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Week 171 (June 18th-25th) Stories. Topic: Inheritance
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Yea! I might actually write something this week!! XD
So might I! Mostly because of my lack of "real" work.
Lol Edward. Everyone's asking about you. Except Mike, Marcos, and Justine.I'll try something. I've got two more days of plus Sunday.
Oh, this is a thought-provoking topic. Easier for a story than a poem. but I won't be able to vote because I may not have internet, so... I'll think about it. But this is definitely a good one.
Really? I mean - yeah, that's what I thought. I totally didn't just type the first word that leapt to my mind at all. *innocent whistle*
A very, very rough draft
Title: 2513
By: Leslie
Words: 1665
*Open to feedback*
Amidst the sun-baked, dilapidated structures, I wandered around the city in a light blue proximity suit and a fogged-up visor. I was prompted to adjust my breathing apparatus and respirator mask to avoid outside mist from seeping inside my structural helmet.
The deserted road ahead was scorched by the sun’s harmful rays and between the cracks on the ground, not even the slightest sign of life was visible. It had been decades since the last rain, the parched land was slowly dying away with thirst.
Based on the five-hundred-year-old videos, which were transferred from hundreds of discs to flash drives to preserve the past, different kinds of plant and animal, even oxygen, existed in abundance but since I was born I had neither seen the beauty of nature nor felt the dampness of Earth.
The government had tried every possible solution, through extensive various researches, including the ‘primitive’ act of cloud seeding, hoping for a chance of rainfall. The decades-long drought had taken its toll on every living thing especially when the clouds of condensed water had been replaced by mixtures of poisonous elements that resulted to an increasing number of fatalities daily. The government was then forced to invest on building interconnected shelters, which simulated the Earth’s atmosphere, to save what was left of humanity.
As other species had vanished from the face of the Earth, we had no choice but to thrive on artificial necessities.
All through my ten years of work as a ‘research scientist’ for the government, I hadn’t found any sustainable place on Earth. The search for flora and fauna depressed most of us but I was fast enough to put aside any discouragement. I had high hopes for life, for the future.
A light, scratching sound in my ear pulled me out of my contemplation.
“No sign here. How about there, Carol?” Jackson asked. I pressed my earpiece to hear him better.
He was scouring the other end of the city, flying the hybrid car around. I opted to wander by foot to give me plenty of time to think. He agreed to pick me up the next day, to go back to the shelter for the next assignment.
“Still…” I paused and looked around.
He didn’t ask me again. He knew I enjoyed being alone during assignments, a luxury in a buzz-filled shelter.
Looking at the satellite’s photo of Earth I brought with me, I shook the feeling of disappointment. I hid it from Jackson because he forbade any reminder of the planet’s barrenness. He said that our work was enough to make him feel depressed. He was lucky I came along.
“Is four years of marriage not depressing you?” I asked.
“What?” He asked back. I was surprised at his immediate reaction.
I giggled. I meant to tease him but I felt his annoyance when I heard him sigh. The heat might have been getting into his nerves, agitating him at the slightest provocation.
“I’m just glad you came with me.” I said.
Since we left the shelter yesterday, I observed he had been in deep thoughts. I tried cracking up silly jokes to cheer him up but he just gave a timid smile.
It was our first time to search together. He was assigned to work in the lab, developing ways to help plants survive extreme kinds of weather. The experiment was a success lifetimes before but because of the changes in living conditions, they had to rework it. A plant from outside was the only thing needed to test its feasibility.
“I’ll see you in two hours.” He said.
“But--“
“Two hours, Carol.” He asserted.
With his stern tone, I knew better not to argue with him.
I walked for another hour, stopping at every corner to check my radar and to rest. When the sun’s harsh rays had slowly faded into the horizon, I took the flashlight out of my pack. It was unnerving to grope in the dark and I kept on stumbling as the light wasn’t enough to illuminate the path. The thick clouds of poisonous gases gave the impression that the moon and the stars had abandoned the sky.
When I arrived at the meeting place, I noticed Jackson’s face looking somber while he was setting up a tent in an open field, away from the crumbling structures.
When he was done, I stepped inside to unpack the meal I prepared before we left the shelter. Since Jackson was a hearty eater, I was expecting the food will help uplift his mood. As soon as he entered the tent, I flashed my most charming smile. I was bent on knowing what was disturbing him. He hugged me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked. Breaking away from him, I stared at his chocolate brown eyes to assess the gravity of his sullenness.
“I have something to tell you.” He said. His manner of holding my hands gave me a feeling of despair.
“What?”
He let out a deep breath before he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s over, Carol. The government is giving up. We don’t have enough resources to sustain the research anymore. If we use the shelters’ funds, it will give us only two years to live.” He said.
In an instant, it felt like the air inside the tent turned stale.
“How much time do we have left?” It was difficult for me to ask the question. A part of me didn’t want to know the truth.
“Five years.” He murmured.
Then it dawned on me all the hurried attempts to find other forms of life, the drastic decision to change the frequency of the search operation and Jackson’s firm choice to accompany me.
My hopes went crashing down. The future is bleak. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around his words. Tears started to fall but I refused to wipe it away. For a brief moment, I lost the will to live.
“We still have five years.” Jackson whispered while he was holding me close. I leaned my head on his chest; the tears blurred my eyes.
“That’s not enough, Jackson. Not enough.” I said, choking on the words.
“I’ll make it worth it. I promise.” He tried to assure me.
“You don’t understand. It’s not enough, Jackson…I’m pregnant. I found out yesterday before we left.” The confession tore me apart. When I looked at Jackson, anguish was painted all over his face.
My mind drifted to the future of our unborn child. I had seen how slow and painful the others had died and the thought of my child dying tightened my chest and caused indescribable pain in my heart.
Our silent cries filled the night as we were embracing each other, trying to give comfort to no avail.
Without enough sleep, we moved and packed our stuff like a snail, at the break of dawn. We were quiet but every once in a while, I felt Jackson’s eyes on me but I avoided staring back at him. The last thing I wanted in a forsaken place was to see the torment in his eyes.
Since it was our last time to be out in the field, Jackson and I agreed to drive around the city with no particular destination in mind. He held my hand while I was staring outside--committing to memory all the places I had seen. The Earth seemed a patchwork of brown and gray dust, almost lifeless but I still wanted to fight for it, for my child and for our future until my last breath.
“Do you want to see the ocean?” Jackson asked.
I blinked a couple of times before I turned to look at him. Beyond the smile on his face, his eyes were filled with sorrow. I put my respirator mask in place then opened the door of the car. He hurried to my side to help me out and to lead the way.
We stood on a high cliff, overlooking what used to be a basin filled with salty water. I imagined a photo of an ocean I saw at the lab, of blue waters and crashing waves. For a second, I felt a pang of jealousy, immediately replaced by anger.
Still refusing to cry, I balled my hands into a fist. I felt Jackson tensed but soon, he eased out, a sign of defeat. He turned to look at me, to give a weak smile then he nodded once.
I gritted my teeth. It was no use to cry over a doomed future.
“A minute, please…alone.” I said while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
He let go of my hand and walked away. The pain in my chest still lingered and the more I suppressed the tears, the more it made breathing difficult. My eyes darted from end to end, forcing myself to appreciate the last time being outside.
I took a few steps to the edge of the cliff when I heard Jackson called out my name but I ignored him. To stand on the edge was exhilarating, like I was flying. I spread my arms and closed my eyes as I was painting the beautiful scenery in my mind.
“Carol!” Jackson shouted again.
Feeling annoyed, I turned to look at the direction of his voice. He was standing several meters away from me, on the lower portion of the cliff. I was bothered to see him smile the way he smiled when we exchanged marital vows.
“Don’t just stand there. Come here!” He waved at me.
I was about to complain when I reached him but I noticed the green sprouts surrounding him. I was stunned. In all my life, I had never seen anything like those.
“Are those…” I paused. It was hard to contain my amazement.
“Our future.” Jackson said with a ridiculous smile on his face.
I smiled. I looked above and the Earth seemed alive. I felt like I was born again.
Title: 2513
By: Leslie
Words: 1665
*Open to feedback*
Amidst the sun-baked, dilapidated structures, I wandered around the city in a light blue proximity suit and a fogged-up visor. I was prompted to adjust my breathing apparatus and respirator mask to avoid outside mist from seeping inside my structural helmet.
The deserted road ahead was scorched by the sun’s harmful rays and between the cracks on the ground, not even the slightest sign of life was visible. It had been decades since the last rain, the parched land was slowly dying away with thirst.
Based on the five-hundred-year-old videos, which were transferred from hundreds of discs to flash drives to preserve the past, different kinds of plant and animal, even oxygen, existed in abundance but since I was born I had neither seen the beauty of nature nor felt the dampness of Earth.
The government had tried every possible solution, through extensive various researches, including the ‘primitive’ act of cloud seeding, hoping for a chance of rainfall. The decades-long drought had taken its toll on every living thing especially when the clouds of condensed water had been replaced by mixtures of poisonous elements that resulted to an increasing number of fatalities daily. The government was then forced to invest on building interconnected shelters, which simulated the Earth’s atmosphere, to save what was left of humanity.
As other species had vanished from the face of the Earth, we had no choice but to thrive on artificial necessities.
All through my ten years of work as a ‘research scientist’ for the government, I hadn’t found any sustainable place on Earth. The search for flora and fauna depressed most of us but I was fast enough to put aside any discouragement. I had high hopes for life, for the future.
A light, scratching sound in my ear pulled me out of my contemplation.
“No sign here. How about there, Carol?” Jackson asked. I pressed my earpiece to hear him better.
