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everiene · 9 years ago

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Forsaken Progeny - Part 1, Draft 2, Revision 1

Getting thoughts from your head to the page can be a daunting task, and getting them from the page to the public can be even harder still. It is a fight that can be won, lost, and yet never entirely end. Filled with nuances, edge cases, excuses, results, and everything in between, it is a universe of its own qualities.

I have fought in such a universe for a few years now, with successes and failures a plenty. In pursuit of continuing that fight, it’s time to post some more writing, after such a long time not writing. Here I present Forsaken Progeny, part one draft two revision one, for your reading pleasure.

In my attempts to challenge my writing ability, as well as force myself to be better through repeated work, I have elected to focus upon a supernaturally based slice of life high school setting. Mostly because I hate slice of life and wanted to see if I could force myself to write in something similar to it.

Anyway, have at.

Forsaken Progeny - Part 1, Draft 2, Revision 1

1095 Urban Street

Many people would be hard pressed to have a better state of mind. It was pure bliss. Erhard laid back, his body felt as though it were being caressed by the gentle kisses of a thousand angels. Sweet peaceful music gently floated into his ears. Erhard wished that it would never end. But end it did.

The alarm clock ripped Erhard from his pleasant dreams with a harsh blast of reality. He sat bolt upright, his eyes still closed. Displeased at being parted from his sleep, Erhard grumbled and swung a hand at the alarm clock. He succeeded in silencing the alarm clock. As well as propelling it across the room.

The smooth black box of the alarm clock smacked against the far wall and slumped to the floor. Erhard was fully awake now, rampant concern that he might have to buy a new alarm clock, again, waking him from his tired stupor. He leapt from his bed and rushed over to the metal box. He picked it up and looked it over, the black metal covering sporting a few new dents from its flight. The digital display on the front spelled out “5:45 AM” in bright red letters.

Erhard let out a sigh of relief. He had woken up earlier as opposed to later, so there was that. He shrugged and returned the alarm clock to his bedside table. Erhard glanced around his bedroom. It was a relatively small room and quite spartan in appearance. There were no posters or anything to cover up the grey walls and the faded brown of the carpet did little to draw the eye. His twin bed and bedside table were the only other real pieces in the room. Yet they did not even seem to fit. The thought of remodeling popped into Erhard’s head, but he figured he think about that later. He had to get ready for the day.

Erhard stumbled into the bathroom. He must have prayed extra hard last night, because his shower was actually warm and comfortable for once. Erhard basked in the glory of the watery embrace for a few minutes longer than necessary. With a pang of remorse, Erhard got out of the shower and headed over to the mirror.

Erhard scrutinized his hair. Well, the hair on the front of his face because he was bald elsewhere on his head. The top of his head shown rather well in the mirror, the beard however was quite too scraggily and put him only one step away from a hobo. With a pair of scissors in his hand, Erhard made quick work of the misplaced hairs. Content that his face rug was socially acceptable, he sized himself up in the mirror.

A muscular man leered back at him. He stood at a tall six feet flat, a polished shiny dome, and a wooly beard that stretched from ear to ear. The man’s face and features were hard, as if someone had forged them on the anvil of a warrior and then beaten it a few times more for good measure. Unlike his beard, his chest was clean and utterly devoid of hair. Long black tattoos of chains and prayers inscribed in Latin crisscrossed his barrel chest. They were all arranged about a heavy iron lock jutting from his flesh, sitting directly overtop his heart. Erhard locked his eyes with the man’s own piercing greys.

He struck a body builder’s pose and flexed at the man. The mirror-man rose to the challenge and copied his posture exactly. Their thick muscles and chiseled abs bulged with strength. Erhard flexed again, harder this time. Not to be bested, the mirror-man matched his effort. Their respective slabs of toned flesh and corded muscle pulsed in unison. Anyone would be hard-pressed to find such muscular eye candy individuals anywhere else; they were truly paragons of the human form.

If you keep beating off like that, you are liable to break something.

Erhard leapt in surprise. In his motion, his knee joined with the sink in unceremonious matrimony, only to suffer a devastating divorce a split second later. The chucks of countertop rebounded off the mirror and sprayed all over the rest of the sink.

Erhard’s roommate, no, his mental tenant had finally decided to wake up. His absence would explain the pleasant, albeit brief, dream this morning.

“Verek,” Erhard hissed, “must you always startle me with undue commentary?”

Verek’s voice, thick and rich like a tempting molasses, rang with some laughter.

