Thursday, February 04, 2010
Monday, February 01, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Prince Charming (Revised)
The teacher cast a quick glance towards the class and then she nodded. “You are allowed to go outside.” She said, watching as her students got up from their desks and filed their papers away. Her eyes looked towards a sad faced child in the back. His books old and tattered, something that she had to find in order to give to him, her eyes lingered on the bruise that stained his jaw and the way that he limped when he walked; he was a vulnerable and the children that were weak were the ones that were picked on by the ones that would one day be the leaders.
He walked past her, his eyes darting nervously to her as if afraid that she would lash out at him. He gave her a weak smile, a slight wave before he moved quickly out of the door and closed it behind him. He walked outside, his head lowered and his eyes looking at the ground as he walked. He avoided the children that clustered in groups and moved to the edge of the yard, standing in the shade of the trees. He tried to keep out of the overcast clouds, worried about the snow that always seemed to be falling in his area.
While he tried to blend into the dark edges of the woods, nothing about him enabled him to blend in. While the shadows hid those that better fit into the darkness, nothing about his appearance was dark. Shaggy blond hair hung into his narrow face, his teeth worried his chapped lower lip till it bled. His face was thin, his eyes shadowed, his frame was narrow. His body was bordering on malnourished, his clothes threadbare and worn and when he stood; his shoulders were slumped as if the weight of the world was bearing down on his shoulders.
He seemed to be debating with himself. His eyes closed, a bead of sweat running down over his brow. Something seemed to draw him up, and he lifted his head. He looked around quickly, spotting a patch of yellow flowers. He hurried pulled them up by the stems, haphazardly holding them in his hand while he held another parcel under his arm. He walked across the yard, his left leg holding a limp, breaking what would be a straight and slow stride. His jade eyes were fastened on only one person.
She was a lovely child. She had richly dark skin, pale eyes and a smile that reminded him of someone that he always thought that he could forget. He stood behind her with his bunch of flowers and a battered book that held all the fairy tales that his mother had ever written for him. That she had painstakingly pulled from her memory so that he would be able to remember her when she was gone. His soft green eyes were nervous and a blush covered his normally sad face. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he looked at her and then away from her. As if she were like a Sun, able for him to look at for a brief span of time but never able to take in her full majesty. He never thought that it would be so difficult for him to ask a girl to be his friend. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” He whispered to himself. He hated being in that school for children of the upper Echelon. He was not like the others; he was not rich, or smart. He had no idea who his father was, or have a concrete idea of who is mother was.
He had lurking memories; sometimes he would think that he could hear her voice among the crowds of people. Or sometimes he fancied that he could smell her perfume. Yet, that was all it was for him. His imagination trying to compromise for a person that he had met only once before she died.
Before he realized it, he found that he was standing behind her, nervously trying to decide what he was going to say, how he was going to say it. He had no desire to draw attention to himself, his plan was to get her away from her friends before he asked if she would be his friend as well. He did not have many friends, other than his twin brother. It was he and his brother, it was always them.
“Clarice…? That freak is standing behind you…”
The voice cut him to the quick and his heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe only to have to inhale sharply as he looked up, worried. He saw a smaller boy around his own age glaring at him. The tip of his ears turned red and he lowered his head. He already wished that he had stayed in the shadows, where he normally was. He knew that to all of his classmates, he was considered a freak. There was nothing about him that had any redeeming quality. At ten years old, he was too tall, all arm and leg. He did not blend in to the darker skinned children with the pale eyes and rich parents. He tripped over his own two feet where they were graceful and more often than not, he was a nuisance. He talked when he should stay quiet; he stayed quiet when he should talk. The only people that seemed to understand him were his teacher and his brother. To everyone else nothing about him was right.
When Clarice refused to look at him, he took a deep, steadying breath and reached out to tap her shoulder. “Clarice?”
She kept her back to him, her long black hair falling richly down her violet sweater. She laughed at one of her friend’s jokes, pretending that she had not heard what had been said to her. She turned her head slightly, just enough to prove to her that her friends were telling the truth. She smirked; turning a bit more till her eyes met Kross’ and then her back to him. She continued on with her conversation, talking as if nothing had changed, like he was not behind her.
He stopped fidgeting, a spark of stubborn pride lighting in his eyes and squared his shoulders. A wise man would back down, tuck his tail between his legs and slink off, but he was no wise man. He was a boy that wanted nothing more than to be given a chance and if he was not able to have a chance given to him then he would make his own chance. “Clarice?” He tried again, this time he slid around her, positioning himself so that he was standing within her circle of friends, facing away from the group, presenting himself to her. He lifted his chin and smiled shyly. “H-hi. I’m in your class; I sit in the same row as you and-“
“Duh.” She cut in smoothly and tossed her hair over one shoulder with a flick of her wrist, copying what the older girls on the playground did. She was trying to act older than she was in order to keep her position as the girl that everyone else wanted to emulate. “You’re Kross or something.” She said, ready to end the conversation. She had given him attention, she knew his name. That should be enough for him. What else does he want? A pat on the head like a good little dog? Maybe he wants the scraps from my lunch; he never brings his own food to school. She thought to herself.
“I’m Kross, you know me.” He said happily, his eyes lighting up when he heard her say his name. “I remembered that it was your birthday today and I just wanted to bring you a present.” “It’s to say Happy birthday to you. I remember that you brought in a fairy tale book to show the class so I thought that you’d like another book.”
“Creepy.” One boy muttered, glaring at Kross for daring to interrupt their conversation. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, breaking the circle as he stepped closer to Kross. “You make it a habit of keeping track of what Clarice brings in?”
“Stalker.” One girl chimed in, playing off of one another’s dislike for the boy as she stepped closer to Kross as well, her hands itching to shove him out of their circle and put him back into his place. How dare he? He was nothing more than a freak, not someone that should be talking to them.
He tried ignoring them, his lower lip quivering as he held out the flowers and the book. The flowers were already wilting and as the book was shifted, a page drifted out and fell to the ground. He hurriedly bent down to save the paper, putting it back into the book.“I couldn’t get any wrapping paper…”
“Because your parents were too poor.” One of Clarice’s friends jeered at him, watching as Kross bent down to kick him viciously in his side, sending him sprawling. “That’s where you belong.” He said, putting his foot on him, pushing down. “Don’t think that you belong on the same level as us.”
“He doesn’t have any parents! He just has those people. My parents said that they only reason that they keep him is because they get money. They have to get paid in order to keep him.” Another one chimed in and laughed at the cruel treatment that she saw. She treated it as a game, clapping her hands.
Kross’ face paled, and he struggled, the air knocked from his chest. his shook. “P-please…” He begged, looking up to Clarice. “It’s…just for your birthday.” He said, trying to hold the book and the flowers up to her. “Clarice…” He half pleaded. “Here, Happy Birthday.” “Please.”
“Get off of him.” She ordered with a dark look at the boy that was keeping him down. “Do you want Madam to see you? We’d all get in trouble.” She said and waited till Kross was able to scramble to his feet. The dark haired girl reached out and took the book and the flowers. She pretended to look over the gifts. Turning the book over, taking in the battered cover, the illegible title before she disdainfully handed it over for her friends “Look at that.” She ordered them, her attention shifting back to Kross. “That’s really sweet of you.” She said, her voice laced with honey though her eyes were as deadly and cold as a viper’s.
She had the childish desire to hurt, to wound and to make sure that he never came back to her. “I don’t want your book of fairy tales. I’m too old for them. That book that I brought in was a collector’s item. My daddy bought it for me. I never read it.” She said, casting a glance over her shoulder to see if she should keep going or if they were ready to go onto a better sport. When she saw the look that her friends were giving her, it was a look akin to an animal that was about to go for the throat. “And really, I don’t think that my daddy would want me to take presents from you. Look at you, you’re disgusting. Your clothes are all raggy, everything about you is from charity. Everyone knows it. How you ever got into this school…no one knows. My daddy said that he was going to write a letter to the school to get you kicked out but that he changed his mind only so that I would learn that there are people in the world that get things that they don’t deserve. He said that it was my place to keep you in line.”
The boy nodded, he felt the ground tilt, and he wished that it would crack open and swallow him. He wanted to disappear but her group kept getting and closer to him. They saw weakness and they were about to tear into him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and his hands went clammy, his breathing came in rough pants, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to save face.“But you could have two now and the one that I gave you, it’s different. It’s the only book like that ever written, your father couldn’t buy you one.”
“You think that I care that you have the only garbage fairy tale book? It looks disgusting. Look at he pages, they are falling out and they are yellow. I can’t even read what it says. You couldn’t even get me a new present? You had to give me something that you already used? No wonder your parents don’t love you. No wonder they left you and no one wants you.” She cut into him harshly, going back to his lack of parents and waiting for her friends to back her up.