He was scouring the other end of the city, flying the hybrid car around. I opted to wander by foot to give me plenty of time to think. He agreed to pick me up the next day, to go back to the shelter for the next assignment.
“Still…” I paused and looked around.
He didn’t ask me again. He knew I enjoyed being alone during assignments, a luxury in a buzz-filled shelter.
Looking at the satellite’s photo of Earth I brought with me, I shook the feeling of disappointment. I hid it from Jackson because he forbade any reminder of the planet’s barrenness. He said that our work was enough to make him feel depressed. He was lucky I came along.
“Is four years of marriage not depressing you?” I asked.
“What?” He asked back. I was surprised at his immediate reaction.
I giggled. I meant to tease him but I felt his annoyance when I heard him sigh. The heat might have been getting into his nerves, agitating him at the slightest provocation.
“I’m just glad you came with me.” I said.
Since we left the shelter yesterday, I observed he had been in deep thoughts. I tried cracking up silly jokes to cheer him up but he just gave a timid smile.
It was our first time to search together. He was assigned to work in the lab, developing ways to help plants survive extreme kinds of weather. The experiment was a success lifetimes before but because of the changes in living conditions, they had to rework it. A plant from outside was the only thing needed to test its feasibility.
“I’ll see you in two hours.” He said.
“But--“
“Two hours, Carol.” He asserted.
With his stern tone, I knew better not to argue with him.
I walked for another hour, stopping at every corner to check my radar and to rest. When the sun’s harsh rays had slowly faded into the horizon, I took the flashlight out of my pack. It was unnerving to grope in the dark and I kept on stumbling as the light wasn’t enough to illuminate the path. The thick clouds of poisonous gases gave the impression that the moon and the stars had abandoned the sky.
When I arrived at the meeting place, I noticed Jackson’s face looking somber while he was setting up a tent in an open field, away from the crumbling structures.
When he was done, I stepped inside to unpack the meal I prepared before we left the shelter. Since Jackson was a hearty eater, I was expecting the food will help uplift his mood. As soon as he entered the tent, I flashed my most charming smile. I was bent on knowing what was disturbing him. He hugged me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked. Breaking away from him, I stared at his chocolate brown eyes to assess the gravity of his sullenness.
“I have something to tell you.” He said. His manner of holding my hands gave me a feeling of despair.
“What?”
He let out a deep breath before he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s over, Carol. The government is giving up. We don’t have enough resources to sustain the research anymore. If we use the shelters’ funds, it will give us only two years to live.” He said.
In an instant, it felt like the air inside the tent turned stale.
“How much time do we have left?” It was difficult for me to ask the question. A part of me didn’t want to know the truth.
“Five years.” He murmured.
Then it dawned on me all the hurried attempts to find other forms of life, the drastic decision to change the frequency of the search operation and Jackson’s firm choice to accompany me.
My hopes went crashing down. The future is bleak. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around his words. Tears started to fall but I refused to wipe it away. For a brief moment, I lost the will to live.
“We still have five years.” Jackson whispered while he was holding me close. I leaned my head on his chest; the tears blurred my eyes.
“That’s not enough, Jackson. Not enough.” I said, choking on the words.
“I’ll make it worth it. I promise.” He tried to assure me.
“You don’t understand. It’s not enough, Jackson…I’m pregnant. I found out yesterday before we left.” The confession tore me apart. When I looked at Jackson, anguish was painted all over his face.
My mind drifted to the future of our unborn child. I had seen how slow and painful the others had died and the thought of my child dying tightened my chest and caused indescribable pain in my heart.
Our silent cries filled the night as we were embracing each other, trying to give comfort to no avail.
Without enough sleep, we moved and packed our stuff like a snail, at the break of dawn. We were quiet but every once in a while, I felt Jackson’s eyes on me but I avoided staring back at him. The last thing I wanted in a forsaken place was to see the torment in his eyes.
Since it was our last time to be out in the field, Jackson and I agreed to drive around the city with no particular destination in mind. He held my hand while I was staring outside--committing to memory all the places I had seen. The Earth seemed a patchwork of brown and gray dust, almost lifeless but I still wanted to fight for it, for my child and for our future until my last breath.
“Do you want to see the ocean?” Jackson asked.
I blinked a couple of times before I turned to look at him. Beyond the smile on his face, his eyes were filled with sorrow. I put my respirator mask in place then opened the door of the car. He hurried to my side to help me out and to lead the way.
We stood on a high cliff, overlooking what used to be a basin filled with salty water. I imagined a photo of an ocean I saw at the lab, of blue waters and crashing waves. For a second, I felt a pang of jealousy, immediately replaced by anger.
Still refusing to cry, I balled my hands into a fist. I felt Jackson tensed but soon, he eased out, a sign of defeat. He turned to look at me, to give a weak smile then he nodded once.
I gritted my teeth. It was no use to cry over a doomed future.
“A minute, please…alone.” I said while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
He let go of my hand and walked away. The pain in my chest still lingered and the more I suppressed the tears, the more it made breathing difficult. My eyes darted from end to end, forcing myself to appreciate the last time being outside.
I took a few steps to the edge of the cliff when I heard Jackson called out my name but I ignored him. To stand on the edge was exhilarating, like I was flying. I spread my arms and closed my eyes as I was painting the beautiful scenery in my mind.
“Carol!” Jackson shouted again.
Feeling annoyed, I turned to look at the direction of his voice. He was standing several meters away from me, on the lower portion of the cliff. I was bothered to see him smile the way he smiled when we exchanged marital vows.
“Don’t just stand there. Come here!” He waved at me.
I was about to complain when I reached him but I noticed the green sprouts surrounding him. I was stunned. In all my life, I had never seen anything like those.
“Are those…” I paused. It was hard to contain my amazement.
“Our future.” Jackson said with a ridiculous smile on his face.
I smiled. I looked above and the Earth seemed alive. I felt like I was born again.
Oh, that was wonderful! I love your use of the topic, it was a perfect idea.
Thank you TD :) I still need to work on it though, if my sinus will permit.
As soon as I get some food in my belly, I'm going to blow right past that word limit (as usual).Leslie Anne, love the bit. Nothing stands out as bad, apart from a few grammar things that I'm sure you'll catch yourself. If I have more interesting comments, I'll mention them later, but I did enjoy your story.
I just got a warm feeling from participating in W.S.S. again for the first time in a long while. Or, it's from the hot pizza I'm shoving down my throat.
Edward wrote: "As soon as I get some food in my belly, I'm going to blow right past that word limit (as usual).
Leslie Anne, love the bit. Nothing stands out as bad, apart from a few grammar things that I'm sur..."
Thank you Edward! :) I appreciate the feedback. I'm trying to edit the story but sinusitis is getting in the way.
Leslie Anne, love the bit. Nothing stands out as bad, apart from a few grammar things that I'm sur..."
Thank you Edward! :) I appreciate the feedback. I'm trying to edit the story but sinusitis is getting in the way.
Leslie’s “2513” has atmosphere! It’s a futuristic atmosphere of poison gasses in a barren world, where what remains of mankind lives in shelters. The description is vivid and poetic: “The thick cloud of poisonous gases gave the impression that the moon and the stars had abandoned the sky.” The landscape is haunting: “When I arrived at the meeting place, I noticed Jackson’s face looking somber while he was setting up a tent in an open field, away from the crumbling structures.”
In it's roughest form:The Hero's Call
Word Count: 5,405
Open to criticism
Night bled across sky without the notice of the family inside the typical two-story stucco house as they gathered around the old, degrading cardboard box, pulling out the odd assortment of trinkets and clothing within. The mother picked an old, yellowing dress and teased her teenage daughter for time about wearing the dead fashion to her prom while the younger brother admired an old compass. Richard Benito smiled quietly as his family delved into his late great aunt’s gift for him.
Richard didn’t pretend to understand the purpose of the gift, while his great aunt left it to him or why she didn’t leave him anything more worthwhile, like a slice of the fortune she willed to various charities. It was a bunch of junk, stuff he couldn’t use and didn’t know how to sell. He finally reached into the box himself and pulled out a tiny wooden cube, roughly two centimeters to a side, that rattled when he shook it. Noting the miniscule hinges, he used a nail to pry open the small box, revealing a tiny space hardly large enough to hold a key.
A space and nothing more; the box was empty. Richard frowned and shook the box again, hearing the same rattle. He shrugged and closed it again, setting it aside and devoting his attention watching his son argue for keeping a rather extensive collection of dirty knives.
Eventually half the contents, including the empty wooden cube, were dumped unceremoniously back into the molding box, the rest having been divided up among the Benito family in their own variation of fairness, which somehow included Richard’s son getting a hat he didn’t want to balance the earrings the daughter did want. The children were almost too excited over their new toys to pay attention to dessert, though the scent of apple pie soon overcame the novelty of their mad great-great aunt’s odd trinkets.
Robert has just finished putting the knives somewhere safe and the box in the basement when the doorbell rang. He stared at the door, as though he couldn’t quite believe the sound he heard. The kids were long since put to bed, the porch light was off, and it was edging close to midnight. Who would dare trespass on his hospitality at this hour?
He put his eye to the peephole to glimpse this rude visitor and saw nothing. Eye still glued to the small opening, he reached over and flipped the switch for the porch light. The caller was old, bent over in an almost comical imitation of the wise wizard, and even went so far as to rest his weary body on a wooden cane. Richard pulled his head back and paused to consider his next move. His brain had stuck on waffling confusion, rather than manic alarm, and thus left him to slowly reason through the situation with very little logic. For one, it occurred to him that such a bizarre man standing on the doorstep at such a unreasonable hour might warrant the preparation of a firearm, until he remembered that he was a Californian liberal and thus didn’t own a firearm. For another, after the old man had insistently rung the bell again, he considered pretending he hadn’t heard the bell due to a deep sleep, not remembering that he had turned on the porch light after the old man arrived until the third ring.
