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message 1: by Kit Kat (last edited Jun 14, 2016 05:20PM) (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
Hey! So this is my writing folder, if you would like to share your work, then you may email me and I'll make you your own personal topic. You can post links to your work or simply post your work directly in to the thread and then people may comment on it!


message 2: by Kit Kat (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
SO, I guess as moderator, I need to post my work don't I? Heehee, well this is about as nerve wracking as it is exciting, but here's something that I've been working on for a while. It's the introduction to a story that I hope to soon be published... Here it is! Warning violence... and more to come.


message 3: by Kit Kat (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
“Icarus, hurry up.”
“Chelsea, I can’t keep up. My leg—“
“Stop complaining, Ike. You are the one who wanted to come out here in the first place. Jeez, you’re such a wimp, we’re almost there.” Ash wafts through the air, dragging sooty fingers across my cheeks and burning my eyes. I feel sickening crunches beneath my feet. I ignore the cries that come from all directions. I want to help them. I want to hold onto the hands that I kick away from my ankle. I want to lift them all up but I just can’t. The scent creeps in and with it comes the memories. Memories that I desperately shove in the back of my head. Keep walking. There is nothing you can do for them. I try, swallowing deeply, to focus on the one person that I can save: the little body in my arms. Lemon-lime eyes are barely cracked open. Organs loop their way out of his gut, sliding down my arms in grainy coils. My name felt so fitting at that moment.
Icarus Aurelian. I want you to do justice to that name, Ike. I know that you will do amazing things when you are older. That is why I gave you the name Icarus, because you will be the one that gives that name back its dignity. Thanks for that mom.
My leg aches. Stitches pop in their sockets. I should be back at the city. Injuries like mine do not heal over night. Not even with our healing abilities. Bones can set over night and skin can close, but nothing can help my nearly severed leg. The brace holding my left leg upright is going to be a permanent accessory from now on. Focus on something else.
I stare at Chelsea. Entrails ooze over her shoulder, a second child, soda can eyes glitter back. Yellow skin. Cartoonish and darkening fast. His liver is failing.
Why am I shocked? I am wading through death as we speak. Small hands splay themselves against the murky rubble. Fire burns everywhere, screams only broken by the thunderous groan of rubble shifting. Guess that is what happens when your entire world is destroyed. What an arrogant bastard I am, to think that I could have helped these people. Forget that. Only the boy in my arms matters right now.
“Come on, Ike.” Chelsea morphs at my side, her hazelnut eyes glittering with summer grass color. “Stop moping around, everyone makes mistakes.” I glance around the blood soaked grounds. The largest burial sight in this world’s history. “And this mistake wasn’t even yours to begin with! I mean, Avarians are always going to war, this would have happened whether you told Tarquin or not.”
“Just forget it, okay?” The child in my arms droops down, eyes glazing over. I have forgotten our mission here. Trying to change the subject I turn away from Chelsea. “Ceil and Marius… Cordon?” Chelsea nods once. Hair the color of storm clouds drifts over their flushed features. Siblings. Brothers. My brothers. Father was such a whore back home. As if being king exempted him from the pearl band hanging from his pointed ear. I am shocked that they even survived the fall. Thankful, but shocked.
“You were trying to help the Borians.” Why can’t she just drop it already?
“Chelsea-“
“Shut up! You think that everyone thinks that you are the bad guy. Just because Aria was destroyed does not mean it was because of you! Tarquin has been planning this war for ages, for angel’s sake. And Axel was certainly not going to do anything about it! He would see them all killed. He would have sacrificed your army to ensure that all of the Avarians were killed if he was out of the bottle long enough to notice what was happening. What you did…”
“Destroying Aria?”
“Yes, destroying Aria. You saved so many lives by telling Tarquin. I mean…” She glances back at me, staring into my stony dead eyes. “Listen, Ike. You tried to be diplomatic. And when you came back, many Borians were able to escape thanks to your warnings. You helped people, Ike.” Her optimism is greeted by a hearty scoff on my end. We round a corner leading up to the desolate town.
It used to be so filled with life but now the buildings are all abandoned, empty shells that will house families no longer. The only living thing that I can see is a ragged man besides a tented tarp. We approach him, me edging behind Chelsea, shame burning my cheeks. I should be protecting her. I am already a coward though, according to my father and older brother, at least now they are right. The man waves us through, beanie pulled low and thick jacket puffed out against the brittle wind. None of these can hide the large barrel of a double shotgun tucked behind his back.
“Thank you Henderson.” Chelsea calls out as we pass. We tromp down the stairs of a shaft. A train, I think Torren called it. The ground is smooth then drops off suddenly onto a path of bracketed floor, metal beams run through it, like veins in a wrist. The light is all but gone but we’ve gone out enough to know where we’re going. Chelsea moves off of the bracketed ground, hopping down a dark alleyway that is practically invisible. If we didn’t know it was there, if we didn’t know this was out destination, it would be invisible I follow after Chelsea, stopping when she does in front of a large steel door, practically a vault.
“Nay! Open up!” Chelsea calls smugly, swaying her hips to a song only she can hear. With ominous pops, the tumbler within the door slides about, thin rods moving and gears whirring as the door creaks open. I will never get used to the noise of the door, as if The Abyss itself is welcoming us.
