Struggling against the weight of despair and sleep, she throws her blankets off toward the wall and swings her feet to the floor. Rising with a stumble and a step, she makes her way to the small desk that was in her room. On one side were two drawers which held paper, pencils of all types, erasers, notebooks and other miscellaneous art supplies. Reaching to the far back of the top drawer, she pulls out a coil bound exercise book that had doodles all over the front. In typical teenage fashion there was a message scrawled across the front stating who it belonged to and threatening punishment to any who dared read it. This was one of many books she had and would soon join the collection of other completed volumes which were stored under her bed. Fiddling with the desk lamp she flinches as it bleaches out her vision, illuminating a small circle immediately around her desk. With a pained look, she blinks a couple of times; groaning and rubbing alternate eyes until they recovered from the violation. Her hand dropped to the back of the old wooden kitchen chair that was tucked up to the writing table and pulled it out a few inches, plopping down in a less than graceful manner. Her fingers fumbled with the pages until she was presented with the next blank sheet. Her nail catches the edge of the ballpoint pen that was wedged inside the coils and slowly inches it up until she can grab the end, smoothly drawing it out with the quiet thrum as it rubbed each spiral on the way out. When the nub touches the paper, the words begin to flow out, describing in detail what she saw, what she felt… everything she could remember. . . . . . . . . The dreams always had a life of their own, waking her in the middle of her slumber, demanding to be written. Her mind was silent but her body was filled with the compulsion to obey the request, feverishly jotting the words as they spilled from some unknown plane, pouring the story onto the page. As she neared the end of the account, her arms grew heavy as her head would bob slowly towards the desk. Half lidded eyes watch as the letters on the page appear to grow with each nod and no sooner had the point of the pen swivelled to form one last period, her gaze would fade to black as sleep yet again took hold of her form, dragging her under into a dreamless coma. |
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| Azy Sidhe | Feb 11 2014, 06:43 AM Post #2 |
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They say it's darkest just before the dawn, but that's not true. It's darkest halfway between sunset and sunrise and on either side of that there are varying degrees of brilliance. This is the conclusion that Alex comes to every morning that sleep evades her as she lays awake, staring into the black. When she lies down after turning off the light it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust but even after a few minutes the room is no brighter. Very slowly she will begin to notice shapes start to form in the pitch. The tree outside her window will begin to be a moving silhouette that dances with the wind. Her desk and chair morphs into an 8 legged beast armoured in books and using a lamp as a joust. The rough textured ceiling appears smooth for another few hours until the even grey illusion gives way to coarse white gyprock. It was hard to decide whether it was better to be woken up by the things of nightmares or to simply not sleep at all. Not that it was a choice. Medication only made her sleep deeper and dreams worse. When the dawn finally broke and her alarm clock drew her from the trance of sleeplessness, she heaved a sigh of resignation. Today was going to be shit. On the bright side she didn’t have to race anyone to the shower. The other kids either relied on their foster parents to wake them up or had the bad habit of hitting the snooze button two or three times before dragging their weary bodies to the bathroom. Morning was her time to do as she pleased until 8am and it was a ritual for her. M/W/F started with a shower and Tue/Thur were her days to read. Locking the door behind her, Alex would crack the window and turn on the fan. It made for a colder room once the shower was done but it kept the mirror clear from condensation. Reaching into a small drawer with her name written on with pink sparkle paint, she would pull out a tiny radio and switch it on, adjusting the tuning until it had the least amount of static inhibiting the conversation of the local hosts on the ‘we play everything’ station. Her pyjamas would land carelessly behind the door, shielding the light and noise from escaping into the hallway. The sharp bite from the frigid atmosphere sends her scampering into the warmth of the descending water, letting it pull a sigh of contentment from her chest while her whole body is warmed by the steam that would rise and curl over the tension rod holding the curtain in place. Soon she was soaping her hair and mouthing the words to the upbeat Faith Hill song that had come on. Enthralled by the cascading droplets, she barely heard the whine of Brittani over the fan, barking that she’d been in the washroom for too long. With a disgruntled sigh and a heavy hand Alex would twist the knobs to cut the water and get out of her tepid haven, swiftly towelling off and dressing into slightly baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Swinging