Finding these halting attempts at logic exhausting, he finally opened the door. The old man glared at Richard with such intensity that the younger man foolishly took a step back. The visitor didn’t comment on this, but immediately plunged in to speech nonetheless.
“You Richard Benito?” he snapped with a disdain for to-be verbs.
“Uh … sure,” Richard replied. “I mean, yes. And who are you?”
“Thomas Shaw – I once met your great aunt. Good woman – determined and clever.”
Richard gulped, though he hardly knew why. “Oh, well I’m sorry to say that she died a couple months ago.”
“Obviously,” Shaw snapped irritably. “That’s why I’m here. I had to bribe two lawyers, search a mansion, and talk your cousin to figure out it was you, so don’t waste my time.”
“What did I do?” Richard asked, his head spinning. He was an accountant and liked quantifiable values, which were not provided by this Shaw person. He had no idea how much effort it took to search a mansion, nor how much trauma one would suffer from speaking to any member of his family, so he hadn’t a clue how much strain the old man was under as he stood there – and he certainly didn’t know what that meant for him. “I’m nobody.”
“Nobody is nobody,” the old man retorted, although with something approaching a smile – a horrible, wrinkly smile. To Richard’s relief, Shaw almost instantly reverted to his crisp severity. “Your great aunt’s Ring – where is it?”
Richard stared at him for a long moment before something finally fell into place. “Oh! You think she willed me some ring you want –“
“No,” Shaw interrupted with a growl that induced a primal instinct the family man; he took another step back. “I don’t want the Ring. But I need you to bring it here.”
“W-well, I didn’t inherit a ring.” Richard winced at the stammer. He had to be braver than this; it was, after all, just an old man.
Shaw stood up straighter, although the puzzle before him replaced the staff in keeping him on his feet. The challenge seemed to give him strength. “Well, your cousin doesn’t have it, and I’m almost certain it wasn’t on her estate. No one else inherited anything similar. Do you mind if I see the items she left you?”
“Well, I don’t think … Yes, of course, it can’t hurt.” Richard hung his head slightly. Why was he so afraid of this man?
Resigning himself to an unfortunately eventful night, he stepped aside to allow the grump inside. Shaw simply stood there for a moment, looking at Richard expectantly.
“Well, are you going to come in?” Richard demanded aggressively.
Shaw smirked at his overcompensation and lightly stepped over the threshold, not bothering to use his cane at all. Richard shook his head confusedly and gestured towards the basement before leading the way down. Four well-placed lights kept the storage area as well-lit as a kitchen, making the wizened old man look rather more normal, more like a bingo player than a Gandalf. At least from the back; whenever he gazed back at the younger man, Richard had to admit that Shaw was simply more appropriate in half shadow and yellow glows than bright fluorescents.
Richard grabbed the box and dropped it on the middle of the floor, eager to have this nonsense done with as quickly as possible. Shaw wasted no time digging through the mess, tossing aside the dress Richard’s daughter refused to take and only briefly considering a tea cup with religious symbols that his wife would be embarrassed to let her friends see. In a surprisingly short time, he located the rattling box. He shook it several times, listening carefully to the noise.
“There’s nothing in there,” Richard said cautiously, hoping to expedite the old man’s departure. “It just has that sound – some sort of magician’s trick box, I guess.”
Shaw’s disturbing smile returned. “You could say that.”
Ignoring the hinges, Shaw slid the top off, moving it over the hinges as though they weren’t there. The panel seemed to vanish, as though he had pushed it under something, and it was simply just out of sight. Richard’s jaw didn’t drop, but his eyes did widen considerably; the jaw dropped when he spotted the aforementioned Ring lying in the cube’s cavity.
It was the strangest Ring he had ever seen, with an impractical and undoubtedly time-consuming design. The band was made of thin strands of some silver metal (whether steel, platinum, or actual silver, Richard’s untrained eyes couldn’t tell) woven together without any deformation from welding. The cap was simply a pair almond eyes, a more sinister representation of the Cheshire Cat making his farewells. The irises were made of amethyst.
Shaw sighed, though it didn’t sound like relief. Without reaching inside, he held the open box out to Richard. “Take the Ring.”
“What?” Richard demanded loudly. He winced, temporarily forgetting that was in the basement, far from waking anyone. “I thought you wanted – needed it, rather. What do I want with it?”
“Hopefully nothing – but I won’t take it. I’m not powerful, but I’m powerful enough to do some real damage. I’d prefer to minimize the risk, which is why you need to come with me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
On cue, Richard heard the front door again. It wasn’t a ring this time or a knock. The door, by the sound of it, simply flew off its hinges and splintered against the interior wall opposite of it. Shaw sighed again.
“I’m talking about that.”
He closed the box – somehow pulling the vanished top back into place – and tossed it at Richard, who instinctively caught it, much to his chagrin. Shaw then led the way back up the stairs. Richard spent a few seconds in the same, slow and confused state as when Shaw first arrived, but abruptly fell off the panic cliff when it finally occurred to him that his family was very likely in danger.
He followed Shaw, taking the steps three at a time.
At the top of the stairs, Richard found an intruder and an unwelcome guest standing ten feet apart like two duelists preparing to engage in mortal combat. Based on hours wasted on television procedurals and very little else, he deduced that the intruder was Asian – and very little else. He couldn’t decided if he was Korean, Chinese, Japanese, or some variation that he forgot the name of, and he had trouble memorizing the specific details of his face, though he thought the Asian wore a smug expression directed solely at the unwelcome guest. Shaw returned the gaze with an oddly relaxed intensity, giving Richard no more deference than the intruder. It took a few moments for it to dawn on Richard that they were, in fact, two duelists preparing to engage in mortal combat – in his living room.
“Good evening, Shaw,” the Asian said. Richard didn’t dare guess was his tone was supposed to be; the intruder’s accent was far too heavy. “I see that worn heart of yours has not yet succumbed to the harshness of reality.”
“And I see your stupidity is equally stubborn,” Shaw retorted. “You are clearly outmatched here.”
“Am I?” the Asian responded blandly. “What threat are an old man and an untrained accountant to me?”
Shaw’s face was completely devoid of emotion. Richard was too busy trying to figure out if he should be worried or comforted by this fact to actually listen; he missed the old man’s response. Whatever it was, it caused the Asian to laugh.
“Do you honestly think I forgot about the Threshold? Do you believe I’d walk into a situation like this and not have every angle covered?”
Richard paid attention to Shaw’s reply this time. “You think I’d walk into this situation and not consider every angle, R?”
The Asian, named R, apparently, took a moment to respond. He made sure to make another expression, to tilt his head so as to subtly draw attention to this change, not that it helped Richard any; the intruder’s facial features still looked like a smudge mess of bad paint. “I know you would. We’re both chess men – in fact, you were my greatest opponent in shogi. So surely you realize that you are now in a fork?”
Richard had no idea what was going on and decided that he didn’t care as long as it didn’t happen in his house. “A-alright you two – “
“Shut up,” Shaw snapped. “This is a situation of violence. Unless you have a gun or some hidden talent, your word counts for little here.”
Richard’s mouth snapped shut.
R yawned. “You have a decision to make. Of course, I prefer to kill you all, just to keep it neat, but maybe you’ll get lucky. I’ll give you thirty seconds.”
In response, Shaw pulled out a gun, thumbed the safety, and fired three shots at the Asian. Richard could have learned many important facts in that moment, about Shaw’s habit of keeping a round in the chamber, about R’s special abilities, and about the disaster that was about to occur, but one lesson drowned all the others out so that only it remained: Guns are loud. He jerked away from the exploding gunpowder, hands to his ears, and nearly executed a fatal dive back down the basement stairs. Shaw grabbed his collar, yanked him back, and pushed him towards the back down. Apparently deciding unlocking and opening the sliding door would take too long, the old man simply blew the glass out and guided his host through the hole.Curiously, he didn’t seem to fire his weapon to shatter the glass.
Richard nearly fell into the pool trying to turn back, pushing against Shaw with a lot more aggression than it should have taken to knock down the old man. Odd trinkets, unwelcome visitors and intruders, cryptic conversations, and firearms all shoved aside, one thought abruptly took over the bridge of his mind, commandeering the entire ship: His family was still inside.
He screamed at Shaw to let him go back. He usually wouldn’t use the particular words he chose in that moment, especially when talking to old men, but profanity seemed entirely beside the point.
“You can’t – he’ll kill you,” Shaw snarled. If Richard had been paying attention to anything else, he would’ve realized that the old man was holding him back with unnatural strength, though even that was waning.
“I DON’T CARE!” Richard’s voiced had never reached such volume. “LET ME GO, YOU RAT-BAS – “
Shaw abruptly pulled back, allowed Richard to bowl forward a step, and caught his cane up on the stumbling man’s ankle. Richard hit the pool deck with a rather unpleasant sound.
“Your family’s best hope of survival is if we both run. I don’t have time to ex- “
Conveniently, for Shaw’s unfinished argument, the pool caught fire at that moment. Richard knew a bit about chemistry and physical sciences and realized that, generally, water did not catch on fire. Also, absent of strange chemicals, fire did not tend towards purple hues. Furthermore, fires did not usually start spontaneously. Richard, overloaded by a war of belief and reality in his brain, would have passed out had Shaw not pulled him back to his feet at that moment. He found his balance, but the war in his mind left little room for conscious decision, and Shaw’s insistence that he run had no effect.