“They did not leave me! They had no choice!” Kross protested suddenly, his voice cracking with the uncertainty of his own words. He did not know what happened to his parents, no one ever gave him the full story about them. He stepped back and looked around, trying to find a place where he could escape to. The yard seemed to have gone eerily quiet as if it were holding its breath and waiting for the next move to be made. “My parents didn’t leave me, they just…they just… they couldn’t stay, they are going to come back.” He said defiantly, wanting to believe his own lies, not wanting to admit that his parents had left him. That all the words that Clarice was saying could be true. He did not know where his parents were. They got lost trying to find me? He thought to himself. They were going to come back but they got lost. They never would have left me here. They may not have been rich or famous but they were the best parents that anyone could ever want. They weren’t like Clarice’s daddy or mommy. They were nothing like them. They were perfect.
The book flew the air and caught him hard in the shoulder, causing his eyes to fill with tears that were from more than just pain, knocking him from his thoughts. He raised his hand to his shoulder and covered the spot where the book had hit him. He looked around the assembled group and saw one of the boys looking at him with a smirk on his face. He shuddered and looked back at Clarice. “Tell them to leave me alone.” He ordered, “I was just trying to give you a present for your birthday.” He said, trying to sound like the attack had nott hurt him, but his voice wavered, the tears shining in his eyes and threatening to fall. Barely, he was able to control himself. He looked around the circle, trying to find an escape point even as his last escape was blocked by a child that joined the group.
The tide turned suddenly, the boy that had attacked Kross suddenly turned on Clarice.“He thinks that he can be your Prince Charming! Hey Prince Charming, you look a bit small.” He taunted, stepping up to stand next to Clarice. “Go on Clarice, you should kiss him.” The boy shoved her towards Kross, causing her to stumble forward and crash into him.“That’s how all fairy tales end. You have to kiss him.”
Her face flamed in anger and she balled her fists tight against her sides. She raised her hands and shoved Kross, forcing him back away from her. “That’s disgusting! I would never kiss him! Just look at him!” She yelled, “I want nothing to do with him. He’s dirty, he’s lower than us. He doesn’t belong here.” She yelled. Her heel dug into the ground, leaving a small divot as she stepped back into the safety of her group. “He belongs with the bugs in the dirt, he belongs away from me.” She said shortly, her eyes daring Kross to try and defend himself further, more cutting words on the tip of her tongue.
He winced at her words and bent down to pick up the book. The cover had bent and the book was stained with dirt. He lifted his shirt up and tried to wipe it away and fix the cover but it was forever marred from the children’s cruelties. He held the book close to his chest, cradling it as if he could protect it, like it could protect him from further abuse. He looked up at Clarice with a broken expression in his eyes. His face was pale, the bruise on his jaw standing out in stark relief and as she looked him over arrogantly, her eyes fixated on his shoulder where she saw more bruises hinted at underneath his shirt. She shuddered in disgust, wondering how badly he had to behave at home in order to have gotten such a punishment.
She faltered when she saw the state that she brought to boy to, but there was more laughter behind her, egging her on. She scoffed and looked down at him, reducing him to nothing with her eyes. “You’re no Prince Charming…and no matter how many times someone kisses you, you’re never going to be anything but a disgusting nobody. You’re never going to be anyone’s prince charming, you’re never going to fit in and no one is ever going to love you.” She hissed before she stepped forward and shoved him hard. “Get out of here before I tell the teacher that you won’t leave us alone.”
It was all that he could bear. A sob broke through the boy’s lips. He turned away from the group of the children. His shoulders slumped, his head lowered in shame. He heard the laughter and he started to walk, the clock chimed, telling him that he should head back to class and he hurried for the gate to the school. He heard the teacher call out for him, and he started to jog, his feet putting out a beat that mirrored the way that his heart was beating. When he heard the warning whistle, he started to run knowing that it would not be long before she realized the dogs that would chase after him and herd him back for a punishment that would involve a parent teacher meeting and a beating when his foster parents brought him back to their house., When he reached the edge of the playground, he ran faster. He could not stop, her face was in front of him, their laughter was behind him and not even the fear of his foster parents could stop him from racing home. He ran until he reached the street and past the Elite that stared after him. They took in the worn cut of his uniform and allowed him to pass. Even if he was poor, it was still noted in their minds that he was being sponsored by someone. It was not in their best interests to anger his sponsor.
The boy ran across the streets. He ran till the pain spiked in his side and beyond it, he ran until the tears blinded him, till he could not breathe because he was crying too hard. He ran until he tore open the door to his house and ran up the stairs. He crashed into the sparse room that he and his brother shared, glad to see that his brother was still at school. With an angry yell, he threw the book and the flowers away from him. The book hit the wall and the pages fell to the floor, the petals falling from the flowers to land as if weeping on the broken book. He fell to his bed pulled the pillow over his head to stifle the tears.
Clarice was right. He was no one’s Prince Charming. No one loved him, no one would ever love him and as he heard the creak of the stairs and the loud bellowing of his foster father, he curled up tight in a ball. He had left his door open, and as the man walked in and saw the mess, Kross tensed. The man was quiet, and as the door was closed, Kross couldn’t help but whimper in fear.
The book lay discarded and forgotten; its fall had forced it to land with its front cover open. The boy could not look down, to afraid of the punishment that he was about to receive. He could not bear to see the elegant script that crossed over the page.
To my Prince Charming on his first birthday, love always, Momma.
He walked past her, his eyes darting nervously to her as if afraid that she would lash out at him. He gave her a weak smile, a slight wave before he moved quickly out of the door and closed it behind him. He walked outside, his head lowered and his eyes looking at the ground as he walked. He avoided the children that clustered in groups and moved to the edge of the yard, standing in the shade of the trees. He tried to keep out of the overcast clouds, worried about the snow that always seemed to be falling in his area.
While he tried to blend into the dark edges of the woods, nothing about him enabled him to blend in. While the shadows hid those that better fit into the darkness, nothing about his appearance was dark. Shaggy blond hair hung into his narrow face, his teeth worried his chapped lower lip till it bled. His face was thin, his eyes shadowed, his frame was narrow. His body was bordering on malnourished, his clothes threadbare and worn and when he stood; his shoulders were slumped as if the weight of the world was bearing down on his shoulders.
He seemed to be debating with himself. His eyes closed, a bead of sweat running down over his brow. Something seemed to draw him up, and he lifted his head. He looked around quickly, spotting a patch of yellow flowers. He hurried pulled them up by the stems, haphazardly holding them in his hand while he held another parcel under his arm. He walked across the yard, his left leg holding a limp, breaking what would be a straight and slow stride. His jade eyes were fastened on only one person.
She was a lovely child. She had richly dark skin, pale eyes and a smile that reminded him of someone that he always thought that he could forget. He stood behind her with his bunch of flowers and a battered book that held all the fairy tales that his mother had ever written for him. That she had painstakingly pulled from her memory so that he would be able to remember her when she was gone. His soft green eyes were nervous and a blush covered his normally sad face. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he looked at her and then away from her. As if she were like a Sun, able for him to look at for a brief span of time but never able to take in her full majesty. He never thought that it would be so difficult for him to ask a girl to be his friend. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” He whispered to himself. He hated being in that school for children of the upper Echelon. He was not like the others; he was not rich, or smart. He had no idea who his father was, or have a concrete idea of who is mother was.
He had lurking memories; sometimes he would think that he could hear her voice among the crowds of people. Or sometimes he fancied that he could smell her perfume. Yet, that was all it was for him. His imagination trying to compromise for a person that he had met only once before she died.
Before he realized it, he found that he was standing behind her, nervously trying to decide what he was going to say, how he was going to say it. He had no desire to draw attention to himself, his plan was to get her away from her friends before he asked if she would be his friend as well. He did not have many friends, other than his twin brother. It was he and his brother, it was always them.
“Clarice…? That freak is standing behind you…”
The voice cut him to the quick and his heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe only to have to inhale sharply as he looked up, worried. He saw a smaller boy around his own age glaring at him. The tip of his ears turned red and he lowered his head. He already wished that he had stayed in the shadows, where he normally was. He knew that to all of his classmates, he was considered a freak. There was nothing about him that had any redeeming quality. At ten years old, he was too tall, all arm and leg. He did not blend in to the darker skinned children with the pale eyes and rich parents. He tripped over his own two feet where they were graceful and more often than not, he was a nuisance. He talked when he should stay quiet; he stayed quiet when he should talk. The only people that seemed to understand him were his teacher and his brother. To everyone else nothing about him was right.
When Clarice refused to look at him, he took a deep, steadying breath and reached out to tap her shoulder. “Clarice?”
She kept her back to him, her long black hair falling richly down her violet sweater. She laughed at one of her friend’s jokes, pretending that she had not heard what had been said to her. She turned her head slightly, just enough to prove to her that her friends were telling the truth. She smirked; turning a bit more till her eyes met Kross’ and then her back to him. She continued on with her conversation, talking as if nothing had changed, like he was not behind her.