the door open, her foster sister would look at her like she was a piece of gum stuck to the side walk. “You’re wearing THAT to school.” “Yeah I am, Brittani with an I. I’d rather be wearing this than your face.” The words would fall from her tongue with a sneer and the girls would trade a glance as they pushed passed each other as one exited and the other entered. Good. It meant that she could eat her breakfast in silence then. Tromping down the stairs with rhythmic dah-dump steps, she swings into the kitchen and picks up a large muffin from the flat that Mrs. White had picked up from Costco the previous night. Sitting down, she begins to pick out the blueberries and arrange them in sets of three pairs like the sixth side of a die. Her meticulous process was shortly interrupted by three quick tap-taps on the table, causing her to lift her head and smile at the younger boy who had appeared next to her. “Hey sis. Hey sis. Hey sis. Ar- are those my blueberries? Berries? Berries?” “Yes they are, they are, they are.” Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Alex would hug him quickly three times before letting him go so he could take a seat next to her, readjusting over and over until it felt right. Alex was the only one who could get away with mimicking Kendal’s obsessive pattern of three pairs with out upsetting him. She did it because she liked him despite his disability and he seemed to pick up on the fact that she wasn’t mocking him but rather trying to make him more comfortable by accepting his need for the rhythm. It was the same thing with the blueberries. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them; it was simply that she knew he liked them more. The rest of the household filtered in shortly each grabbing a bite to eat before running off for the day. She had already heard their foster father leave shortly after 6 am for his daily commute into Toronto, which left Karen with five children every morning. The younger two, Darren (8) and Kendal (10) would be dropped off at school but the other three went to a high school that was within walking distance. Getting there wasn’t so bad because Patrick usually walked between the two girls, but M/W/F he had rugby which meant he didn’t leave school until 4:30. Today was going to be shit. ~*~*~*~*~ As she predicted, the day was one uncomfortable event after another. First period was gym, followed by a required arts class, in her case sewing. The fifteen minute break was a welcome breather to stick her nose in a book and be swept away to an alien planet before homeroom for third block. Lunch consisted of a roast beef sandwich and Spartan apple and more pages from her book. Forth block was chemistry, which could have been worse since it wasn’t HER partner who set himself on fire, and finally History rounded out her day. Flopping into her chair at the back of the classroom, Alex settles in for an expected hour of daydreaming. With 15 minutes left, she feels a bump on her shoulder from her boy next to her, his hand pushing a stack of papers to her indicating that she should take one and pass the rest along. Her teacher’s voice was a monotonous drone that seemed to get lost somewhere between her ears and her brain but the permission for explained everything she needed to know. Their Grad field trip to New York was coming up and each of them needed permission from a parent or guardian to go, and a letter of approval to cross the border. Despite being at the back of the class, she was the first out the door when the bell rang to signal the end of the day. Swinging by her locker, she dropped off the books she didn’t need for homework tonight and left the school, not even bothering to see where Brittani might be. She was a big girl; she could take care of herself. Keeping her head down, Alex headed for home in a hurry. She had chores to do and she hoped that she would be able to give the form to Mrs. White before Brittani got home and capitalized on her time. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t noticed when a boy from her class stopped in front of her, causing her to run headlong into his chest. “Watch where you’re going, space cadet. You’d think with all those books you read you’d be smarter than that.” “I’m surprised you think at all with all the books you don’t.” “Stay out of my way” “Not a problem. I try not to cross paths with trolls” Her lungs emptied out in a wheeze as the boys fist connected with her diaphragm, leaving her doubled over his arm as she sucked the air back into her chest. Flipping upright, she drops her back from her shoulder and takes a swing, allowing him to kiss her knuckles. The point of contact quickly began to blossom into a fat lip and by the soured look on his face, his mouth must have been filling with blood. “Not so tough when the girl hits back, are ya?” “Fuckin’ dyke.” “Kinda like your boyfriend?” The banter in a high school fist fight was never expected to be poetry nor was it expected to be mature. This wasn’t the time to take things personally but someone always did. Squaring off again, he would lean in, taunting her to try again. Each word that fell from his bruised lips was designed to enrage. “More like your mother.” <silence> “Pardon… do you want to say that again?” “Your. Mother. Is. A. Dy– “ His words were torn from his mouth as another swinging fist caught him by the cheek and spun him around. Leaping onto his back, they were soon thrashing around on the sidewalk, throwing punches and calling names. Yeah… today was shit. |