The war in his brain reached new heights when he finally gave Shaw some attention – and spotted him standing between him and the Asian, staff swinging about like a lightsaber, catching laser bolts that appeared to dancing about in the air. Richard stared longer and realized the “lasers” were more like swirling fireworks emitting from R’s hand – because that made much more sense. Shaw’s staff moved as though magnetically attracted to the strange light bolt, and the bolts seem to pour into it like glowing alcohol filling the most inconvenient glass in history. After catching three bolts, the staff glowed so brightly that its wielder was no longer visible, like a driver hidden behind headlights. Abruptly, all that light bounced back at R, exploding in a smokeless bomb of impossible light. Richard looked away to avoid becoming blind and didn’t see the light spread out, as though it were something solid slamming against an invisible wall. When Richard looked back, he saw a straight line of his yard torn up, as though a mechanical plow had rushed between the two combatants to draw a line of truce between them. Clearly missing the metaphor, Shaw used R’s recovery time to level his gun again and fire off several more shots. Unable to react more exotically, R simply ducked back into the kitchen.
Richard didn’t remember the running after that, barely recalled Shaw’s huffed plan to hide, and didn’t care about the late-night check-in at some random motel in the next town over. The inevitable adrenaline crash put an end to the day’s excitement.
The next morning was surreal. He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, was given breakfast and coffee by a stranger, and promptly had a conversation about magic. Shaw’s excellent omelets notwithstanding, Richard simply couldn’t force himself to believe what he saw last night. He listened to Shaw’s clearly rehearsed speech, attempted to parcel out what each fact meant, and tried to digest the truth. Then he regurgitated it all – mentally and physically.
“Perhaps you should wait before finishing breakfast,” Shaw remarked casually.
Richard’s hands shook. “You can’t be serious. You can’t be fucking serious.”
“No, seriously, you might throw up again.”
Richard threw him a nasty look. Shaw shrugged and waited for the younger man to gain some control over himself. The accountant watched his hands shake for a time, studying an indentation in his right palm. He knew what it was, but didn’t want to discuss that just yet.
“So you claim that you can use magic?” Richard said quietly.
Shaw frowned. “We just went over this.”
“Can we go over it again?”
“Will it help?”
Probably not, Richard realized, though he didn’t want to admit it. He shook his head violently and then forced himself to look at the nightstand. The box lay there.
“He wanted to kill me for that.”
“Yes.”
“He would’ve killed my whole family.”
“Yes.”
“And running kept them safe?” This was his first real question.
Shaw hesitated. “Relatively. R won’t kill them if they can be useful.”
Richard stared at him. “Useful? How could they be useful?”
“Well, if we had stayed and gotten killed, they were merely potential witnesses that needed to be silenced. With us in the wind and my expertise in hiding, he now needs a way to keep us anchored – at least until he gets the Ring.”
Richard’s mouth fell open slightly. He had been stunned senseless more than once in the past twelve hours, but this wasn’t from disbelief or fear. His motionless was like the infinitesimal silence between the trigger pull and the bullet discharge – that moment as the hammer fell. A much hotter emotion boiled inside him.
“You,” he snarled at the old man. “You left them behind knowing he would use them – knowing that they’d be hostages.”
“Better hostages than dead – otherwise, hostage taking wouldn’t be very effective, would it?”
Richard wondered if Shaw thought himself funny. He glared at the old man, neither knowing nor caring if he was actually cowed. He certainly didn’t act like it, shrugging dismissively and standing up to attend to his bags, making sure everything was in order. Richard was too angry to wonder where the bags came from.
“We just need to formulate a plan,” Shaw explained simply. “R is powerful and smart, but he’s also overconfident. That will be his downfall eventually. If we exploit that, we can save your family and protect that Ring.”
“And what is so damn important about that Ring?” Richard growled.
“It’s magic – and not ordinary magic. Magic is usually very complicated, requiring a lot of training – and time, for the more complicated bits. Honestly, technology is much less hassle, as very few magical items can be used by anyone except the person they were designed for – that Ring is one such object.
“Anyone can use the Ring and its power. I knew your great aunt had one and trusted her to keep it safe. Until now, I didn’t know which one.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Eyes of a cat. Someone like R would never get off that high.”
Richard listened carefully and replied just the same. “Cute story, but I don’t believe in magic.”
Shaw raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to believe in magic. But you must accept that R will kill for it, and that he must not acquire it. You can think of it as magic, as ancient technology, or as a symbol of power that will inspire more people to follow him in his murderous rampages – they’re all fairly correct.”
Richard didn’t reply. Shaw pulled out a cell phone, a disposable one such as they mentioned in those crime procedurals, though this was the first time Richard had actually seen one.
“R will call this phone, deliver his demands, and we can make plans from there.”
Richard sighed silently through his nose. “How does he have that number?”
“Sometimes it is a good idea to have secure channels of communication with your enemies.”
Most of the day passed with ridiculous slowness. In less than twenty minutes last night, Richard had been dislodged from his perfect life and dropped right off the cliff of mind-numbing insanity, but now the day dragged on in endless lectures on how to handle a crisis. Most of it seemed to boil down to, “As an amateur, the most important thing to remember is that you must make a decision and follow through; the worst thing for you is hesitation and second-guessing in a moment of crisis.” Richard listened because it was better than letting his thoughts wandered, because they always wandered to his family, wandered to the deep pool of fear that separated him from them. As long as he focused on what he had to do, he could stay calm.
He could stay calm.
The call arrived just as the old man was attempting to coax Richard into accepting some dinner. Shaw took the call, but after a few cursory questions handed the phone to Richard. The accountant took it, listened without expression, responded with inflection, and hung up without any taunts, threats, or bravado. He relayed the conversation to Shaw in the same dead tone.
“He wants us to meet at a community center being renovated in my neighborhood after nightfall. He wants both of us there with the Ring.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Nothing worth telling.”
Shaw studied Richard’s stony face for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Alright. I guess we’ll just have to prep the ground.”
Shaw’s plan involved some magical malarkey with symbols and “investing energy.” According to Shaw, the only way R could possibly make it out of this trap is if he used a proxy, which is something a control freak like R would never use, especially when it involved something so valuable. Richard wandered listlessly around the lounge of the dark community center, vaguely wondering where all the supposed refurbishing was taking place. This part, at least, looked exactly like it did when it closed a couple of months ago, setting aside the markings Shaw had made in the last hour.
“Benito, did you and the kids visit here often?” Shaw suddenly asked.
Richard didn’t have the energy to be surprised or confused. “Sometimes I took them here, yeah. Why?”
“Come place your hand here.”
Not bothering to argue metaphysics, Richard complied, covering a Scandinavian rune with his tan palm. Shaw covered his hand with his own, and immediately Richard felt something akin to an electric shock pierce through his hand followed by the curious feeling that his entire body had just been doused in cold water. Ignoring his discomfort, Shaw glanced around the room as though admiring his handiwork, though nothing obvious had changed. The old man grimaced.
“Community centers are usually easy to make into fortresses, but I guess there isn’t that strong of a community here.” Richard didn’t know what he was talking about and didn’t ask for clarification. Shaw kept talking, regardless. “It should hold. R will come, we’ll place the box in the middle of the room. He enters as we leave, and the circle closes, trapping him inside. I then call one of the few people capable of holding him in custody. Simple enough?”
Richard nodded silently. He didn’t believe the trap would work, but he also didn’t know what else to do. His path was set, and he would follow through. It was his only choice.Shaw groaned and held his stomach briefly, but quickly forced himself to simply lean on his cane once more and gave Richard one of those horrible smiles. That, too, faded fast.
“When this is all over, Benito, I need you to take the Ring.”
Richard finally reacted. “What? You want me to keep the damn thing? The thing that caused all this in the first place?”
“The ‘cause’ of this situation is lot more complicated than one trinket, no matter how unusual it is,” Shaw admonished. “Your great aunt was a good woman and very smart. She passed the Ring down to you for a reason.”
“To keep it safe?” Richard scoffed. “I’m an accountant. I don’t know anything about hiding things or protection – or anything about whatever world you people are caught up in. I’m nobody.”
“Nobody is nobody,” Shaw repeated, without the smirk this time. “If it were a matter of knowledge and skill, there are a thousand people more qualified than either of us. Lucian & Kane has deep vaults, the Grey Hood Council is highly motivated, and no one knows more about magic than the O’Connell Family, but all of them are powerful people. And in a place of power is exactly where this Ring is most dangerous.”
“So you want me to hide it – to risk my family again and again – because I have no valuable skills beyond keeping numbers in line?” Richard demanded, not bothering to check his anger.
“It isn’t my choice. You didn’t just inherit a trinket – you inherited your great aunt’s duty. Protect the Ring. Whether or not you believe it, you are saving more than just a few people. In fact, in a very real sense, you are saving the world.”
Richard laughed. He covered his eyes with his fingers, blotting out the madness in front of him, trying to make the world stop for just a moment. The day had dragged on, but now everything was moving too fast – the stakes were far too high. R would be here any moment, and he would have to –
Richard turned away from Shaw, unable to look at the old man and tell him the truth, that he could never take the Ring back. Shaw wouldn’t let it go.
“Everyone inherits their duty from the previous generation. The only choice you have is if you honor that duty – or turn away.”
Richard didn’t turn around.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” R had arrived. Both the old man and the accountant turned to face the Asian. He was standing in the hall leading to the workout room, just outside of Shaw’s fancy circle. “I can see my prize on the floor there, but don’t think I’m stupid enough to come in and get it. I could Feel the magic from the parking lot.”