He stopped fidgeting, a spark of stubborn pride lighting in his eyes and squared his shoulders. A wise man would back down, tuck his tail between his legs and slink off, but he was no wise man. He was a boy that wanted nothing more than to be given a chance and if he was not able to have a chance given to him then he would make his own chance. “Clarice?” He tried again, this time he slid around her, positioning himself so that he was standing within her circle of friends, facing away from the group, presenting himself to her. He lifted his chin and smiled shyly. “H-hi. I’m in your class; I sit in the same row as you and-“
“Duh.” She cut in smoothly and tossed her hair over one shoulder with a flick of her wrist, copying what the older girls on the playground did. She was trying to act older than she was in order to keep her position as the girl that everyone else wanted to emulate. “You’re Kross or something.” She said, ready to end the conversation. She had given him attention, she knew his name. That should be enough for him. What else does he want? A pat on the head like a good little dog? Maybe he wants the scraps from my lunch; he never brings his own food to school. She thought to herself.
“I’m Kross, you know me.” He said happily, his eyes lighting up when he heard her say his name. “I remembered that it was your birthday today and I just wanted to bring you a present.” “It’s to say Happy birthday to you. I remember that you brought in a fairy tale book to show the class so I thought that you’d like another book.”
“Creepy.” One boy muttered, glaring at Kross for daring to interrupt their conversation. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, breaking the circle as he stepped closer to Kross. “You make it a habit of keeping track of what Clarice brings in?”
“Stalker.” One girl chimed in, playing off of one another’s dislike for the boy as she stepped closer to Kross as well, her hands itching to shove him out of their circle and put him back into his place. How dare he? He was nothing more than a freak, not someone that should be talking to them.
He tried ignoring them, his lower lip quivering as he held out the flowers and the book. The flowers were already wilting and as the book was shifted, a page drifted out and fell to the ground. He hurriedly bent down to save the paper, putting it back into the book.“I couldn’t get any wrapping paper…”
“Because your parents were too poor.” One of Clarice’s friends jeered at him, watching as Kross bent down to kick him viciously in his side, sending him sprawling. “That’s where you belong.” He said, putting his foot on him, pushing down. “Don’t think that you belong on the same level as us.”
“He doesn’t have any parents! He just has those people. My parents said that they only reason that they keep him is because they get money. They have to get paid in order to keep him.” Another one chimed in and laughed at the cruel treatment that she saw. She treated it as a game, clapping her hands.
Kross’ face paled, and he struggled, the air knocked from his chest. his shook. “P-please…” He begged, looking up to Clarice. “It’s…just for your birthday.” He said, trying to hold the book and the flowers up to her. “Clarice…” He half pleaded. “Here, Happy Birthday.” “Please.”
“Get off of him.” She ordered with a dark look at the boy that was keeping him down. “Do you want Madam to see you? We’d all get in trouble.” She said and waited till Kross was able to scramble to his feet. The dark haired girl reached out and took the book and the flowers. She pretended to look over the gifts. Turning the book over, taking in the battered cover, the illegible title before she disdainfully handed it over for her friends “Look at that.” She ordered them, her attention shifting back to Kross. “That’s really sweet of you.” She said, her voice laced with honey though her eyes were as deadly and cold as a viper’s.
She had the childish desire to hurt, to wound and to make sure that he never came back to her. “I don’t want your book of fairy tales. I’m too old for them. That book that I brought in was a collector’s item. My daddy bought it for me. I never read it.” She said, casting a glance over her shoulder to see if she should keep going or if they were ready to go onto a better sport. When she saw the look that her friends were giving her, it was a look akin to an animal that was about to go for the throat. “And really, I don’t think that my daddy would want me to take presents from you. Look at you, you’re disgusting. Your clothes are all raggy, everything about you is from charity. Everyone knows it. How you ever got into this school…no one knows. My daddy said that he was going to write a letter to the school to get you kicked out but that he changed his mind only so that I would learn that there are people in the world that get things that they don’t deserve. He said that it was my place to keep you in line.”
The boy nodded, he felt the ground tilt, and he wished that it would crack open and swallow him. He wanted to disappear but her group kept getting and closer to him. They saw weakness and they were about to tear into him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and his hands went clammy, his breathing came in rough pants, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to save face.“But you could have two now and the one that I gave you, it’s different. It’s the only book like that ever written, your father couldn’t buy you one.”
“You think that I care that you have the only garbage fairy tale book? It looks disgusting. Look at he pages, they are falling out and they are yellow. I can’t even read what it says. You couldn’t even get me a new present? You had to give me something that you already used? No wonder your parents don’t love you. No wonder they left you and no one wants you.” She cut into him harshly, going back to his lack of parents and waiting for her friends to back her up.
“They did not leave me! They had no choice!” Kross protested suddenly, his voice cracking with the uncertainty of his own words. He did not know what happened to his parents, no one ever gave him the full story about them. He stepped back and looked around, trying to find a place where he could escape to. The yard seemed to have gone eerily quiet as if it were holding its breath and waiting for the next move to be made. “My parents didn’t leave me, they just…they just… they couldn’t stay, they are going to come back.” He said defiantly, wanting to believe his own lies, not wanting to admit that his parents had left him. That all the words that Clarice was saying could be true. He did not know where his parents were. They got lost trying to find me? He thought to himself. They were going to come back but they got lost. They never would have left me here. They may not have been rich or famous but they were the best parents that anyone could ever want. They weren’t like Clarice’s daddy or mommy. They were nothing like them. They were perfect.
The book flew the air and caught him hard in the shoulder, causing his eyes to fill with tears that were from more than just pain, knocking him from his thoughts. He raised his hand to his shoulder and covered the spot where the book had hit him. He looked around the assembled group and saw one of the boys looking at him with a smirk on his face. He shuddered and looked back at Clarice. “Tell them to leave me alone.” He ordered, “I was just trying to give you a present for your birthday.” He said, trying to sound like the attack had nott hurt him, but his voice wavered, the tears shining in his eyes and threatening to fall. Barely, he was able to control himself. He looked around the circle, trying to find an escape point even as his last escape was blocked by a child that joined the group.
The tide turned suddenly, the boy that had attacked Kross suddenly turned on Clarice.“He thinks that he can be your Prince Charming! Hey Prince Charming, you look a bit small.” He taunted, stepping up to stand next to Clarice. “Go on Clarice, you should kiss him.” The boy shoved her towards Kross, causing her to stumble forward and crash into him.“That’s how all fairy tales end. You have to kiss him.”
Her face flamed in anger and she balled her fists tight against her sides. She raised her hands and shoved Kross, forcing him back away from her. “That’s disgusting! I would never kiss him! Just look at him!” She yelled, “I want nothing to do with him. He’s dirty, he’s lower than us. He doesn’t belong here.” She yelled. Her heel dug into the ground, leaving a small divot as she stepped back into the safety of her group. “He belongs with the bugs in the dirt, he belongs away from me.” She said shortly, her eyes daring Kross to try and defend himself further, more cutting words on the tip of her tongue.
He winced at her words and bent down to pick up the book. The cover had bent and the book was stained with dirt. He lifted his shirt up and tried to wipe it away and fix the cover but it was forever marred from the children’s cruelties. He held the book close to his chest, cradling it as if he could protect it, like it could protect him from further abuse. He looked up at Clarice with a broken expression in his eyes. His face was pale, the bruise on his jaw standing out in stark relief and as she looked him over arrogantly, her eyes fixated on his shoulder where she saw more bruises hinted at underneath his shirt. She shuddered in disgust, wondering how badly he had to behave at home in order to have gotten such a punishment.
She faltered when she saw the state that she brought to boy to, but there was more laughter behind her, egging her on. She scoffed and looked down at him, reducing him to nothing with her eyes. “You’re no Prince Charming…and no matter how many times someone kisses you, you’re never going to be anything but a disgusting nobody. You’re never going to be anyone’s prince charming, you’re never going to fit in and no one is ever going to love you.” She hissed before she stepped forward and shoved him hard. “Get out of here before I tell the teacher that you won’t leave us alone.”
It was all that he could bear. A sob broke through the boy’s lips. He turned away from the group of the children. His shoulders slumped, his head lowered in shame. He heard the laughter and he started to walk, the clock chimed, telling him that he should head back to class and he hurried for the gate to the school. He heard the teacher call out for him, and he started to jog, his feet putting out a beat that mirrored the way that his heart was beating. When he heard the warning whistle, he started to run knowing that it would not be long before she realized the dogs that would chase after him and herd him back for a punishment that would involve a parent teacher meeting and a beating when his foster parents brought him back to their house., When he reached the edge of the playground, he ran faster. He could not stop, her face was in front of him, their laughter was behind him and not even the fear of his foster parents could stop him from racing home. He ran until he reached the street and past the Elite that stared after him. They took in the worn cut of his uniform and allowed him to pass. Even if he was poor, it was still noted in their minds that he was being sponsored by someone. It was not in their best interests to anger his sponsor.
The boy ran across the streets. He ran till the pain spiked in his side and beyond it, he ran until the tears blinded him, till he could not breathe because he was crying too hard. He ran until he tore open the door to his house and ran up the stairs. He crashed into the sparse room that he and his brother shared, glad to see that his brother was still at school. With an angry yell, he threw the book and the flowers away from him. The book hit the wall and the pages fell to the floor, the petals falling from the flowers to land as if weeping on the broken book. He fell to his bed pulled the pillow over his head to stifle the tears.