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| Wolfy | Feb 29 2016, 07:37 AM Post #3 |
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The Dying Breed
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I awoke to swirling fires and towering flames, to a world that had come to an end. Voices called out in agony and hands reached for aid that would never come. This world had experienced something cataclysmic and the souls who had inhabited it were left without a god to raise them up into perdition, but instead left to the devices of those who had seen it fit to shut off the lights and close-up shop. It seemed to snow, but a second glance would tell you that it was ash. It smeared and permeated everything, the remnants of the once living trying desperately to cling to anything that still had a pulse. I felt sorry for them, the lost souls who had been pitiful enough to stumble on their own survival. They were where they belonged now, under my feet, dust to be forgotten. Even when those come behind me, they will not peer at the ash with interest, but the footprints left in them, further condemning them to be lost to time and history. My wander took me to a tall cliff with a bony, white tree completely devoid of any leaves. It stared out onto a deep valley of roiling rivers of lava and glistening obsidian. Down there were more figures, faces frozen in time amongst the volcanic rock. Failures. All of them. I did not feel sorry for them as my humanity said it should. I felt excited. My blood pumped faster and drum beat in my ears demanded I find another civilization and bring it to its knees. I want to ruin the world, to turn it over and leave it in chaos so that no man could ever right it again. To watch and enjoy beings panic and falter in attempts to make sense as opposed to just changing and living in their new world. From somewhere beneath the flows of molten rock, a massive form shifted, like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. It moved rapidly, rising and sinking again until it burst forth in a tremendous shower of shining shrapnel and scalding red rain drops. Before me was a giant dragon, dark and menacing. It did not move, merely gazed like I did to it, unsure of what to make of the creature before it. Then I awoke, my pulse still racing and a smile on my face. A new day to revel in the daily nuances of disorder. ~||~ New York city, the metropolis where much of the world desired to be, and the heart of the chaos in the United States. Many people wouldn't understand until they had experienced it much in the ways Kurt had, and for such wisdom came a price that had off set his mischief. His parents, a lower-middle-class couple had grown tired of his rule and law breaking and sent him to live with his religious Aunt and Uncle in Canada, where being overly polite was the common flavor of tongue and taking advantage of anyone had no appeal because they all were sheep. Kurt's claim to fame was his ability to hustle and manipulate people. While at home with his Aunt and Uncle, he was kept under close scrutiny and made to complete every last shred of homework, whatever he couldn't talk his way out of doing. At school however, he was the most unseen troublemaker the sleepy little community had ever experienced. If he wasn't scamming lunch money in card games, he was stealing and planting personal items on random individuals and leaving trails back to them only to watch the outcome in a hilarious display of teenage hormones and uncontrolled outrage. That is what he thrived on, that disorder and chaos of the natural order. While gifted with sleight of hand and deft fingers, Kurt could easily move without being noticed or seen. In classes he was noticed just enough to get attendance and then vanishing into the crowd of faces to never be bothered again. Students looked through him, like he was a ghost, something he had willingly hoped for and achieved despite his outwardly unique look that marked him as a hoodlum. These talents were not purely skill, but an unknown realization of his powers from a life long past, powers granted to him through his lineage of an origin that predated most known life. If Kurt wanted to lift a certain item from someone, he didn't so much have to try, as think it and he would magically make it happen... Magically, an apt way to describe much of the way he operated in life, despite his ignorance to the influence on a macro level. The school was hosting a trip soon to the big apple, for those students with a high enough GPA and good behavior. Kurt fell just beneath the requirements, but wanted to go, plans of vanishing into the concrete wilderness to live his life how he wanted, without the adult overseers in his life. All it took was a visit to the guidance counselor's office and a little arm twisting. Mrs. Barrows had a terrible gambling problem, one that Kurt knew about, and had abused viciously over his time spent in Canada. Thanks to this deviant school worker he had skirted trouble on numerous occasions and more calls home to his guardians than seemed reasonable, but it kept both parties happy if both remained silent. This time had proven to be a bit more