Only when it humors me or achieves some end, my dear Erhard. Now we can finally get rid of that bland sink and get something more fashionable. Something more suited for the both of us. I was thinking something in crimson, maybe anointed in virgin blood?

Erhard could never get Verek to behave nor ask for anything politely. He always had to manipulate to get what he wanted.

Always on about shifting me from my ways? It’s quite tragic really. We have tried for hundreds of years to taint each other Erhard, I have tried to dethrone your self-righteous ways and you attempt to divorce me from what comes so naturally. One millennia gone with nothing to show for it. Perhaps two will be our lucky number. It could be a play almost, I can see it now…

As usual, Verek’s thoughts and tone were of a self-absorbed, self-important, and egotistical individual. Erhard had encountered only a few demons in his travels, but he them quite intimately, if Verek was not evidence enough. So far as he understood it, Verek’s attitude was characteristic of upper echelons of their blasphemous society. Lucky him.

Trying to remove me from my position Erhard? Ruminating on the past, and torturing you with it, is my vocation dearest. But, reveling in the past will have to wait; we do not want to be late.

Erhard tensed up a bit and peeked out of the bathroom. His alarm clock read 6:45 am. Verek was right. If he spent too much more time doddling he would be late for work. And if he was late, he would never hear the end of it from his homeroom class. Erhard nodded and wrapped up his business in the bathroom.

While he was doing so though, he could not shake a creeping suspicion. It was a very rare occasion when Verek was helpful. The few times in the past that he had been helpful, the end result had always lead to something awful. Verek had a nasty ability to perceive the future in a way only his fiendish mind could comprehend.

Oh stop you, you are making me blush…

Raising a hand to his forehead, Erhard groaned. All these years of Verek’s commentary and it never ceased to displease him. Erhard snatched up some clean clothes next to his bed and rushed downstairs. His home was a quaint little two story building, with just enough space to accommodate his purposes but small enough to feel cramped. The joined bedroom and bathroom were the only two rooms on the second floor, with a small kitchenette and living room taking up the first floor. The spartan theme pursued throughout the entirety of the whole house.

Erhard stopped by his ever trusty coffee machine. Despite how relentless he used the damn thing, it always got him going in the morning time and time again. It was probably the most reliable entity in his life, including many of the people he knew. The pot still sported some of the brown caffeine fuel that he needed. Erhard could deal with day-old coffee.

Popping open the fridge, Erhard surveyed his breakfast options. Just like the rest of the house though, it was entirely too empty. There was a half jug of milk sitting at the back with a few condiments sitting unused and untouched inside the door.

Still thinking of sticking to that faith fueled diet my holy one? I sincerely hope that we acquire something more savor in the future. I do not think that we can starve and die, but I do not want to test that.

Heedless of Verek’s comment, Erhard seized the milk and quickly applied it to some stale cereal from the cupboard. As he was putting the cereal back in the cupboard however, Erhard noticed a little package next to the box. It was nicely wrapped and diminutive little thing. Contained within its clear plastic sheen was a little loaf of homemade bread. It had been a gift from the newest addition to the teaching staff. She had been ever so friendly towards everyone she met and strove to be the nicest person in every given room.

No matter how hard he tried though, Erhard could not remember her name. He could remember her face though. In a word, she was beautiful. A little on the small side, but they say the best things come in small packages. Erhard’s groggy mind felt clearer when he thought about her. Thinking about her smile made all the other troubles of life seem to melt away. Then, in proper form, Verek ruined the moment.

Such innocent little thoughts belie your true lust Erhard! I know your true desires for that woman and I must say Erhard, what you would do to her puts coitus between Succubi and Incubi to shame!

Erhard’s hard features twisted with his displeasure. He only wished that he could reach Verek’s neck and crush it. Erhard snatched up the bread and headed for the door. He did a quick onceover, and everything was in place. He wore a dress shirt complete with matching pants and tie. He even had his best belt on. Lastly, he slipped his black shoes on and quickly made for the car.

I can say that I am quite excited Erhard. This year promises to be quite an entertaining one at that. I look forward to watching you act as the damned shepherd for these forsaken children, to bring them to an apathetic salvation.

Erhard simply shook his head at Verek’s vague comment. With a twist of his key, his worn Buick stirred to life and off to school they went.