Clarice was right. He was no one’s Prince Charming. No one loved him, no one would ever love him and as he heard the creak of the stairs and the loud bellowing of his foster father, he curled up tight in a ball. He had left his door open, and as the man walked in and saw the mess, Kross tensed. The man was quiet, and as the door was closed, Kross couldn’t help but whimper in fear.
The book lay discarded and forgotten; its fall had forced it to land with its front cover open. The boy could not look down, to afraid of the punishment that he was about to receive. He could not bear to see the elegant script that crossed over the page.
To my Prince Charming on his first birthday, love always, Momma.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Nothing but a Rough Draft of the Lindsay-Sinclair Family (WIP)
This is nothing more than a rough draft, a quick scribbling of ideas so that I didn't forget them. Eventually, I'll write out each of their character drafts and post them here, and then I'll be able to start writing snippets with them. I already know that Sinclair seems to resonate to the song: Broken by Lifehouse but I'm not sure yet why.
Lindsay-Sinclair Family:
An old blood/pureblood family. The three remaining men come off as arrogant but they are the benefactors of the town that they live in. It is through them that most of their town is able to be able to survive on.
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay –Sinclair I
Nickname: Sinclair
Father: Swain Lindsay-Sinclair
Mother: Keren Lindsay-Sinclair
Note: **Both Keren and Swain are still alive but they are estranged)
Siblings: Arcadia Lindsay-Sinclair (Deceased)
Rank in Family: Patriarch
Family Motto: Orbis terrarum mos exuro (The world will burn)
Children: Two: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair II and Arcadia Keren Lindsay-Sinclair (Step-son: Madison Vaitash’ehl, step-grandson Wolfe Vaitash’ehl)
Wife: Seville Lindsay-Sinclair (Deceased)
Note: The power to rule was given to the men. The men were the protectors but it was the women that held the true power. The Lindsay-Sinclair family was an ancient bloodline that was passed on through the female-bloodline. There was nothing more sacred to the men than their wives and children. Boys were raised to be respectful to women, to love and cherish them as the lifegivers and the girls were raised to be strong, able to be worthy of holding the Matriarch position.
The Matriarchs were the figureheads in many ways. They constantly went with the Patriarchs, in many ways, they were as equal as possible.
After Sinclair became the Patriarch, he fell in love with a woman named Seville Vaitash’ehl. Her reputation hadn’t grown to such a level yet, she was still a small-time scientist, one that worked in the field of experimental medicine. They courted for a few months and Sinclair asked her to marry him, he even went as far as to give up his last name (Lindsay-Sinclair) and took the name of Vaitash’ehl. (Becoming Ignatius Finnegan Vaitash’ehl)
It was after they got married that Ignatius found that his wife didn’t want to have children right away, that she wanted to concentrate on her career more and wait till she was older to have children. He stood by and watched with trepidation as his wife grew obsessed with a project that she code named: “Mockingbird”. She started spending more and more time away from him, breaking the tradition that men and women were equal in his family, and when they argued, she would bring up that she wasn’t’ a ‘Lindsay-Sinclair’ but that he was a ‘Vaitash’ehl’ and that he would follow what she said because her family was of stronger stuff than his dying line.
She came home one night, inebriated, and she cheerfully told him that she was pregnant. Sinclair obviously knew that the child wasn’t his but there was little that he could do about it. His family code stated that divorce was not permitted and that the only way that there could be an annulment was if the woman was not capable of bearing children.
Seville gave birth to a baby boy that she named Madison Vaitash’ehl.
When Madison turned twenty, he had a son that he named Wolfehart and he handed the child over to his uncle, Alcion to take care of.
It was around that time when Seville broke through and came up with what she named the Vaitash cure, something that was able to cure the prevalent virus of that time, the world was in an uproar, divided against whether to get it or to bypass it because of ‘government intrusion’. Yet, the virus that it cured seemed to gain a foothold and a pandemic happened, there was a rush to get the ‘cure’ and women and children were vaccinated first. Seville, and her son Madison, were the first ones to get the shot. Madison in public and Seville in private.
A few years later when the next generation as being born and the female children were dying before they reached viability that it was found that the ‘cure’ caused the females to die. Not only was there that, but those that got the initial vaccination dying in slow, torturous ways. During that time, Seville finally consented to carry a child for Sinclair and she found out that they were going to have twins. She knew what was going to happen but at that point, she didn’t care. She and Sinclair had been in a loveless marriage for years, she had been unfaithful and even he had been known to slip and have his own transgressions.
She gave birth to one child, Ignatius Finnegan Vaitash’ehl.
Her daughter, Arcadia Keren Vaitash’ehl had died during the pregnancy and had been assimilated by her twin.
Sinclair was grief-stricken, he demanded answers and Seville told him what she had done all those years ago. When that knowledge sunk in, Sinclair retreated and tended to his son but his anger grew till he snapped. He murdered Seville and retook the name of ‘Lindsay-Sinclair’. He raised his own son, a sickly child, and it was then that he realized that his sin in killing Seville affected the overall health of his son. He spent a tremendous amount of money trying to make his son better and finally settled on a doctor/scientist named Redemption St. Cruix. –More on Redemption when I write about Lindsay--
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair II
Nickname: Lindsay
Father: Sinclair
Mother: Seville
Siblings: Arcadia (deceased though her spirit resides in his body)
Notes: --to be written in later--
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair III
Nickname: Sin
Father: Lindsay
Mother: N/A (he was a ‘test tube’ baby his father was too sick to be able to have a child otherwise)
Siblings: None
Notes: --later---
Name: Arcadia Keren Sinclair-Lindsay
Nickname: Arc
Info: --later--
Name: Seville Vaitash’ehl
Nickname: N/A (Bitch would work)
Info: --later--
Note: I came up with the rather dorky name of 'Ignatius Finnegan' at work. We were joking about names and I came up with Ignatius Finnegan, for some reason I couldn't get the name out of my head and then from there came the characters that are slowly being fleshed out.
Lindsay-Sinclair Family:
An old blood/pureblood family. The three remaining men come off as arrogant but they are the benefactors of the town that they live in. It is through them that most of their town is able to be able to survive on.
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay –Sinclair I
Nickname: Sinclair
Father: Swain Lindsay-Sinclair
Mother: Keren Lindsay-Sinclair
Note: **Both Keren and Swain are still alive but they are estranged)
Siblings: Arcadia Lindsay-Sinclair (Deceased)
Rank in Family: Patriarch
Family Motto: Orbis terrarum mos exuro (The world will burn)
Children: Two: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair II and Arcadia Keren Lindsay-Sinclair (Step-son: Madison Vaitash’ehl, step-grandson Wolfe Vaitash’ehl)
Wife: Seville Lindsay-Sinclair (Deceased)
Note: The power to rule was given to the men. The men were the protectors but it was the women that held the true power. The Lindsay-Sinclair family was an ancient bloodline that was passed on through the female-bloodline. There was nothing more sacred to the men than their wives and children. Boys were raised to be respectful to women, to love and cherish them as the lifegivers and the girls were raised to be strong, able to be worthy of holding the Matriarch position.
The Matriarchs were the figureheads in many ways. They constantly went with the Patriarchs, in many ways, they were as equal as possible.
After Sinclair became the Patriarch, he fell in love with a woman named Seville Vaitash’ehl. Her reputation hadn’t grown to such a level yet, she was still a small-time scientist, one that worked in the field of experimental medicine. They courted for a few months and Sinclair asked her to marry him, he even went as far as to give up his last name (Lindsay-Sinclair) and took the name of Vaitash’ehl. (Becoming Ignatius Finnegan Vaitash’ehl)
It was after they got married that Ignatius found that his wife didn’t want to have children right away, that she wanted to concentrate on her career more and wait till she was older to have children. He stood by and watched with trepidation as his wife grew obsessed with a project that she code named: “Mockingbird”. She started spending more and more time away from him, breaking the tradition that men and women were equal in his family, and when they argued, she would bring up that she wasn’t’ a ‘Lindsay-Sinclair’ but that he was a ‘Vaitash’ehl’ and that he would follow what she said because her family was of stronger stuff than his dying line.
She came home one night, inebriated, and she cheerfully told him that she was pregnant. Sinclair obviously knew that the child wasn’t his but there was little that he could do about it. His family code stated that divorce was not permitted and that the only way that there could be an annulment was if the woman was not capable of bearing children.
Seville gave birth to a baby boy that she named Madison Vaitash’ehl.
When Madison turned twenty, he had a son that he named Wolfehart and he handed the child over to his uncle, Alcion to take care of.
It was around that time when Seville broke through and came up with what she named the Vaitash cure, something that was able to cure the prevalent virus of that time, the world was in an uproar, divided against whether to get it or to bypass it because of ‘government intrusion’. Yet, the virus that it cured seemed to gain a foothold and a pandemic happened, there was a rush to get the ‘cure’ and women and children were vaccinated first. Seville, and her son Madison, were the first ones to get the shot. Madison in public and Seville in private.