Richard glanced at Shaw, who visibly gulped, but didn’t panic. Already the younger man could see a plan formulating in his older mind.
“Fair enough, R. I’ll bring it to you.”
R said simply, “No.”
Shaw set his raised foot back down and resettled his weight upon his cane, looking at the Asian expectantly. Richard could hardly breathe, not knowing how this would play out.
“Both of you.”
Shaw blinked and his eyebrows wrinkled closer together. “Excuse me?”
“I want both of you to bring me the Ring.”
Shaw looked at R uncomprehendingly, clearly regarding his request as absurd. Richard thought he understood; it would be in R’s best interest to keep them separated, to keep them from tag-teaming him during the exchange. Clearly, that wasn’t R’s way of thinking, as he didn’t retract his statement even after a long moment of silence. Shaw accepted this bizarre turn of events as calmly as ever, limping over to the box with more grace than Richard managed with a normal gait. Richard walked up behind him, his legs stiff, resisting every impulse his brain gave them. They knew he shouldn’t be doing this; they knew that he should run.
Richard shook his head sharply. That was absurd.
Strangely, this was the easy part. He started breathing almost normally as he stayed a half step behind the old man, approaching the man who held his family hostage. He knew how the next few moments would play out, and that gave him resolve.
They reached the edge of the circle. Shaw took a deep breath, clearly preparing to do something drastic, and held his arm out for R to take the box.
R looked the old man in the eye. He held that gaze for a long moment. It took nearly a full minute for Shaw to realize that he wasn’t going to take the box.
Instead, R whispered, “I’m waiting.”
Shaw’s baffled expression never left his face; already Richard’s hand was under his jacket. Hand gripping the unfamiliar tool naturally, the accountant thumbed the switch easily, revealing a red dot that meant it was ready to use. Shaw still glanced around in utter bewilderment when the item pressed into the back of his neck. After that, he didn’t have a chance for clarity.
Richard pulled the gun’s trigger, painting the walls faster than the building’s renovators.
R regarded the old man’s body with another unreadable expression, though Richard later guessed it was something like approval. The Asian remarked, “I’m used to family-men being hero types, not pragmatists. I didn’t actually expect you to do as I asked over the phone. It’s quite refreshing to find someone who is truly ready to do anything for his family – especially in a first world country, where stable families are so rare.”
Richard blinked uncomprehendingly.
“Well, you have yours,” R continued, oblivious. “With this murder charge hanging over your head, I no longer have any reason to worry about your family being witnesses to my crimes. You’ll keep them quiet or the police will receive a neat little package of evidence leading to your door.
“Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll do you an extra favor. I’ll clean up this mess, make sure a police investigation won’t even start unless I want it to. Any evidence that can be destroyed should be covered up by the renovations. Consider it a gift.”
Richard nodded numbly once again. He dropped the gun, and immediately feeling started coming back to his body. R placed an almost friendly hand on his back and guided him out the side door.
“Stop worrying. It’s over. Go back to your family.”
Richard found himself in the balmy California night. He breathed in the thin dry air and let it back out. He looked down the street and spotted his home, where his family would be waiting, not knowing what happened to him.
He shook his head one last time. It was over. He was free.
He walked home with only half a smile on his face.
Inside the community center, R knelt next to Shaw’s body, examining the old man’s shocked expression as though he had never seen such a thing before. Shaw had seemed so strong, enduring so much in his unreasonably long life, that his pathetic end actually disappointed R. He swore on his enemy’s soon-to-be-dug grave that he would not go out like that. He would go out on his terms, in his own way. He wouldn’t be weak, like that pathetic “family-man.”
R had no intention of letting him go. The man crunched numbers for the account of some potentially useful people. One day, R would show up on his door and remind him that kill Shaw squared things between them, but covering up his murder was a favor the pathetic accountant had yet to return. R wouldn’t give him a choice.
He took the box from the dead man’s hand. With this, choice would be moot. He flipped the door open. He stared at the empty cavity briefly before closing it shut again and irritably sliding it open instead. Finally, he held the Ring and felt the rush of victory.
Finally, he slid the Ring on his finger and felt its power.
End
MirageNJ Magas
WC: 3,616
Critiques welcome
The heat has a way of turning the mundane into fascinating distraction.
Abris a-Carif was no stranger to this phenomenon. His office, located over the 6th floor buttress of the south western tower in the Ivory Palace knew little of the pleasures of shade that many of his colleagues comfortably vaunted. Even with the shutters suspended upon spindly iron rods, Abris’ Department of Social Registry rarely caught the winds that blew through the court of inner towers. In point of fact, it made little difference whether or not the shutters were opened or closed. The heat within the Registry increased with the rise of the desert sun above them, and did not abate until long after Abris had retired from his day’s accounts to the much friendlier climate of his own personal apartments.
Sitting on the raised white wood floor of his office, his work untouched on the low table before him, Abris considered the persistence of today’s heat in keeping him from productivity. First it had been the condensation beading on the bowl of palm wine that was customarily brought to him between his morning and afternoon meal. He was ignorant of the specific science involved in the appearance of the liquid, but after a brief experimentation had confirmed that no wine had in fact leaked from the bowl. He made a note to himself to inquire about it with someone who might know of such things, and his curiosity pacified, promptly forgot it.
He next became fixated on a thread come loose on the armrest against which he leaned. His fingers wound the thread in complex loops and springs as his eyes slid passively over his ledgers. His consciousness took little account of either of the two activities until he happened to pull up in his hand a great deal of the ullah wool that popped free from the stitching he had unravelled. He was thus left in discomfort for the better part of half a sand glass while a replacement rest was searched for.
At the beginning of the sun’s descent he took his afternoon meal. The hoise thrall was a distraction in and of herself, and he took his time taking from her what he needed. Like the rest of her ilk, she didn’t speak, but he amused himself for a time drawing artful calligraphy down her spine while her eyes remained unfocussed on the air in front of her nose. Entertained well enough, he allowed the hoise to recline upon his lap while she had her own repast. It was a simple dish of cubed melon but the ice on which it rested, Abris took unusual, lazy delight in watching melt. It further kept him from his day’s tasks which —to be fair— did not work half as hard to keep his attention. When the ice was reduced to water alone, his interest in both it and the hoise waned and he had them both removed from his office.
It wasn’t for a lack of work that he found himself in such a deficit of concentration; he had several accounts which had come due for their annual reappraisal and just before his midday meal he had been given the card of a young noble seeking the estate of his late father. This worthy was due to appear before him at any minute, and yet Abris’ attention was currently fancifully fixed upon the thin sheen of sweat collected at the base of his assistant’s attractive neck. The back of the man’s collar had been pulled down as low as fashionable society granted acceptable, giving Abris unabashed discretion to view the drops of moisture as they tiptoed down a path of smooth, pale skin before disappearing into the layers of cloth that Abris —at this time at least— had no intention of removing. Presently, his assistant disappeared into the antechamber with his files and catalogues and Abris was left once again at the mercy of the heat, contemplating the races of sweat down his own back, and very little else.
His doze of seconds in his mind was a quarter drop of the sand glass in reality. He opened his eyes to his assistant’s polite knock upon his desk. Their eyes met briefly, professionally, while the man lay a heavy file on the table top. He took a single step back, tilted a precise forty-five degrees, and touched his badge of office on his shoulder deferentially.
“Sir, Deviinos ii-Hines is waiting.”
“ii-Hines, he calls himself?” It wasn’t a name that Abris had expected to hear again. Indeed, the file laid before him, dusty and yellow on the edges had been relegated to the archives nearly a half century before, at the change of the imperial line.
“Sir, yes. Sir, he has an Imperial seal supporting his claim.”
“Well, that does lend him some credibility.” Abris flipped open the file with the tip of a letter opener. One never knew what manner of vermin had managed to crawl into an archive. The black ink was still prominent on the aged paper:
Patriq i-Hines: Of Imperial Favor; Physician to His 5th Imperial Majesty, Avedis Forte;…
The page continued on in the fashion of titles the man had earned by merit or by good graces. He had been quite successful in prestige and capital. There were no less than four estates to his name, though Abris noted the striking red ink that indicated two of these had been seized by His 7th Imperial Majesty after the Forte line had fallen to ruin. Several apothecaries owed their existence to his patronage and he even had a kaador under his family name.
“What use could a physician have for dragon hunters, do you think?” The question wasn’t exactly expectant of an answer, but his assistant gave one anyway.
“Status, Sir?” He made a dismissive gesture with his shoulders. “Sir, I can’t imagine well what use anyone would have for dragon hunters these days, and yet they linger in fashion, to some degree.”
“Yes, you are right in that,” Abris answered and flipped to the back of the file where the Hines lineage was recorded. There was nothing unusual in the record. Patriq had earned his previously untitled family an i monicker late in his career by joining the imperial retainer after the death of the Consort. His parents were of mercantile birth which had been the pattern of the line all the way back to the founding of the empire.
What struck Abris as notable was the absence of a registered spouse or child. Where this Deviinos boy had come from, Abris was curious to find out. He delicately dipped his quill into ink and made an indication of addition under the last entry. This he augmented with the date, his initials and his abbreviated qualifications of office. Indented beside that he noted Deviinos’ name and a symbol of approval pending. Setting his quill down he raised his eyes to his waiting assistant.
“Send him in.”
The man again touched his fingers to his seal of office and removed himself from the room. Moments later, his even footfalls returned, accompanied by the sharp, impatient raps of a second. Abris laced his fingers together across his armrest and prepared himself to meet this worthy young man.