difficult than usual and took a little more provocation than he had expected, but Mrs. Barrows could never turn down a good game of poker, despite the fact it always seemed like Kurt was rigging the game, even with the cards in her hands the whole time. After pushing her into debt once again, this time a number that would threaten her whole life, Kurt exchanged it for a ticket to New York with his classmates. Silence was golden, but it often came in other forms too. Malicious smile plastered across his lips, he vanished into the bowels of the school, lifting money from several students and heading towards the courtyard that held most of the students during their lunch sessions. These were the battlegrounds of modern-day schools, where the popular kids ruled and the lesser factions lived off of their scraps. Each group had its own strengths and weaknesses and no one faction truly had seized power. American high-schoolers had proved more vicious, but these Canadians seemed almost too happy to just let things progress and ignore natural order. It was infuriating, letting them just exist. Being unseen was a natural talent, but the trait also carried a mirror to it too, where he could all of a sudden become the sole focus of whoever he wanted. A unique ability not frequently used, but one that carried powerful nuances behind it. Making the cheer leading captain fall in love with his bad boy attitude and mysterious demeanor in front of the football captain's whole gang and then placing it square on the wrestling team's captain made for some fun times. Brutes and whores, the whole lot, but they served their purposes well within the realm of one who saw them as ants. Swooning over him and soon over Braden, the Wrestling Captain, as if a spell were cast over her, a fight ensured but moments later as she attempted to proclaim her love's affection. Kurt just slipped a tray of untouched food away from the fray, sat on a table and watched it unfold, chuckling to himself as all stared at them and none looked at him. Here it was too easy, simple people and simple emotions that didn't require much of a push towards disorder. New York was where existence and sensation seemed to bother the city's own existence, as if it had a living desire to cull those on its streets who didn't belong or couldn't survive. Adrenaline flared through his veins at the thought of starting his game back up. If one believed hard enough, or had the gift to see through the veil, the young trickster's shadow would appear not his own, but massive and encompassing, a beast of tremendous size that would chill the whole area. Teeth snapping the sharp skin of a bright red apple, foaming juices fleeing from his lips, he smiles as he chews, "The game is afoot again. First New York and then everyone else." School had been boring and classes, the ones he could be bothered to attend, had held no interest to the miscreant. The brawl during lunch had entertained him enough that he hadn't needed to play much more that day, but whenever little opportunities appeared, he seized them. Such as forcing one person of distaste into another just by changing his direction from a crossed path. Kurt watched as the fight broke out, colorful insults being exchanged, but soon it turned into a vicious attack. He stood only a few meters away, but all seemed to ignore him as they watched the slugfest continue. They shared the same age, but he viewed them all as children in their truly ignorant fashion when it came to ritual beatings and none moving to stop it; not right away at least, some preferring to watch blood spill first. A flash of vicious eyes would catch the girl's for a brief moment before he turned his back and strolled away, hands stuffed into his pockets, the grinning jester on the back of his toque grinning, almost mockingly at her pathetic existence. ~||~ Kurt had supplied the simple signatures for the trip to the states and secured his passport from his keepers. All he had to do was wait for the trip deadline. He didn't have any overwhelming need to pack an overnight bag, just his essentials, which he carried everyday to school regardless of the special circumstances. Between the waning days of school and the trip, he spent ample time gathering names of confirmed students attending the last hurrah before they graduated, taking great pains to plan special gifts for each and everyone to keep the trip into the States eventful and captivating while he bides his time. Kurt didn't have friends and didn't speak to other students unless they served a purpose, but he spent great time getting to know them all, watching and observing from his magical blanket of invisibility and learning what made all of his upper classmen tick. Plucking those strings whenever he felt a pang of boredom kept his hunger for a greater play sated until chance brought him back home. Soon. Soon they would soon see their world crumble and none would so much as think to remember Kurt's presence. Classes would be unbearable, but the excitement for the future made his minor entertainments beforehand all the more methodical and brutal. The school would seem to be turned upside down by conflict and then like a calming wind, would all be swept away with the departure of their bus. |
| Faded from the pages of History... | |
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