A few years later when the next generation as being born and the female children were dying before they reached viability that it was found that the ‘cure’ caused the females to die. Not only was there that, but those that got the initial vaccination dying in slow, torturous ways. During that time, Seville finally consented to carry a child for Sinclair and she found out that they were going to have twins. She knew what was going to happen but at that point, she didn’t care. She and Sinclair had been in a loveless marriage for years, she had been unfaithful and even he had been known to slip and have his own transgressions.
She gave birth to one child, Ignatius Finnegan Vaitash’ehl.
Her daughter, Arcadia Keren Vaitash’ehl had died during the pregnancy and had been assimilated by her twin.
Sinclair was grief-stricken, he demanded answers and Seville told him what she had done all those years ago. When that knowledge sunk in, Sinclair retreated and tended to his son but his anger grew till he snapped. He murdered Seville and retook the name of ‘Lindsay-Sinclair’. He raised his own son, a sickly child, and it was then that he realized that his sin in killing Seville affected the overall health of his son. He spent a tremendous amount of money trying to make his son better and finally settled on a doctor/scientist named Redemption St. Cruix. –More on Redemption when I write about Lindsay--
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair II
Nickname: Lindsay
Father: Sinclair
Mother: Seville
Siblings: Arcadia (deceased though her spirit resides in his body)
Notes: --to be written in later--
Name: Ignatius Finnegan Lindsay-Sinclair III
Nickname: Sin
Father: Lindsay
Mother: N/A (he was a ‘test tube’ baby his father was too sick to be able to have a child otherwise)
Siblings: None
Notes: --later---
Name: Arcadia Keren Sinclair-Lindsay
Nickname: Arc
Info: --later--
Name: Seville Vaitash’ehl
Nickname: N/A (Bitch would work)
Info: --later--
Note: I came up with the rather dorky name of 'Ignatius Finnegan' at work. We were joking about names and I came up with Ignatius Finnegan, for some reason I couldn't get the name out of my head and then from there came the characters that are slowly being fleshed out.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
War is Inevitable
Pantheras heard the door to his office be pushed open. He lifted his head slightly from the book that he was trying to decipher, trying to make it seem like he was still working as he saw who the intruder was. The light from the lamp flickered over the emaciated face of his tired, youngest sibling.. Fever bright blue eyes looked through the dimly lit room and landed on him. The penetrating gaze was far too old to belong to the eyes of a ten year old.
It’s cold.” The voice cut through the shadows. It was devoid of emotion, there was nothing in his tone to indicate that there was any hope left for them. The men knew what they were fighting for, they were able to remember a better time, but Pantheras was unable to make his brother understand that things had been better, that there had been a time when food was plentiful and when the sky could be seen instead of the black haze of smoke and the red dawn of blood and explosions. The boy’s words were a small statement of fact, there was nothing that could be done, no magical warmth that could be granted and he knew it. Yet he needed to go to the General and tell him that they were short on supplies. No one else could order a raid that would be listened to.
It was to the General that he went to. No one else can be the leader. No one else can make everyone listen and stop fighting. He speaks and we forget that our stomachs are rumbling. He looks at us and we see a time that is better. Everyone suffers for a cause…I don’t understand much but I know that there is nothing that can be done without the permission of the General.
He was the leader of their rag tag group of rebels. He knew the inner workings of the Lux, he knew how far the quarantine stretched, and he knew the Vaitash Cure in the most intimate fashion. He knew how to be a leader in their time of war. It was a war that they knew that they could not lose. They weren’t fighting for the general good, but for an idea, for the right to be wrong, for the right to learn from their mistakes instead of recycled as soon as they showed signs of dissention.
The small child slid up to the man that was sitting at the desk. The General cast a formidable shadow in the dying light and the child did his best to step around it, afraid to disturb even that. He stood next to him, his hands clasping together and he waited. Minutes past and there were no sign of recognition, no sign that the General would ever stop his work to look at him. Slowly, he gained enough courage and reached up, lacing his cold hand around a few of the older man’s fingers tugging gently to get his attention. “Brother…it’s very cold.”
The man was the General but he was also a Brother and an uncle. He was leading men into their deaths, or into their potential deaths, yet he was also a family man. One bound by honor and sacrifice. He was scarred from his own capture by the Lux, discarding even his own true last name and developing one that his siblings had taken as well: Lladimieriav.
The man looked down finally when he felt the hand tugging at him. His tired golden eyes took in the child that was holding onto him. He registered the fear and the hopelessness and for once, the normally eloquent man was struck silent. Something inside of him seemed to melt and he twisted his chair around, drawing the child into his arms, pillowing him against the warmth that all Phoenixes of maturity held.“Ah… I’m sorry Constintin.” He whispered.
Many of his men considered him cold, detached from everything but the war, even most of his brothers considered him the same way. There were only four that were able to see him as anything but the General. . He reached out, running his hands through Constintin’s snared hair. “Did the fire go out?” He asked gently, before his hands fell down to his shoulders, feeling the tremors that racked his body and the heat that radiated from him due to his sickness. They had no choice but to speak quietly just in case there was a passing patrol. It’d be nearly impossible for a patrol to wonder so far out into the wilderness and away from the safety of the city but he’d never believe that they were truly safe till the war was won.
“I’m sorry Constintin; this was the last thing that I wanted to draw you into.” He whispered into his ear. They called him heartless when he had saved his last sibling from the Facility yet he could so no other alternative. The child was of Lladimieriav blood, a son of Kirill and one of his many conquests. He had made a promise to himself when he was young that he’d never allow any of his family to be left alone in the world and that was a promise that he was working hard to keep.
Yet, even though he had planned for every alternative as he had rose in rank, he had never foreseen that the Lux would usurp him and through him from the title of Prince, taking over his Sphere. He thought that he would be able to win the war in two years, The Elite and Delta Squads would be sent in to aid him but the help never came for either side. The war was never-ending. One side would gain a foothold and the other side would surge, knocking them back.
War is never glamorous, it is never something that should be portrayed as every person’s dream. I’m not fighting for my country this time. There is no country left to fight for. I’m fighting for an idea, to make sure that my family survives. I don’t care if the world burns, I’ll allow it to burn around me, , I’ll light the match and start the fire but no one is going to kill my family in order to further their own political gains. No one will fight with us, but no one will fight with them either. We are like a poisonous blight on the landscape, an entire sphere under quarantine. Whoever is victorious will claim dominance. I know that if I lose this fight my entire family… He lowered his head and kissed the sandy mop of hair on the youngest of his sibling’s head, afraid to even think the words of what would happen if they lost.
The Lladimieriav branch of the Phoenixes was famous for being the best bodyguards that could ever be raised and trained. They were strong fighters in one area of expertise, but learned the art of each of the other brothers enough to where they could handle themselves. When he had been Alecuian, he had built up the family as one of the strongest. He had found his half brothers scattered around the world, each denoted with the golden eyes and tall frame of the warrior branch.
“Pantheras, we ran out of firewood…” Came the quiet voice again pulling him out of his thoughts. It was just another soft reminder of all that they were lacking. Warm clothes, food, firewood, the list continued. There wasn’t a night when he was able to sleep fully without thinking of something that he had to do for the next day, if they’d be allowed to have a next day.. There were too many worries laid on his shoulders; too many things to do. He was awake at a cough or a sneeze, praying to the Gods that abandoned him that he didn’t have a sick brother, or if that that they were sick that their fever would break, that they would survive. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing a brother. They should have never been pulled into this war, they could have lived lives that were better, not one that is spent looking down the barrel of a weapon that is held by a man that wants them dead.
“They sent you to tell me?” He asked, finally breaking the silence before he tilted his head back, an errant moonbeam crossing his face and exposing the black brand that crossed the right side of his face. The moon showed the tattoos that lined his throat, which dipped down and crossed every inch of his body. They were his sins listed out on flesh, marked in black ink by the hands of the ultimate Sinner. They covered his scars, made him seem like he was a monster, it gave the opposing side horror stories that they could build off of. He would do anything to weaken the morale of the side that was well fed, and healthy.
He felt Constintin as he nodded. “They said that you’d get mad at anyone that wasn’t me.” He breathed out quietly before he reached up and tugged on a long brown lock of his brother’s hair, pulling it from his messy ponytail , allowing it to fall over his chiseled and scarred face. “You’re not mad at me are you?” He breathed out, the fluid in his lungs causing his every breath to rattle in way that worried the older man. “Because…because it’s not too cold… you don’t have to worry.” He tried to soothe, burying his face into the man’s chest and holding onto him tightly.
He’s trying to make me feel better… Gods damn me again… Pantheras thought before he stood up, holding up the too-thin child to him. He closed his eyes, a flicker of grief passing over his face as he felt the slender rib-bones of the child against his hands. War shouldn’t tear away innocence. He was the one that I promised would grow up in a warm and loving home… out of all of us that was never able to have it, I wanted to be able to give it to him. I just wanted him to know that he was safe. I didn’t want to have him worry about how to stay warm or how to ration food. War…my foolish pride and ambition. I didn’t think as far ahead as I should have. My family doesn’t deserve this. I should have never allowed this to escalate.