A small platform greets us within and I’m making my way towards the stares when I feel the delicate but firm touch of Chelsea. She’s smirking broadly.
“We don’t have time for the stairs, silly prince.” She purrs the words, somehow still smiling. She extends her hand, pointing at a flimsy metal shaft. “This is an elevator.” Chelsea explains as she shifts the organs she is carrying. They slosh about in their own juices. Hopefully the stomach has not been punctured. Gastric acids have the ability to dissolve almost anything, or so I have read. Hah! What kind of life I live, where thinking about gastric acids and their dissolvability is less painful than thinking about the… elevator.
“Don’t be such a scardie cat, Ike. It is not going to hurt you. I promise.” She beams at me, leaning towards me just slightly. I can feel her warmth. Around her I feel safe and secure. She is right, it is not my fault that Aria was knocked out the sky, Tarquin has known about us for decades. You can think that all you want, Icarus. Another voice hums in my head. But if you are going to be honest, all of this is your fault. You knew that Tarquin was going to attack, you knew and you did nothing to stop it.
Wordlessly I step away from her. I can’t be warm right now.
A young guard jerks the gridded door open for us, allowing us to enter the elevator. It’s little more than a construction of a few rickety sheets of metal with all sides open save for the bottom and top and the railing that is supposedly there for safety. I don’t trust myself to rest here. Even with my leg searing my very spine with its glowing spheres of pure venom, I cannot trust myself to relax on this thing.
The descent into Priam does not take long. The city was once a thriving metropolis. It was centered on an underground army complex. Officially the underground base caved in a long time ago. Luckily for us, that is a lie. Now we claim the miles of tunnels as our home. The wrought iron lift drops us down further and further until the bare wall opens up before us. From this elevator we can see the refuge that Priam has become. Everything from the bloody trails of patients, to the glowing fairy lights that wink with there dying lights.
A young boy sails by, nearly poking my eye out with a tawny feather. His young features light up, clearing my cloudy thoughts.
“Icarus! Icarus! You’re back!”
“Hey, what are you doing out of the hospital?” His fingers stretch out, grabbing onto my free hand as he lands on my shoulder. He grins, showing gaps where teeth have fallen out. “I told your father that you were going to stay put.” He rolls his eyes. The kid did not want to be told what to do, just like every other six-year-old kid out there. Only difference, this kid has wings.
“Daddy is out collecting survivors. Just like you, and he didn’t tell me to stay at home.” Home. He is already calling this ravine home.
“Your daddy told me to keep you in the hospital. Go back before I tell your dad what you were up to.” His face pales.
“Fine! I’ll go back, just don’t tell dad.”
The elevator is about to dip back into its concrete casing. His tawny wings unfurl. Burnt and seared at the edges. The epitome of innocence, if you ignore the blood and smoke that hangs onto his listless feathers. He waves giddily, taking off through the opening of the lift just before we duck underground.
“Cute kid.” Chelsea appears next to me, always the wraith. A twig pokes out between her lips, crunching between her thick molars.
“We can talk about him once we get these two into surgery.” I do not want to talk to you. You should not be nice to me. I’ll infect you. Go away.
“Or we can talk about it now. It’s not like anything else is going to happen while we wait.” Chelsea hums, snapping the stick in half, dropping the broken half onto the floor of the elevator. The object twists through the grates, disappearing too far below us to hear the echoing of its clatter. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. I do not want to talk to her. It is my fault she is here. It is my fault.
With a cheery ding, two young women in scrubs jerk the doors open.
“Ceil and Marius Cordon. One and three years of age. Were saved by one of our Wyverns. Unfortunately falling debris sliced open their guts. Their guardian was also damaged during the fall.” Chelsea and I are bustled forward. Gurneys are wheeled around, I.V.’s dangle, shiny new needles hang from empty cords. The toddlers can both fit into one cot but they are ripped apart. Organs are tucked into pearly bins filled with ice.
“Are they going to be okay?” I demand, pushing away a nurse who tries to mop up the blood dribbling down the seams of my pants.
“It isn’t your fault, Ike. None of this is your fault.”
“Fuck off, Chelsea. I just want to know if they are going to be okay.” I look towards one of the doctors.
“We’re going to do everything that we can.” That is all she says before she dashes off behind the gurneys. Chelsea comes up behind me, trying to touch my trembling shoulders. I don’t want her anywhere near me. This is entirely my fault.
I snap a pair of crutches away from a shivering nurse. Immediately the pain that sears through my leg dissipates. I pull away from all of them, tapping the crutches as I limp away from the metal lift and the strange noises of all this machinery. The rhythmic tapping brought on by the padding of the crutches soothes my steaming mind. All of this… all of this is my fault.
Chelsea tries to chase after me but I do not want to be followed. I ditch the crutches as I turn a corner and I take off running. I know the adrenaline will wear off and I will collapse. I know that. I want to feel the pain right now though. I deserve it.
I find my way out of the hospital building at the bottom of the gorge and continue forward, sprinting as far as the adrenaline allows me to before I gladly greet the ground. On my back at the bottom of the ravine everything seems so far away. Floating fairy lights fill the sky. Beautiful twinkling lanterns and floating lamps. Golden yellow and starlight white sparkles glitter in the darkness. They are stars in a sky-less world. They remind me of home in a way that stabs at the raw part of my heart. I can’t cry. I can’t. But the burning sensation in the corners of my eyes tempts me.
All of this is my fault.