Deviinos was, at first impression, every bit the noble personage he claimed to be. He wore no less than two fine cut undercoats in white and pale peach and a single umber overcoat with large gold buttons, cinched at the waist in a white waist sash. His shoulder sash —a far less humble shade of brick red, was longer than the usual fashion, but he handled it expertly, brushing the dust of the lower class off his ruby studded slippers with the end of it. He walked with an exaggerated gait, but the youth of this age often flaunted themselves in exaggeration and given the smoothness of his face (he couldn’t have been older than 150) it was hardly unusual. What was unusual, however, were the gloves upon his hands: ullah leather dyed a sunny yellow. A new wave of heat fell over Abris at just the sight of them.
The lordling’s dispassionate gaze, heavy under painted lid and lash was fixed firmly on the ground before him, uninterested in his surroundings or the people around him. The look of supremacy slid over Abris like an advancing shadow, but he had seen its like hundreds of times in his career and was unaffected.
“Lord, please, seat yourself at your leisure.” Deviinos sat. As sharp as Abris’ eyes were, he could find no fault in the manner with which the young man arranged himself. He folded at the knees and lowered himself with back straight and head proudly erect. His shoulder sash he folded with care over the opposite armrest on which he then reclined in impassive leisure. His dark hair was noticeably shorter than the fashion of his peers, but was braided back around the sides of his head in knots that must have taken the better part of his morning to have a servant complete. The wide collar of his damask coat promptly slid off his shoulder as he leaned, hinting at a figure edging into the range of slight. Fashionably lazy, contemptuous of anyone outside of his title, perfectly comfortable in his own skin; yes, he had every mark of noble birth in him. Abris scrutinized him for a moment longer to see if he could shake the boy’s confidence. He was returned a look of impatience.
The solicitor cleared his throat. “What can this humble servant do for you today?” The words were rote, but retained a sincerity that kept him his office.
“I am here for my father’s estate.” Deviinos said with a heavy accent. Abris frowned.
“Lord, yes, this has been brought to my attention, however —and pardons for the implications, there is no mention of an heir in your father’s records. In fact, there is no mention even of his having taken a wife. Lord, I’m sure you can perceive the difficulty of your claim.”
“I am well aware of my father’s situation, yes, and it doesn’t surprise me that there is no mention of my mother or myself in his records. There was little love between my parents and I was taken from my homeland in my infancy. I don’t doubt that my father took me for lost to him forever.” He raised an uncaring shoulder which brought the collar of his overcoat further down over his arm. Abris’ eyes fell with the damask and were lost a moment in the forest of gold plumes woven into the fabric. No, not plumes; they were snakes. An endless coil of snakes linked in a continuous chain in such a way that it was impossible to tell one from another. Abris brought his eyes back to the powdered face of the noble before him.
“Lord, I can neither prove nor disprove your story.” He answered finally. “But it does little to give legitimacy to your claim. It remains that there is no record of you as heir of his estate and-”
“I was under the impression,” Deviinos drawled in his increasingly distracting accent. “That Iniikan law permitted a previously unnamed heir to present himself in the event that no heir is named or in the case that a named heir is no longer present on this plane.”
“Lord, yes, that is true but-”
“And further, if being in possession of reasonable connection to the late estate holder, within the designated period of claim, such an unnamed heir could expect delays only to the extent of formality in receiving the entitled estate.”
An uncomfortable silence drifted between them.
“Lord, you are undoubtedly in possession of a great deal of learning in regard to Iniikan inheritance law.” The young man’s lashes dipped down but a fraction in acknowledgment of the recognition.
Abris cleared his throat again. “I will, of course, need to see your proof of connection.”
“Of course.” Deviinos pulled up again and produced from inside his waist sash a white silk bag. From this, he withdrew and placed face down before Abris the seal of the late i-Hines. The registry solicitor stared at the ivory brand for some time before delicately asking, “Lord, May I?” Deviinos acquiesced with a look of indifference and gently, Abris lifted the artifact from the table.
Mirage(cont.)
It was a decent weight, pure dragon ivory from the feel of it. On the bulb carved and inlaid in gold was the 5th Imperial sigil, granting authenticity to the seal. He touched it gently into his ink stone and on a loose sheet of paper, pressed it down to compare it to the one in the records.
“Lord, there is no doubt in my mind that this seal belonged to Patriq i-Hines, however, I’m left intrigued by how you came to have it and how you came to be raised outside of Iniika.”
Deviinos accepted his seal back after Abris had wiped it clean and stored it away again in its silk purse. There was silence between them again. Of course, the young man was under no obligation to give his story. Being in procession of the seal was enough, as far as Iniikan law was concerned, to claim the estate where no other heir existed to challenge. It was just as possible, as the silence stretched on, that the heat had lulled his client into distraction as well. Certainly, Abris found himself possessed more of an interest in the young man’s exotic features —the roundness of his eyes and the low set of his brow— than any desire to draw their meeting out into long, complicated legal arguments.
“If you wish for my story, then I will have it paid for in a bowl of that wine you seem to have on hand.” Deviinos answered finally.
“Lord, of course. Atsii! Bring our client some wine. In haste.” His assistant didn’t answer, but Abris felt no doubt that he had been heard. When the wine had been brought, tasted and approved of quality, Deviinos started his tale:
“I was born here, I must insist, as this is a matter of some personal pride, you see. Whether or not my parents ever had a spark of affection between them before that event is unknown to me, but to have my mother explain it, my father was the blackest of villains and not to be spoken of.
“I was raised out of the country, some many miles north east of here and yes, I realize that such temperate climates in those regions are… less than hospitable. I have learned that first hand. Sins of the father, as they say…” He trailed and carefully laid one gloved hand over the other. Abris winced sympathetically.
“My mother was a proud creature in her own right, and raised me in the law and language and custom of Iniika, however, and it is my shame to admit that living abroad has unfortunately muddied that culture in me. As I grew older, I only became more resentful at having been taken from such a place of class and society and transplanted into the common dirt of the lesser creatures of the north. My home has ever been Iniika and while my mother vowed she would never return there, I could not in my heart make the same promise.”
“But how did you come into possession of your father’s seal?” Abris asked, when Deviinos paused to wet his lips on his wine. “I can’t imagine your mother would give it to you, holding your father in such contempt.”
“No, you are quite right. She didn’t. The seal passed to me by my father’s own hand. You know, of course, that he was forced to flee Iniika when his imperial patron met his untimely end?”
“Yes, of course, history is not lost on either of us, it seems.”
“Indeed. He fled, and in needing lodging outside of Iniika, sent correspondence to my mother. However he came to know her location is unknown to me, but —it goes without saying— she refused him instantly. I, however, followed the reply, and cast my lot in with the sire I’d never before met. I can’t say it is a decision that I regret.”
“To abandon the woman who raised you?” Abris asked, incredulous.
“To abandon the woman who robbed me of everything it is my right to hold.” Deviinos corrected. “My father, before he died gave me his seal as my birthright, my permission to return here and claim what he left behind. I was ever meant to return, and she would have me kept from it.”
There was nothing Abris could find to say for a while after the young man had finished his story. To be sure, there were none left in Iniika to verify it. There were no other Hines —in the Proper or outside of it— that Abris knew of. In fact, it was incredibly lucky that Deviinos had arrived when he had; in another fifty years, the empire would have full rights to the unclaimed estate putting it forever outside of the young man’s grasp. He lay a hand on the record of the masterless estate and drew his eyes up to the young man lounging across from him, utterly unaffected by the deliberative silence. Deviinos’ attention was on his wine, cupped in a yellow gloved hand. What scars that glove concealed Abris could hardly imagine. It would no doubt bring him celebrity among the youth of court if his mysterious circumstances did not.
“Lord solicitor, you are staring.” The young man said with equal parts amusement and disdain.
“Forgiveness, the heat drives my mind to preoccupation.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose and then waved away an unidentified infirmery before straightening and smoothing out the paper in the file before him.
“Well, I suppose it is my duty to see to it that you are comfortably situated as your father wished. Welcome home, Deviinos ii-Hines.”
“That is pleasing to hear.”
“Although —and I’m sure I don’t have to mention this to one as learned as yourself— you realize that you inherit an ii title only, being the son of Patriq i-Hines. You can try to place yourself in His Majesty’s good graces, if you wish to change that.”
Deviinos inclined his head in a way that Abris took for acknowledgement of his situation.
The solicitor drew himself up, first to his knees and then to his feet and crossed the room to the safe set into the wall. From it he withdrew a palm sized seal of office. At his desk he wet it in red ink and pressed it over half the page near the bottom on Deviinos’ name, thus marking him as the rightful heir to the Hines estate.
“It will take but a few days for the paperwork to go through the courts, however, if you speak to my assistant on the way out, he will be pleased to present you with a note of credit from this office to see to your comfort and lodging until that time. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”
For the first time since he’d entered the stifling office, a smile touched Deviinos’ lips. A curious, triumphant, self satisfied smile.
“No, that will be all.” He took up his shoulder sash in his gloved hands and lifted himself near perfectly straight again. No bow was given, but none was expected. One holding an ii title did not bow to a mere public servant. Abris watched as the young man left the office. With no small bit of pride for his homeland, Abris observed for a final time that this young man was of high breeding, even if he had grown in foreign soil.
***
Atsii’s neck was smooth, and tasted slightly of salt and palm oil. His assistant had, with little persuasion, agreed to dip his collar lower than strictly proper, and Abris thought nothing of introducing a little more heat to the end of his day. Their shared evening meal slept soundlessly under an open window while they lay indecently tangled and half undressed, in a transitional relationship between professional and amorous.
“Do you know,” Atsii said in silence-breaking languidness as Abris sampled his collar bone for a third time. “That I was rather surprised you granted that young man the Hines estate?”