There couldn’t be a peace treaty, he knew that, it was too late, blood had been spilt on both sides, injustices have been done and the only thing that would help would be an end to the war. “I’m not worrying. I can’t afford to worry about how the war is going to end. I can only worry about tonight. I can only control now.” He muttered. He moved through the house, he stepped over chairs that were missing legs, that were missing seats. He stepped over priceless books that only had their covers left, that were gutted and discared, another distressing causality to the war. Whatever could be burned was being burned, and even though they were surrounded by the forest, all it would take were for a fly over to notice that the woods were being thinned for their entire base to be found. It was why the wallpaper was stripped from the wall and discarded in an attempt to get to the wood paneling underneath. The cupboards were stripped of their doors, shelves were torn off and as the war pressed on, the family was moved to a central room, to one heat source in order to save as much as the fuel as they could. Slowly, their ancestral home that was big enough to comfortably support fifty men if they should need it was being torn apart around them. “I never bother worrying about the inevitable. It all ends the same.” He explained, speaking to his youngest as if he were an adult, yet he never clarified in what he considered the inevitable.
He walked into the room where his other eight brothers and his Tenebrae sat in misery in front of a fire that had died out, the embers had cooled rapidly with the severe winter that they were used to living through. “Stop sending a child in to do your job.” Pantheras ordered, straightening and his countenance changing. Gone was the man that was plagued by indecision, in his place was the man that was the leader of the Tenebrae, the sort of man that showed little emotion.. He glared down at the Tenebrae, the men that he had assembled and who had volunteered to serve him.. “The fire went out and you sent in a child to tell me? It’s no wonder that the war has dragged on for so long. None of you have the courage to brave the outside without me. You’d send Constintin outside if it meant that you would save your own skins.” He said, his words pitched low, disgusted with the twenty-five men that he had left.
Pantheras lowered the child to the floor and gently pushed him towards the red haired doctor. One of the few that he trusted, the man who had been given the name of the Ultimate Sinner.“Go to Brice.” He ordered harshly before he looked back to his men. “The rest of you, we have a raid tonight. So, Rotation’s up. Curse, Maelstrom, Rameses, Anastas, Calum. Dress warm, we’re going out. Brice-“
“I don’t take orders from you.” Came the instant reply.
“Quiet and get ready to take in shipment. Be ready to take in and deal with any wounded.” He dismissed his friend with a dark look, one that Brice could look through. He knew that the winter had only just begun and the food that they had stolen weeks ago had been mean to last longer but food never lasted long when they were all trying to stay healthy enough to fight.He regarded the men whose name he had uttered. “We’re after fuel, food, warmer clothes, and guns, if you find guns; you’d better bring back ammunition. You leave behind any luxury, that’s not what we are going into the city for. I want blankets; I want things that will make this wretched place something that we can survive in. I want clothing, warmer coats. If you have to pull them off of the men that you kill, do it. Leave nothing behind that can help us. We’ll break into teams. Rameses, you’re with Calum, Curse and Maelstrom, Anastas, you’re with me.”
From the shadows stepped a man whose name Pantheras never had to say. He was the quiet force that kept him standing. That reminded him that while they lives were five hundred years in duration, that he could die, and that he was dying.
“Grym…” James. “You’re with me.”
There came a brief nod from the emerald haired man that held almost as many scars as Pantheras. He spoke rarely, and only when there was something important for him to say.
War I hope that we’re all able to survive this.
“Move out!” He ordered, his golden eyes snapping, “Take no times to say goodbye, you’ll see each other again in a few hours.” He promised, grabbing his gun and his knives, strapping them into place. He opened the door, the bitter winter wind stinging his face, trying to shove him inside where he’d be cold but safe. Pushing his shoulder into the wind, he walked out, forging the path, always the leader, always the initial target.
“Let’s see if we can find the Gods that has forsaken us.” He whispered to himself, his lungs protesting as they walked. The hint of pollution that got worse as they neared the city was almost enough to drive him to his knees. The Vaitash Cure started to reactivate and as he stared at the dead city with militants patrolling, paranoid by the shadows, he slipped his black face mask over his mouth and motioned with one leather clad hand for his men to break into the teams.
With Grym at his back, and his team ready for another night, they slunk through the shadows.
War is inevitable, but it is like chess. Any side can win as long as they keep on the defensive. People always found it odd that my Knight was my first move, that my queen was never my wild. They never realized that my pawns were my true strength, it is just like now. The Lux will never realize that my family is the reason why I am able to combat whatever is thrown at me, they are the reason why this war will be won.
It’s cold.” The voice cut through the shadows. It was devoid of emotion, there was nothing in his tone to indicate that there was any hope left for them. The men knew what they were fighting for, they were able to remember a better time, but Pantheras was unable to make his brother understand that things had been better, that there had been a time when food was plentiful and when the sky could be seen instead of the black haze of smoke and the red dawn of blood and explosions. The boy’s words were a small statement of fact, there was nothing that could be done, no magical warmth that could be granted and he knew it. Yet he needed to go to the General and tell him that they were short on supplies. No one else could order a raid that would be listened to.
It was to the General that he went to. No one else can be the leader. No one else can make everyone listen and stop fighting. He speaks and we forget that our stomachs are rumbling. He looks at us and we see a time that is better. Everyone suffers for a cause…I don’t understand much but I know that there is nothing that can be done without the permission of the General.
He was the leader of their rag tag group of rebels. He knew the inner workings of the Lux, he knew how far the quarantine stretched, and he knew the Vaitash Cure in the most intimate fashion. He knew how to be a leader in their time of war. It was a war that they knew that they could not lose. They weren’t fighting for the general good, but for an idea, for the right to be wrong, for the right to learn from their mistakes instead of recycled as soon as they showed signs of dissention.
The small child slid up to the man that was sitting at the desk. The General cast a formidable shadow in the dying light and the child did his best to step around it, afraid to disturb even that. He stood next to him, his hands clasping together and he waited. Minutes past and there were no sign of recognition, no sign that the General would ever stop his work to look at him. Slowly, he gained enough courage and reached up, lacing his cold hand around a few of the older man’s fingers tugging gently to get his attention. “Brother…it’s very cold.”
The man was the General but he was also a Brother and an uncle. He was leading men into their deaths, or into their potential deaths, yet he was also a family man. One bound by honor and sacrifice. He was scarred from his own capture by the Lux, discarding even his own true last name and developing one that his siblings had taken as well: Lladimieriav.
The man looked down finally when he felt the hand tugging at him. His tired golden eyes took in the child that was holding onto him. He registered the fear and the hopelessness and for once, the normally eloquent man was struck silent. Something inside of him seemed to melt and he twisted his chair around, drawing the child into his arms, pillowing him against the warmth that all Phoenixes of maturity held.“Ah… I’m sorry Constintin.” He whispered.
Many of his men considered him cold, detached from everything but the war, even most of his brothers considered him the same way. There were only four that were able to see him as anything but the General. . He reached out, running his hands through Constintin’s snared hair. “Did the fire go out?” He asked gently, before his hands fell down to his shoulders, feeling the tremors that racked his body and the heat that radiated from him due to his sickness. They had no choice but to speak quietly just in case there was a passing patrol. It’d be nearly impossible for a patrol to wonder so far out into the wilderness and away from the safety of the city but he’d never believe that they were truly safe till the war was won.
“I’m sorry Constintin; this was the last thing that I wanted to draw you into.” He whispered into his ear. They called him heartless when he had saved his last sibling from the Facility yet he could so no other alternative. The child was of Lladimieriav blood, a son of Kirill and one of his many conquests. He had made a promise to himself when he was young that he’d never allow any of his family to be left alone in the world and that was a promise that he was working hard to keep.
Yet, even though he had planned for every alternative as he had rose in rank, he had never foreseen that the Lux would usurp him and through him from the title of Prince, taking over his Sphere. He thought that he would be able to win the war in two years, The Elite and Delta Squads would be sent in to aid him but the help never came for either side. The war was never-ending. One side would gain a foothold and the other side would surge, knocking them back.
War is never glamorous, it is never something that should be portrayed as every person’s dream. I’m not fighting for my country this time. There is no country left to fight for. I’m fighting for an idea, to make sure that my family survives. I don’t care if the world burns, I’ll allow it to burn around me, , I’ll light the match and start the fire but no one is going to kill my family in order to further their own political gains. No one will fight with us, but no one will fight with them either. We are like a poisonous blight on the landscape, an entire sphere under quarantine. Whoever is victorious will claim dominance. I know that if I lose this fight my entire family… He lowered his head and kissed the sandy mop of hair on the youngest of his sibling’s head, afraid to even think the words of what would happen if they lost.
The Lladimieriav branch of the Phoenixes was famous for being the best bodyguards that could ever be raised and trained. They were strong fighters in one area of expertise, but learned the art of each of the other brothers enough to where they could handle themselves. When he had been Alecuian, he had built up the family as one of the strongest. He had found his half brothers scattered around the world, each denoted with the golden eyes and tall frame of the warrior branch.