message 4: by Dragon (new)

Dragon (mydragonbaby) | 4 comments Hi Kit Kat,
Please know that the following is my opinion, take what works for you and leave the rest. :)

I love your Hero's name. Icarus. Great.
I admit I was confused at the beginning. I know you want to start off with action to grab the reader, which the hurry dialogue does, but then I was confused as to why and where I was with your characters.
I thought... The largest burial sight in this world’s history. “And this mistake wasn’t even yours to begin with! I mean, Avarians are always going to war, this would have happened whether you told Tarquin or not.” ... would be a better hook.
It gives the reader a where, burial site ( don't laugh I initially thought they were on a beach, until the skull comment :)
It also leads into Icarus' guilt, self loathing which I think the is passage is trying to relay to the reader.

I am wondering if Chelsea is the heroine or antagonist. She comes off really mean in the beginning and then I read she was a wrath, which made sense.

I did like the descriptive passage:
Immediately the pain that sears through my leg dissipates. I pull away from all of them, tapping the crutches as I limp away from the metal lift and the strange noises of all this machinery. The rhythmic tapping brought on by the padding of the crutches soothes my steaming mind. All of this… all of this is my fault.

The following made the story come into focus. It is tight and great lead in to where and what:
The descent into Priam does not take long. The city was once a thriving metropolis. It was centered on an underground army complex. Officially the underground base caved in a long time ago. Luckily for us, that is a lie. Now we claim the miles of tunnels as our home. The wrought iron lift drops us down further and further until the bare wall opens up before us. From this elevator we can see the refuge that Priam has become.

I would say overall: some basic information needs to be put into beginning.

Again: My personal opinions, take what works and leave the rest :)


message 5: by Kit Kat (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
I really appreciate the feedback! I'll try and make some changes to it, thank you so much, Dragon <3


message 6: by [deleted user] (new)

I agree with everything Dragon said. I was a little confused, but it all came together in the end. You're an amazing writer, by the way.


message 7: by Kit Kat (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
Thanks! Do you guys still think I should change it if it's the prologue to the story? I always thought prologues were supposed to be a little confusing, but I may be wrong


message 8: by Kit Kat (last edited Jun 22, 2016 12:58PM) (new)

Kit Kat (kitcastellan) | 53 comments Mod
I dont know how much of a warning I need to give? This is a little horror story I guess, or a thriller-ish? There is blood and an abusive father, so... read at your own discretion. This isn't part of my novel, this is simply something i've been working on with a dear friend of mine.