“I assure you that your thoughts are privately your own, which is why I must ask: how does this feel?”
“It feels quite nice, yes. But,” he insisted. “Did you not find him odd?”
“Not half as odd as I find the timing of this conversation.”
Atsii indulged him in a smile and a touch that put all thoughts of lordlings and estate claims from Abris’ mind.
“I suppose it isn’t my place yet to pass such judgements.”
“No, it is not.” Abris agreed.
“It might be nothing after all, but I have never known a noble to keep an unbroken hoise. Or to make his way through the streets by his own feet, such as I observed.”
“I beg you,” The solicitor groaned into his assistant’s elbow. “Put it from your mind and help me relax after such a long day.”
With Atsii’s aid, all concerns regarding the young Lord ii-Hines, inheritance claims, and indeed everything outside of his assistant’s sweet, palm scented skin fled Abris’ thoughts. The coming cool of night and the pleasant fulfillment of fantasy were such a delight together that distraction could no longer penetrate the solicitor’s mind.
Undoubtedly well-written, Nicky. It was immmersive, painting pictures and dropping suprising facts casually enough for them to feel natural. My only quibble is that it doesn't seem like a full story, but more like half of the first act.My brother is distracting me from being more thorough, but at least I got to use the word, "quibble." Look forward to see more stories, Nicky.
Edward wrote: "Undoubtedly well-written, Nicky. It was immmersive, painting pictures and dropping suprising facts casually enough for them to feel natural. My only quibble is that it doesn't seem like a full st..."Thanks Edward! I'll have to work a bit harder at concealing the background noise. The fact of the matter is, I'm terrible at writing short stories; specifically, at ending them. I'll keep practicing here when I have the time.
I like background noise - I think my primary flaw (in general; there are a lot of problems with the story I posted this week) is that I don't give enough background noise. I don't toy with scenes enough; I just push them on to the next part of the story. Sometimes it's good to live in a scene a bit, which is something your writing provides.
Hey I have a question.Edward, I like the advice you gave Nicky
Would you be cool with me copying what you said and posting it for one of my stories?
I'm starting this new thing where I post things that inspire me to write and keep me motivated and I'll give you all the credit and tell whom you said it to and where the comment is. (Such as, Edward said this to so and so in the group ----- on the thread ----)
Is that okay?????
It's mostly to help other people if they spend the time to read it. xD
Edward wrote: "I like background noise - I think my primary flaw (in general; there are a lot of problems with the story I posted this week) is that I don't give enough background noise. I don't toy with scenes ..."I have that problem with intermission scenes, where it's too awkward to do a large time jump, but I can't really think of anything noteworthy for the scene to say. I just feel like I'm shoving my characters into a train bound for the next exciting station, or some other, better metaphor that I can't think of because it's 12:30am at the moment.
I'll be reading all the stories this weekend, and post my thoughts then. Responsibility can only wait, tapping its foot for so long before flies start buzzing around a weeks worth of dirty dishes.
Given that I more or less ripped that off from John Rogers in the Leverage commentaries, I think it would be alright. Of course, that advice should be tempered with the opposite - that every sentence should still serve a purpose so that it doesn't feel like the narrative is spinning its wheels. As Nicky pointed out, that tends to happen a lot in transitional bits.
True.Tanks though.
I gotta go to lunch, lunch break.
I'll be back on in a few.
Bye.
Nice talking with you! :)
Title: DifferentBy: Emily
Word Count: 3009
*open to feeback*
Sorry I just joined the group and I saw this topic this morning and say the deadline so I wrote this very quickly since my access to a computer is gone at 3. So this is a very rough draft my apologies.
Ms. Brandy smiled at us her almond eyes seemed to twinkle at each one of the students she looked at. I sat in my seat squirming hoping she could bless me with her starry gaze. Sadly though, when her eyes swept around in my direction they were looking over my head at some other little boy or girl in the back of the class. I felt a slight twinge of jealousy but I quickly told myself that it was only the first day, we had all year and I was sure her eyes would twinkle at me soon. "Welcome class," Ms. Brandy started. Her voice was like a piano, playing notes so that they fell over us forming a pretty melody. "As you might now I'm Ms. Brandy and I'll be your preschool teacher." She walked over to her desk delicately picking up a stack of papers. Walking back to the middle of the room she continued to pluck out more notes, "We are going to have so much fun this year! You will all learn so much and I promise you will all have a great year!" She continued talking transitioning into rules about the classroom. Listening to her tune made me so relaxed and comfortable I almost fell asleep!. But I couldn't do that, if daddy got a phone call saying I had fallen asleep I wouldn't be able to play out in the garden when I got home. So instead,to keep me awake, I let my eyes wander around the room. To be more specific though I think it could've been called a rainbow.
There were purple shelves that towered over like giants, books of all different colors and sizes nestled themselves in the openings. I looked at one of the books trying to read the words. "The…little…that" I muttered out loud proud that I knew over half of the title. The ceiling was speckled with red dots. Some of them bigger or smaller than others. They looked like balloons floating up into the sky, I almost reached out to save one but remembered that it wasn't real.
The walls and floor were contrasting patterns of yellow and blue and even the chair I sat in was a bright sunshiny yellow. It made me happy that everything was so bright and colorful, it reminded me of home and I felt safe.
"Since this is your first day," Ms.Brandy's music sliced through my mind jarring me back to her. "We are going to do a little show and tell. I'll pass out a paper to each one of you and on it are some very easy and fun questions about yourself When you're all done writing down your answers we are all going to share!" Ms. Brandy went down the rows handing us each a paper. The paper had a lot of questions on it and I was scared at first because I thought that Ms. Brandy had lied about it being easy but as I read them I realized every question I knew. Ms. Brandy would never lie to me she was an adult and adults don't lie I scolded to myself. Looking back down at the paper, I picked up my pencil and began to fill in the answers.
What's your name? Halyn
How old are you? Four
What's your favorite food? Ice Cream
On and on I answered the questions feeling proud for knowing so much about myself! Then as i got to the end I came across a question that I didn't know the answer to.
What is something unique about you?
I didn't know. I wanted to cry looking at the blank question. "Everyone you have one more minute then we are all going to share." Ms. Brandy chimed. I screamed in my head. How embarrassing would it be if everyone had something unique about themselves except me! Tears were brimming my eyes and I hastily brought up my arm to wipe them away. Then I got an idea. My eyes, of course! I scribbled down my answer on my paper and turned it over. I didn't want anyone to see my answer to that question, I wanted it to be a surprise.
"Okay class it's time. now who would like to go first?" I raised my hand but Ms. Brandy picked someone in the back. It was a little girl, as she read I learned her name was Bailey and her favorite person was her mom. Something unique about her was that she loved to sing. Everyone clapped when she was done and Ms. Brandy asked for the next person. I raised my hand again but she picked a boy names Dillan whose unique thing was that he could blow bubbles in his milk glass. After Dillan was done I shot my hand up and Ms. Brandy picked me! I almost skipped up I was so excited to tell the class what was on my paper. I started down the list,
"My name is Halyn and I'm four years-old. My favorite food is ice-cream and my favorite animal is a giraffe. When i grow up I want to help animals. The person I love most is my daddy and something unique about is is that I have one blue eye." I smiled up at the class waiting for oohs and ahhs and clapping. Instead I was met with stares and a slight tug from Ms. Brandy who pulled me aside.
"Hayln I think you're confused sweetey," her former melodic voice had suddenly gotten terrifyingly stern and the twinkle in her eye was no where to be found. "Your blue eye isn't unique, it's different. You're different." What? Different…what was the difference between unique and different, and why was i so different from everybody else? I looked at Ms. Brandy she had brown hair like me so that wasn't different. Then I noticed all the kids in the room staring at me. They all had brown hair too. I traced down their face looking for something that was different and something that was unique. Bailey had a freckle on her eyebrow. Was that different or unique? Dillan had big eyebrows but he didn't get scolded so that must just be unique. I did notice what wasn't different or unique though. Everyone had brown eyes. I looked back at Ms. Brown my face was red. She was looking at me with her big brown eyes and I had to look away. How embarrassing that my eyes didn't match. What was I thinking coming to school looking like this. I felt tears fall out of my blue and brown eye and I started to hiccup uncontrollably. "There there, it's okay if there's one thing I'll teach you this year Halyn it's that you can always change different." She picked me up and brought me to the nurses office where they called my mom. I was still balling when my mom had arrived and by the time we got in the car I had peed myself too.
When we got home my mom washed me up and then sent me to my room for making such a big mess of my first day of school. She told me to think about what I'd done and to come down when dinner was ready. So I did think about what I'd done. I thought about how different my blue eye was and how all the other kids had just stared at me. I thought about how Ms.Brandy had yelled at me for being different and how unique and different were two different things. I wasn't sure what the difference was but by the time dinner was ready I was almost positive I understood. Unique was good and different was bad. I wasn't sure if I was right though because I was a kid and kids aren't always right where as adults are never wrong, so I knew as I sat down in my giraffe chair at our orange dinner table that I had to ask my parents.
We were having mashed potatoes and beef stroganoff for dinner tonight. I didn't want to touch the potatoes though because they looked like a smiley face and I couldn't eat anything that was that happy. When there was nothing but the potatoes left my dad asked me, "Hayln, why haven't you finished your food?" I didn't want to tell him that it was because the food had a face because he would tell me that I was being silly and food didn't have faces so instead I decided to ask my question.
"Daddy, is different bad?" I looked up at his face and he didn't answer for a moment. Mommy looked at him too which made me think she wanted to know the answer just as much as I did. He must have been thinking pretty hard because it took him a couple moments to answer when he did I was both happy and sad.