“Pantheras, we ran out of firewood…” Came the quiet voice again pulling him out of his thoughts. It was just another soft reminder of all that they were lacking. Warm clothes, food, firewood, the list continued. There wasn’t a night when he was able to sleep fully without thinking of something that he had to do for the next day, if they’d be allowed to have a next day.. There were too many worries laid on his shoulders; too many things to do. He was awake at a cough or a sneeze, praying to the Gods that abandoned him that he didn’t have a sick brother, or if that that they were sick that their fever would break, that they would survive. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing a brother. They should have never been pulled into this war, they could have lived lives that were better, not one that is spent looking down the barrel of a weapon that is held by a man that wants them dead.
“They sent you to tell me?” He asked, finally breaking the silence before he tilted his head back, an errant moonbeam crossing his face and exposing the black brand that crossed the right side of his face. The moon showed the tattoos that lined his throat, which dipped down and crossed every inch of his body. They were his sins listed out on flesh, marked in black ink by the hands of the ultimate Sinner. They covered his scars, made him seem like he was a monster, it gave the opposing side horror stories that they could build off of. He would do anything to weaken the morale of the side that was well fed, and healthy.
He felt Constintin as he nodded. “They said that you’d get mad at anyone that wasn’t me.” He breathed out quietly before he reached up and tugged on a long brown lock of his brother’s hair, pulling it from his messy ponytail , allowing it to fall over his chiseled and scarred face. “You’re not mad at me are you?” He breathed out, the fluid in his lungs causing his every breath to rattle in way that worried the older man. “Because…because it’s not too cold… you don’t have to worry.” He tried to soothe, burying his face into the man’s chest and holding onto him tightly.
He’s trying to make me feel better… Gods damn me again… Pantheras thought before he stood up, holding up the too-thin child to him. He closed his eyes, a flicker of grief passing over his face as he felt the slender rib-bones of the child against his hands. War shouldn’t tear away innocence. He was the one that I promised would grow up in a warm and loving home… out of all of us that was never able to have it, I wanted to be able to give it to him. I just wanted him to know that he was safe. I didn’t want to have him worry about how to stay warm or how to ration food. War…my foolish pride and ambition. I didn’t think as far ahead as I should have. My family doesn’t deserve this. I should have never allowed this to escalate.
There couldn’t be a peace treaty, he knew that, it was too late, blood had been spilt on both sides, injustices have been done and the only thing that would help would be an end to the war. “I’m not worrying. I can’t afford to worry about how the war is going to end. I can only worry about tonight. I can only control now.” He muttered. He moved through the house, he stepped over chairs that were missing legs, that were missing seats. He stepped over priceless books that only had their covers left, that were gutted and discared, another distressing causality to the war. Whatever could be burned was being burned, and even though they were surrounded by the forest, all it would take were for a fly over to notice that the woods were being thinned for their entire base to be found. It was why the wallpaper was stripped from the wall and discarded in an attempt to get to the wood paneling underneath. The cupboards were stripped of their doors, shelves were torn off and as the war pressed on, the family was moved to a central room, to one heat source in order to save as much as the fuel as they could. Slowly, their ancestral home that was big enough to comfortably support fifty men if they should need it was being torn apart around them. “I never bother worrying about the inevitable. It all ends the same.” He explained, speaking to his youngest as if he were an adult, yet he never clarified in what he considered the inevitable.
He walked into the room where his other eight brothers and his Tenebrae sat in misery in front of a fire that had died out, the embers had cooled rapidly with the severe winter that they were used to living through. “Stop sending a child in to do your job.” Pantheras ordered, straightening and his countenance changing. Gone was the man that was plagued by indecision, in his place was the man that was the leader of the Tenebrae, the sort of man that showed little emotion.. He glared down at the Tenebrae, the men that he had assembled and who had volunteered to serve him.. “The fire went out and you sent in a child to tell me? It’s no wonder that the war has dragged on for so long. None of you have the courage to brave the outside without me. You’d send Constintin outside if it meant that you would save your own skins.” He said, his words pitched low, disgusted with the twenty-five men that he had left.
Pantheras lowered the child to the floor and gently pushed him towards the red haired doctor. One of the few that he trusted, the man who had been given the name of the Ultimate Sinner.“Go to Brice.” He ordered harshly before he looked back to his men. “The rest of you, we have a raid tonight. So, Rotation’s up. Curse, Maelstrom, Rameses, Anastas, Calum. Dress warm, we’re going out. Brice-“
“I don’t take orders from you.” Came the instant reply.
“Quiet and get ready to take in shipment. Be ready to take in and deal with any wounded.” He dismissed his friend with a dark look, one that Brice could look through. He knew that the winter had only just begun and the food that they had stolen weeks ago had been mean to last longer but food never lasted long when they were all trying to stay healthy enough to fight.He regarded the men whose name he had uttered. “We’re after fuel, food, warmer clothes, and guns, if you find guns; you’d better bring back ammunition. You leave behind any luxury, that’s not what we are going into the city for. I want blankets; I want things that will make this wretched place something that we can survive in. I want clothing, warmer coats. If you have to pull them off of the men that you kill, do it. Leave nothing behind that can help us. We’ll break into teams. Rameses, you’re with Calum, Curse and Maelstrom, Anastas, you’re with me.”
From the shadows stepped a man whose name Pantheras never had to say. He was the quiet force that kept him standing. That reminded him that while they lives were five hundred years in duration, that he could die, and that he was dying.
“Grym…” James. “You’re with me.”
There came a brief nod from the emerald haired man that held almost as many scars as Pantheras. He spoke rarely, and only when there was something important for him to say.
War I hope that we’re all able to survive this.
“Move out!” He ordered, his golden eyes snapping, “Take no times to say goodbye, you’ll see each other again in a few hours.” He promised, grabbing his gun and his knives, strapping them into place. He opened the door, the bitter winter wind stinging his face, trying to shove him inside where he’d be cold but safe. Pushing his shoulder into the wind, he walked out, forging the path, always the leader, always the initial target.
“Let’s see if we can find the Gods that has forsaken us.” He whispered to himself, his lungs protesting as they walked. The hint of pollution that got worse as they neared the city was almost enough to drive him to his knees. The Vaitash Cure started to reactivate and as he stared at the dead city with militants patrolling, paranoid by the shadows, he slipped his black face mask over his mouth and motioned with one leather clad hand for his men to break into the teams.
With Grym at his back, and his team ready for another night, they slunk through the shadows.
War is inevitable, but it is like chess. Any side can win as long as they keep on the defensive. People always found it odd that my Knight was my first move, that my queen was never my wild. They never realized that my pawns were my true strength, it is just like now. The Lux will never realize that my family is the reason why I am able to combat whatever is thrown at me, they are the reason why this war will be won.
Monday, October 26, 2009
No Prince Charming
Nothing severe for my first post, just something I have already posted somewhere else. Of course, it would make more sense if I posted the character sheet first, but since when have I ever done things in the right way? This snippet is about a young boy named Kross, I wrote it on a whim one day, trying to get a feel as to why my playboy character had turned out the way that he did. I'm figuring this is the first part in a set of small snippets. We shall see. Pax~
Shaggy blond hair hung into his narrow face, his teeth worried his chapped lower lip till it bled. He stood behind her with a bunch of dandelions and a battered copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. His soft green eyes were nervous and a blush covered his normally arrogant face. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he looked away from her. He never thought that it would be so hard for him to ask a girl to be his girlfriend. “It’s hard being ten…” He whispered to himself. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not yet.
“Clarice…? That freak is standing behind you…”
The tip of his ears turned red and he lowered his head. To all of his classmates, he was considered a freak. At ten years old, he was too tall, all arm and leg. He tripped over his own two feet and more often than not, he was a nuisance. He was considered their class’ troublemaker, his clothes were patched and threadbare, nothing about him was right. “Clarice?” He whispered finally before he tapped her on the shoulder.
She kept her back to him, her long black hair falling richly down her violet cashmere sweater. She laughed at one of her friend’s jokes and turned her head slightly, just enough to prove that her friends were telling the truth. She smirked and turned back to her friends and continued talking, this time a bit louder.
He stopped fidgeting and squared his shoulders. A wise man would back down, tuck his tail between his legs and slink off, but he was no wise man. “Clarice?” He tried again, this time he slid around her and presented himself in front of her. “H-hi. I’m in your class and-“
“Duh.” She cut in smoothly and tossed her hair over one shoulder with a flick of her wrist, copying what the older girls on the playground did. “You’re Kross or something right?”
His eyes lit up when he heard that she knew his name. “You know me?” He said happily before he cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah…that’s me. I just wanted to say: Happy Birthday and…well…I know that you like fairy tales-”
“Creepy.” One boy muttered, glaring at Kross for daring to interrupt their conversation.
“Stalker.” One girl agreed, playing off of one anothers dislike for the boy.
He held out the flowers and the book. “I couldn’t get any wrapping paper…”
“Because your parents were too poor.” One of Clarice’s friends jeered at him.
“He doesn’t have any parents!” Another one chimed in and laughed as though she had made the best joke.
Kross’ face paled, the blood draining from his face, his hands shook as he continued to hold the book and the flowers out to her. “Clarice…” He half pleaded. “Here, Happy Birthday.” He repeated.
