dai-writing

[dai-writing]

I’d always knew I was different. Maybe it was the way that other kids looked at me when I fearlessly jumped 6 feet to the bottom of the firepole during recess, or maybe it was the parents whispering when my family walked by in the mall, or maybe it was my inability to get a husband, or even a boyfriend. I knew that I was different, but that didn’t change my love for it.

I wanted to be different. I didn’t want to be able to fly, I wanted to be able to do anything without fear of rejection, of hurt, of loss. And while I was an optimistic person, I also knew that someday I would be hurt for being different. If I had no fears how would they scare me into following their rules?

So I learned. I learned how to sneak around behind their backs. I learned how to manipulate people based on their reaction to me, which usually included disgust. I learned to shut out any distraction and negativity that might come between me and my goal. I learned a lot of random facts about weapons, which helped me to bargain many deals for my prized rifle and shotgun, as well as my dagger.

Oh right. What is my goal? World domination! And you may think, “Cheryl, why do you want people to bow down before you because they’re scared?”

I actually don’t. The only thing I want is for people who are scared of “stupid” things like illness or the future to be accepted in a place where they can be loved for their talents and their issues.

I don’t want people to die, in fact, I want the complete opposite of that. I want people to live to the fullest. And while that may seem like a lot to ask, I think I’m up for it.

Here I go, off to create world peace. (To be honest, violence seems to be the most exciting answer to the problems.)

Oh! Don’t you want to know who I am? I am Cheryl Cleuy, a 67 year old woman with nothing to lose. My weapon of choice is a rifle, although in the right circumstances a shotgun is a better option, especially when that situation involves intimidation. That is solely because a shotgun will blow a hole bigger in the back than the front of a person and ruin everything in between the skin, while a rifle just goes clean through.

Also with me is my 38 year old nephew Johnathon, who wanted to come with me because he knew that I will need some form of impulse and self-control, which I have none of.

In a world where people get super powers based on their worst fear (I.E fear of heights = flying fear of spiders = talking to spiders/control spiders etc.), a child is born with no powers whatsoever. This child, is you.

[dai-writing]

It looked, different?

I don’t exactly know how to explain it, but it was like us, but somehow different.

The power radiating off of it seemed magical, but weaker, somehow.

It glanced at us nervously, as if afraid we would bite.

It was bigger than us, but that didn’t scare us for we knew our power was much greater than its.

“What are you?” Carrish asked. She was always the first to speak up. When everyone else was scared she was excited, adrenaline always piping through her veins. After all, energy was her gift.

Each magici was given a gift at their prenewal (AN: like a birth, but they are formed, not born). This gift determines what kind of magic they would use, as well as how powerful they would be. I, for example, was given a gift of care, so I am a healer type and am in the top 25% of power. Lakei had a gift of foreshadow, so she is a psychic type and is in the top 60% of power.

The thing leaned back on it’s heels, as if trying to escape.

“I’m Nashure,” it said.

“What’s a Nashure?” Klaat asked.

“Nashure is what I am called, not what I am. And as for what I am I am a Clonid magici,” it replied, somewhat angrily.

“But you aren’t like us!” I objected.

“Well yeah. That’s cause I’m a boy magici.”

“Boy?”

“Boy?”

“Boy?”

Confused whispers echoed across the room, with faces twisted, some in confusion, some in fear.

“What’s a boy?” One brave voice managed to squeak out.

“Well, you all are girls, and I am a boy,” the boy called Nashure explained. “I’m part of the other half of the magici called boys. Your half are called girls.”

“Girls?”

“You didn’t even know what you are?” The boy said as he shook his head in disgust.

“Yes! We are Fortogr magici from Brafre!” I shouted angrily.

“No need to get defensive! I didn’t realize the Fortogr were completely clueless,” he paused, thinking. “Were you never taught these things?”

“We are not clueless,” a voice spoke from the doorway. Alinra must’ve heard the conversation from her room, for she had the gift of insight, which made her a mind type in the top 1% of power. Which made her our Klegshaerh (AN: their leader).

“We just were taught the truth,” she stated. “Unlike you.”

Write a story about magical girls meeting the world’s first magical boy… with no romance subplots.

[dai-writing]

The way the story was told made the Silent Guardian seem heroic and awesome, but in reality he had been running.

Running from battle. Running from the horrors that he saw upon the field that lay before. Not only was there death and destruction, but the magic used by the Surveyors created monsters. Monsters with the ability to rip people apart with their minds. And although this usually wasn’t intentional, it was a very powerful side effect as well as a painful one for their targets.

The Surveyors were usually placed up high, so the field of battle was in view. They were highly trained magicians, and while some meant well, others cared only for using their magic for their own addition of power.

Such were the Surveyors the Silent Guardian was against. They craved the sense of power the magic gave them.

As the Guardian looked over the battlefield he saw pain, anger, fear, and confusion. His eyes looked through the Surveyors minds and in them found only destruction. He turned to look for his children, for they were grown enough to battle, and saw them laying on the ground, flailing for a hold. As he looked around he saw his beautiful wife too. He blinked, trying to break free from whatever spell he believed he was under, but alas, it was no dream. He watched as a wave of power washed over the army and his family crumbled under the power of it. His eyes widened, tears welling up and sweat dripping down his face.

He turned to run, but never made it that far. He was turned to stone as a warning to others that might not have the courage to be in battle.

The Silent Guardian never slept, but was constantly dreaming, watching his children and his wife get crushed by the magnitude of the wave, not knowing what it was, but knowing they were in pain. For even though they were hidden from the people of that time, he saw them, and knew that they were not part of a dream but suffering while he watched until the end of eternity.

(I did originally post this on @dannigirl319 but only bc I forgot about my writing blog so I reposted the same thing for my writing blog. So if u see it x2 it’s not plagerized I just made a mistake)

At the top of the hill where nothing ever grows, stands a stone statue of a warrior frozen mid-battle. Most of the people have already forgotten its story, but the elders still whisper sometimes, in the darkest nights of the coldest winters, about the Silent Guardian, cursed by the gods to forever stand watch, neither dead nor alive. Tell the story of the Silent Guardian.