“Lu-lu! Hurry up!” Augustus ran ahead of me, waving his hands wildly in the summer sunshine. The wheat all around him. He was a being who could only walk in the sunlight. Who existed in my memories swathed in sunlight and that too warm summer breeze that was perfect for napping in.
“Augie, slow down!” My mom always called him Augie, although he went by Gus as school and with our friends. I was only five years old. He was ten with that proud smiles all ten year olds wore and a stick in his head that he could use to take on the entire world.
My dad always came up behind him then, in the memory. He would lift Gus up onto his shoulders and laugh as his stick accidentally fell from his grasp. Mom tugged me along. She wasn’t scared of me yet. She didn’t know any better. She tugged me up onto the crest of that golden wheat field and the four of us smiled and laughed. She lifted me up in her warm arms and nuzzled my cheek.
In reality, I never once had been to a wheat field. That stick, that line of bark that split off just a little at the end, it never existed in Gus’s hands.
But still, I clung to his golden-swathed memory because I hated what I had done.
A grand piano. Gus sitting there with his hands flying over those monochrome keys with his eyes closed. A blue tail coat and a white button up shirt with a frilly collar.
I was standing in the doorway with a stick. I was covered in mud that I knew my parents hated. I was only ten. He was fifteen. He seemed to have his life figured out. I stood there with my stick. That line of wood that split just a little bit at the end. Just enough.
“Gus…” I had been crying. My dad had gotten mad again. He didn’t mean to, but he’d grabbed me so hard from where I had been hiding, and there is this nail, just underneath the dining room table. We all knew to avoid it. I’d grown up knowing it was there. The dining room table was the best place for building forts.
But then my report card had come in. I’d been getting bad grades. I was a prepschool student even at the age of ten and when I heard that quiet little thump of mail falling through the mail slot, I knew I was done for. I heard my father’s feet walk over, he was whistling, just a little bit. Just the beginning of a beat that had never existed before. Then he bent over. I caught sight of the corner of his shirt wrinkling when he did that action and he found that thick envelope with my grades in it.
He was so mad. I hid. He found me. He grabbed me. And that nail…
I knew the nail was there, but he didn’t.
He never built forts under the dining room table or turned sticks into swords or listened to the lyrics of the piano. He never saw the fairy houses in the birds nests or the doorways in the books. He was a grownup. All he saw were those grades.
I stood in the doorway of Gus’s room. I couldn’t see out of one eye. The blood was running down in this torrent that blocked my vision. I was too woozy to wipe it away. The nail had dragged itself down my forehead, ending just above my eyebrow.
Gus stopped, looked up with his emerald eyes that seemed to swim with water. His hair was closer to blonde than russett, with little hints of amber woven in.
“Lu-Lu…” Gus stopped, his hand fumbling on the keys and playing the wrong cord. Just one wrong cord. My father’s footsteps stopped their pacing downstairs. Gus stopped, staring at his blistered and calloused hands, scrambling to come up with some excuse. I just stood there in the doorway, whimpering as the blood ruined my yellow sweater. “Luke, come here, kay?” I stumbled over to Gus who whipped off his jacket to swath my head, wiping the blood out of my eye with his silk black glove. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. I’m gonna get you to the hospital and they’re going to stitch you back up and you are going to have one badass scar, right here.” His finger ran down the bloodiest part of the wound making me burst out into fresh tears just as our father stormed in.
“Augustus. Why did you mess up that final chord? You have been practicing that piece for months, you are about to audition for the Boston Sympathy and you just messed up that final chord.” His hand was already curled up into a fist.
I had been seeing the shadows for years by then. I had seen them and sometimes, when Gus was busy, I played with them.
They didn’t want to play now.
They wanted to hurt my father.
I wanted to hurt my father.
I raised my fist at him. He stopped talking, cocking his head to the side as if looking at a cute puppy. I felt like I was going to puke and the shadows erupted. They danced all around us, crawling towards my father with their infinately black claws, ready to kill.
“Lu-Lu! What are you doing!?” Gus was in my face. I saw my empty eyes reflected in his watery greens. His hands grabbed my shoulders and he cupped my cheeks, begging with me.
I was so young. I couldn’t control the shadows. They had a mind of their own and their mind was set on destroying the object of my pain.
Then Gus slapped me.
He was trying to help me. Trying to bring me back, so he slapped me. If only he hadn’t. I could have protected us both. I could have killed our father and we could have run away. Gus would have gotten a job, I’d steal. Whatever we had to do to make ends meet. It was a pipe dream. Something stupid a wounded ten year old came up with.
He slapped me.
I couldn’t control the shadows. They had a mind of their own and their mind was set on destroying the object of my pain.
With my cheek singing out in pain, I could only turn my betrayed heart at Gus. He wasn’t supposed to hit me. He was supposed to take care of me.
It was one second. No, one minute. One moment of hesitation.
The shadows tore Gus to pieces in front of me. They ripped his limbs apart and clamped their wordless jaws onto his bleeding gashes, sucking out his blood, swallowing his eyes. They ravished my brother in front of me, and then smiled at me because they’d done exactly what I had asked them to do.
“…Gus?”


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