The dark haired girl finally reached out and took the book and the flowers. She pretended to look over the gift before she handed it over for her friends to look over. “That’s really sweet of you.” Her voice had gone sweet, but her eyes were devilish, full with a child’s desire to hurt. “But I have a better copy of this book at home; my daddy bought it for me. I don’t want another one.”
The boy nodded, he felt the Earth tilt, as if it was going to unbalance him and throw him onto the ground. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and his hands went clammy. “But now you can have two, in case you lose the one that your father got you…”
Clarice snorted and rolled her eyes. “Do you really think that I’d lose my father’s book and then use yours instead? I’d as him to buy me another book, and he would because he loves me, something my momma says that your parents don’t because they left you.”
“They did not!” Kross protested suddenly, his voice cracking with the uncertainty of his own words. He stepped back and looked around, trying to find a place where he could escape to. “My parents didn’t leave me, they just…” He couldn’t tell the others where his parents had gone. They got lost trying to find me? He thought to himself. They had to go and save the world, they were going to come back but they got lost. They never would have left me here.
The book flew the air and caught him hard in the shoulder, causing his eyes to fill with tears that were from more than just pain. He raised his arm to his shoulder and held where the book had hit him. He looked around the assembled group and saw one of the boys looking at him defiantly. He looked back at Clarice. “Tell them to leave me alone.” He said, trying to sound like the attack hadn’t hurt him, but his voice wavered, the tears threatened to fall, and he barely held on.
“He thinks that he can be your Prince Charming! Hey Prince Charming, where’s your white horse?” The boy that threw the book yelled out, stepping up to stand next to Clarice. “Go on Clarice, you should kiss him.” The tides turned dangerously on the girl as the boy shoved her towards Kross. “That’s how all fairy tales end.”
Her face flamed in anger and she balled her fists tight against her sides, her blue eyes narrowed, her lip curled in disgust and she stomped her foot. “I’d never kiss him! He’s disgusting! Just look at him!” She yelled. Her heel dug into the ground, leaving a small divot as she stepped back into the safety of her group.
He winced at her words and bent down to pick up the book, he lifted his shirt up and tried to wipe away all of the dirt and fix the cover. He held the book close to his chest as he looked up at Clarice with a broken expression in his eyes.
Clarice faltered when she saw the state that she brought to boy to, but there was more laughter behind her, egging her on. “You’re no Prince Charming…and no matter how many times someone kisses you, you’re always just going to be an ugly frog.”
That was the final straw; a sob broke through the boy’s lips. He turned away from the group of the children. He heard the laughter and he started to walk, the teacher called out for him, and he started to jog. When he heard the warning whistle, he started to run, and when he reached the edge of the playground, he ran faster. He didn’t stop there, he ran until he was on the sidewalk, across the streets. He ran till the pain spiked in his side and beyond it, he ran until the tears blinded him, till he tore into his house and up the stairs to the room that he and his twin brother shared. With an angry yell, he threw the book against the wall and fell onto the bed, starting to cry.
On the floor lay the discarded Fairy Tale book, it had fallen onto its back and the front cover was open, exposing the inside. Underneath a smear of dirt from the playground were the words:
To my Prince Charming on his first Birthday, love forever, Momma.
“Clarice…? That freak is standing behind you…”
The tip of his ears turned red and he lowered his head. To all of his classmates, he was considered a freak. At ten years old, he was too tall, all arm and leg. He tripped over his own two feet and more often than not, he was a nuisance. He was considered their class’ troublemaker, his clothes were patched and threadbare, nothing about him was right. “Clarice?” He whispered finally before he tapped her on the shoulder.
She kept her back to him, her long black hair falling richly down her violet cashmere sweater. She laughed at one of her friend’s jokes and turned her head slightly, just enough to prove that her friends were telling the truth. She smirked and turned back to her friends and continued talking, this time a bit louder.
He stopped fidgeting and squared his shoulders. A wise man would back down, tuck his tail between his legs and slink off, but he was no wise man. “Clarice?” He tried again, this time he slid around her and presented himself in front of her. “H-hi. I’m in your class and-“
“Duh.” She cut in smoothly and tossed her hair over one shoulder with a flick of her wrist, copying what the older girls on the playground did. “You’re Kross or something right?”
His eyes lit up when he heard that she knew his name. “You know me?” He said happily before he cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah…that’s me. I just wanted to say: Happy Birthday and…well…I know that you like fairy tales-”
“Creepy.” One boy muttered, glaring at Kross for daring to interrupt their conversation.
“Stalker.” One girl agreed, playing off of one anothers dislike for the boy.
He held out the flowers and the book. “I couldn’t get any wrapping paper…”
“Because your parents were too poor.” One of Clarice’s friends jeered at him.
“He doesn’t have any parents!” Another one chimed in and laughed as though she had made the best joke.
Kross’ face paled, the blood draining from his face, his hands shook as he continued to hold the book and the flowers out to her. “Clarice…” He half pleaded. “Here, Happy Birthday.” He repeated.
The dark haired girl finally reached out and took the book and the flowers. She pretended to look over the gift before she handed it over for her friends to look over. “That’s really sweet of you.” Her voice had gone sweet, but her eyes were devilish, full with a child’s desire to hurt. “But I have a better copy of this book at home; my daddy bought it for me. I don’t want another one.”
The boy nodded, he felt the Earth tilt, as if it was going to unbalance him and throw him onto the ground. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and his hands went clammy. “But now you can have two, in case you lose the one that your father got you…”
Clarice snorted and rolled her eyes. “Do you really think that I’d lose my father’s book and then use yours instead? I’d as him to buy me another book, and he would because he loves me, something my momma says that your parents don’t because they left you.”
“They did not!” Kross protested suddenly, his voice cracking with the uncertainty of his own words. He stepped back and looked around, trying to find a place where he could escape to. “My parents didn’t leave me, they just…” He couldn’t tell the others where his parents had gone. They got lost trying to find me? He thought to himself. They had to go and save the world, they were going to come back but they got lost. They never would have left me here.
The book flew the air and caught him hard in the shoulder, causing his eyes to fill with tears that were from more than just pain. He raised his arm to his shoulder and held where the book had hit him. He looked around the assembled group and saw one of the boys looking at him defiantly. He looked back at Clarice. “Tell them to leave me alone.” He said, trying to sound like the attack hadn’t hurt him, but his voice wavered, the tears threatened to fall, and he barely held on.
“He thinks that he can be your Prince Charming! Hey Prince Charming, where’s your white horse?” The boy that threw the book yelled out, stepping up to stand next to Clarice. “Go on Clarice, you should kiss him.” The tides turned dangerously on the girl as the boy shoved her towards Kross. “That’s how all fairy tales end.”
Her face flamed in anger and she balled her fists tight against her sides, her blue eyes narrowed, her lip curled in disgust and she stomped her foot. “I’d never kiss him! He’s disgusting! Just look at him!” She yelled. Her heel dug into the ground, leaving a small divot as she stepped back into the safety of her group.
He winced at her words and bent down to pick up the book, he lifted his shirt up and tried to wipe away all of the dirt and fix the cover. He held the book close to his chest as he looked up at Clarice with a broken expression in his eyes.
Clarice faltered when she saw the state that she brought to boy to, but there was more laughter behind her, egging her on. “You’re no Prince Charming…and no matter how many times someone kisses you, you’re always just going to be an ugly frog.”
That was the final straw; a sob broke through the boy’s lips. He turned away from the group of the children. He heard the laughter and he started to walk, the teacher called out for him, and he started to jog. When he heard the warning whistle, he started to run, and when he reached the edge of the playground, he ran faster. He didn’t stop there, he ran until he was on the sidewalk, across the streets. He ran till the pain spiked in his side and beyond it, he ran until the tears blinded him, till he tore into his house and up the stairs to the room that he and his twin brother shared. With an angry yell, he threw the book against the wall and fell onto the bed, starting to cry.
On the floor lay the discarded Fairy Tale book, it had fallen onto its back and the front cover was open, exposing the inside. Underneath a smear of dirt from the playground were the words:
To my Prince Charming on his first Birthday, love forever, Momma.
A small introduction
I'm not sure who is going to be reading this other than my sister and that will probably be only when I link her to this but this is my statement of purpose. I've tried other blogging sites before and they never seemed to click well with me, an acquaintance of mine uses this site so I thought that I'd give it a go. Just to see how it works out.
This site will contain few ramblings about my personal life, what I desire it to contain is the following:
Character Sheets for my original characters that I am roleplaying/interested in roleplaying or just writing about.
Research documents for my original characters
-Lastly-
Character story snippets: they are called 'snippets' because they will be rough copies of unfinished stories that I wish to share. They will probably never be completed in their entirety.
So, that is it.
Pax
~Dagerias
This site will contain few ramblings about my personal life, what I desire it to contain is the following:
Character Sheets for my original characters that I am roleplaying/interested in roleplaying or just writing about.
Research documents for my original characters
-Lastly-
Character story snippets: they are called 'snippets' because they will be rough copies of unfinished stories that I wish to share. They will probably never be completed in their entirety.
So, that is it.
Pax
~Dagerias
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