"Yes different is bad." He said in a voice that he thought was a kind one but I always thought of as the you're did something wrong but I'm not going to punish you voice. I was happy because I had been right and it felt good being right, but I was sad because it meant that my eye was bad and that I'm bad. I looked into my parents eyes, they were both brown like the chocolate cake I got for my third birthday. Why was mine different?
"Mommy, how come I don't have two brown eyes?" This time daddy looked at her as she had looked at him when I asked him about different. She clasped her hands together delicately like she was holding a little fairy inside and didn't want to crush it. It took mommy even longer to answer than daddy. I liked her answer better though because when she started it she made it sound like one of the fairytales she told at bedtime.
"A long time ago before even your great grandparents were born, there were people with all sorts of colors."
"But mommy we have people with lots of different colors now."
"I'm not talking about skin, I'm talking about hair and eyes. There used to be so many hair colors you could make a rainbow and no two people had the same shade of eyes!" I tried imagine people walking around with purple hair and yellow eyes but I couldn't see those colors fitting anywhere but on the walls or our clothes. "There was one color though that was…stronger than the others. This color was brown and as time went on more and more people started having brown hair and brown eyes and less and less people had anything different." I thought about feeling sad for the people that were losing our colors but then I reminded myself that different was bad and I didn't feel very sorry for them anymore. "This kept going on and brown kept growing and growing until one day there was no other color." But mommy we have lots of colors. "I mean there was no other color of hair or eyes at first everyone was really sad because we had lost all the different colors but then everyone realized that this wash't a curse it was a blessing. Now no one had to worry about be less pretty than someone else or being judged based on a certain color and everyone was happy that they all looked the same."
I thought about this and agreed. It's better if everyone looked the same because if they didn't everyone would be judged on how different they were and since different was bad they would get judged bad. Then I realized a hole in her story. "If all the other colors are gone then how come I have one blue eye?"
My daddy answered this one. "That's because somewhere in our family there must have been a trace of blue eyes and by chance you must have inherited it."
"What's inherited mean?"
"It means…something was passed down from one person to you." I felt tears start up in my eyes again. So I didn't have a choice that I was different someone gave their difference to me!? My mom must have saw my face because she quickly said.
"Sometimes it's okay to be different."
"But you said different's bad."
"Sometimes it's okay to be bad." I was learning so much today. I don't think my brain could process it all and started acting weird because I ate the smiley potatoes without another thought after that and went up to my room. Everything was so confusing. I was different and there used to be a lot of people that were different too but now there aren't and different is bad. Sometimes bad is okay though and there's a difference between unique and different and that's bad and good. But if sometimes it's okay to be bad does that make bad good sometimes? When is it okay to be bad and when is it not okay? Eventually I fell asleep and I know because in the morning I woke up in my bad in my pajamas even though the last thing I remember was being on the floor in my pink dress. Mommy came into my room and changed me into a green blouse with a giraffe and a white skirt.
I ate breakfast and then we got in the car to go to preschool. I got scared again because I had embarrassed myself so much yesterday. I was so scared that when we pulled up I didn't wanna get out of the car. Mommy opened the doors and smiled at me with open arms but I shook my head no. "Remember Hayln, sometimes it's okay to be bad." DId that mean that it was okay to be different today? The answer must have been yes because I got out of the car with mommy and walked with her into school. I don't think mommy lied I just thought that that was one of the only times when mommy was wrong. When I came into the class everyone got silent and stared at me. No one would talk to me and even Ms. Brandy never met my eyes when she was smiling. I tried to play with some of the kids during free time but everyone would just run away and call me one eye. I wanted to cry really bad but I didn't because then I'd be sent up to my room again so I just held it in and played in the corner by myself while pretending not to notice the people poking me and calling me names.
When school was over though I think I should of thank them because they helped me sort something out in my brain. Yes my eye was bad yes I was different which is also bad. But if I do something that's considered bad to make both of those things good than whatever I do bad is considered good and so it's okay. So I told mommy I had fun at school and when we got home I went into the kitchen and grabbed the scissors out of the drawer. Daddy had told me never to do this but this is would be my one bad thing that would make everything good so it would be okay. I walked to the bathroom down the hall and I climbed up on the toilet so that I could see myself and I looked at my eyes. The brown one was so pretty it looked just like mommy's and daddy's and Ms. Brandy's but my blue eye was so different. It reminded me of the beach we went to during the summer it was sort of sparkly and looked like it had ripples going through it. I wanted to look at it longer but I knew that it was different and so I couldn't like it that much. Because if I didn't like it that much, I wouldn't miss it when I took it out. Squeezing my brown eye shut I plunged the scissors into my blue eye. I screamed and fell of the toilet the pain was so scary that I didn't know what to do. My mom came in and screamed too. She ran down the hall and I thought I heard her calling someone. My brown eye was still closed and I was too scared to open it and my other eye was filling with a mixture of red and blackness so I didn't know what was going on. I just kept screaming and screaming hoping if I screamed loud enough the pain would stop. Instead I must have died because I passed out and when I woke up everything was black but I wasn't in pain anymore so I thought that meant that I must have died.
Then I heard someones voice say she's awake and I heard my dad say something and I felt someone unwrapping something from my face which made me realize that if I could hear dad and someone was touching me then I couldn't be dead. Something kept unwinding around me until light broke through and I could see the faces of my mom and dad who both gasped. I wondered why they did so but then I saw the mirror that the doctor was holding in front of me. There was me…only it wasn't me. It was the new me and the new me had two brown eyes. I couldn't help but giggle. Now I was the same. I had done something bad but in the end I made it right so it was okay. No one would make fun of me at school anymore or tell me I was different. I thought back to Ms. Brandy's words and she was right. You can always change different. Now when I go back to school she'll see me and she'll smile and when she does there will be a twinkle in her eyes. As I thought about all this I smiled. I was finally unique.
*I know you already just read it but sorry for any grammatical mistakes and my endless typos!*
Great job of portraying a child's point of view, Emily. I have to admit, the story did confuse me a bit - was it, perhaps, meant to be a dark satire?
Thanks! and yes it is meant to fit more into that genre, to be honest the story is a bit confusing to myself but I don't know I guess I was thinking that the point was to show not how something like what was happening in that society would change adults but how children may process it through their eyes and how something that may make no sense to us would make perfect sense to a child.
'Ello, me hearties!! This contest is officially over! Go vote for your favorite poems and stories here:Stories: http://www.goodreads.com/poll/show/86...
Poems: http://www.goodreads.com/poll/show/86...
I just couldn't figure out where to start with mine. It's nearly impossible to figure out where to start with any kind of story starring Saira.
Still haven't cleaned my house, but oh well. There's always tomorrow. My thoughts on the stories are below. With spoilers for anyone who hasn't read them yet.2513
by Leslie
This story paints a very troubling picture of a dystopian future in wording that makes the grim nature of it very tangible. I could feel the heat and the dryness and the desolation of the landscape that the author portrays. The ending, with its tiny spark of hope gave it a very satisfying conclusion that I think fits very well.
My single complaint about the story is the protagonist, Carol. I felt that the first person POV did not fulfill its potential. Despite being in her head for the narrative, the reader is given exposition in place of personality, thought or emotion. The author has a clear picture of what the world of 2513 looks like; she should now flesh out her main character.
The Hero’s Call
By Edward
I really liked this story most of the way through. The chaotic way in which Richard was thrust into a world of magic completely outside of his comprehension was fun and engaging. The fast pace of the beginning of the story works well for the narrative, however, it goes super sonic when it comes time to explain the relevant information the reader has been waiting for. Who is Shaw? Who is R? What is the deal with the ring? How did the pool catch on fire, the glass break and what was with the cool light show? How does magic work in this world? The reader is desperate to know and is left in that state for the rest of the story. Like a sore tooth, the missing information can’t be ignored and makes reading the second half uncomfortable.
I liked the ending; in general I’m a fan of conclusions where the paladin is corrupted and evil wins, however, because nothing crucial is explained to Richard or the reader, the emotion that sort of ending usually evokes is missing.
Different
By Emily
The message of this story is strong and the imagery is lasting and emotionally visceral. The hardest thing about this for me was the age of the character and the language didn’t match up. The narrative felt as though it were coming from a much older child, as well as many of the observations and conclusions she comes to. That aside, it's a good story.
Hi Nicky, thank you :) You're right, I was so focused on the setting that I neglected the protagonist. After reading the story again, if I'm not the writer, I would have thought that Carol is a 'robot', capable of getting pregnant lol thank you, I appreciate you pointing it out, another thing I have to improve :)
yay, I know, I'm silly, forget I wrote that, Belly!! lol
I wouldn’t have thought Carol was a robot, though it occurred to me that her affair with Jackson might ruin his marriage.
Oh..I see, I didn't make that clear too..
Definitely! Little Elron is a chip off the old microprocessor.
Belly, I'm not as good as you are. I don't think I can pull that off, just the thought of it makes me laugh.
Good points, Nicky. A lot of those things I ignored in favor of ending the story short of seven thousand words, so they'll definitely show up in revisions.
Thanks Nicky! I definitely need to work on being able to narrate a character with age appropriate thoughts and dialogue. I really appreciate all the feedback!
Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group.
Keep your story between 300 and 3,500 words long if possible. You may post longer stories, but they may not get read.
REMEMBER! A short story is NOT a scene. Please give it a BEGINNING, MIDDLE, and END of some kind.
This week’s topic is: Inheritance
The rules are pretty loose. You may write a story about anything that has to do with the topic. We do not care how, but the story you post must relate to the topic somehow.
Above all, have fun!