Reliqui High School, Room 107

As per the norm, Elise was bored. But this no regular boredom, this was a new level of complete apathy and contempt for her. The first day of school had to start and she already did not care for it in the slightest. She sat at the back of the room and played with a few of the pencils on her desk. A contemptuous flick sent one rolling up it and gravity pulled it back down. She tried flicking a couple pencils at time, hoping that the conflict of so many literary devices would spark a literary conflict. They simply rolled together in defiance however. Elise let out a disappointed sigh.

She looked up at the clock, its hands spelling out 7:29 am. Only a minute had passed since she had checked it last. She smacked her head into the desk with a groan of exasperation. Even the dull pain was boring.

Elise looked around the classroom in search of something else to take her attention. Homeroom was in Mr. Kappel’s room, one of the school’s many eccentric teachers. He taught history of all kinds, from ancient to modern, but he really loved the around the medieval ages. That, and the crusades. Namely the first one. The room reeked of it. The walls were covered in pictures, duplicates and original commissions, of holy knights and climactic battles. He even had a number of old candles littered around his desk and the tables at the edges of the room. Parallel to his love of the past, the supplies in his room were suitably archaic. The chairs were made from old wood and were somewhat uncomfortable to sit in and the front of the room sported a long black board.

No matter how hard Elise tried though, the archaic nature of the room could not hold her attention. She tried to ponder taking an interest in actually pursuing her studies this year, to stave off the boredom. But thinking about thinking to make an effort was too tiring, and existential, so Elise stopped. She looked at the few other kids in the room instead. There were about ten other students messing around in the room, babbling about the day to come or the latest gossip. Elise let another apathetic sigh. She perked up a little bit as the school bells chimed to note the start of the school day. Elise straightened and looked around. Mr. Kappel was not in the room. That was unlike him. Mr. Kappel led a pretty strict life inside and outside the classroom. She felt elated. The boredom gave way to a plethora of ideas on how to make Mr. Kappel never forget this day. Jokes and nicknames and all the nasty things she could think of.

Elise smirked as smugly as she could. She would not let him hear the end of this one. Slowly breathing in and out, she readied herself to make the best announcement of the day. She puffed up chest and was about to belt out a certain choice of words when Mr. Kappel’s massive form slipped in through the door. Elise almost gagged as her words hesitated in her throat. Mr. Kappel looked up at the clock and let a sigh of relief. He quickly made his way across the room to his desk in the back corner. He snatched up a TV remote and pressed a few of the buttons.

“Alright kids,” growled Mr. Kappel in his deep tones, “morning announcements are on. Be quiet and pay attention. ”

Everyone at Reliqui High knew to listen to Mr. Kappel, because he was not someone you wanted to have be angry at you. So the dull roar of conversation quickly died down. The TV mounted above the door buzzed to live and the morning’s announcements swirled into focus. Mr. Kappel sat down at his desk and began scrawling something out on his desk. Elise returned to her bored state. She did not care for the morning announcements, especially the stupid antics the office usually pushed through them. Again and again she sighed with nothing to occupy her for the next ten minutes.

Then a thought came to her, a way to cure the boredom. It was something that she knew she was not supposed to, especially at school. But she really needed something to do. Plus it would only be a problem if she got caught. She took a breath and began to concentrate. Closing her eyes, it was not long before she could hear them.

The sounds were like those of a radio, one that was just a little bit out of tune. With her eyes closed, Elise could see these clouds of thought like halos of flies above people’s heads. She cast her focus about the room, tuning into these clouds of thought. Her first target, a quiet kid by the name of Johnson, did not have much going on. It almost sounded like elevator music. Elise scoffed quietly, and moved onto her next target. Owena on the other hand was positively buzzing. Her cloud was lively; it was full of angry thoughts about her most recent ex-boyfriend, the ninth poor abused young man targeted by her, the latest gossip, shallow thoughts, and so on. It was fun listening to her drivel, but it felt like the bass and volume were far too high. Elise moved on to listening to Geralt, and she immediately regretted it.

His head was full of just raw thoughts. Elise could not figure out if he was thinking about fighting, fucking, or both. It was a wall of sensual sounds, piercing cries, and heavy movements. Elise shrank back from Geralt’s cloud, unsure if to feel aroused or repulsed. Elise withdrew her mental reach for a moment. She shook her head, trying to shake out that last image. She would have to remember to find an excuse to slap Geralt one of these days.

After a moment, Elise was back on the prowl for thoughts to listen to. She thought about tapping into another of classmates again. She was a little hesitant though. Listening into thoughts was a little taxing and she did not want to probe for lame thoughts about things she already knew about. Things she did not care about. Then another thought came to her, almost like someone had poked her with it.

Why not probe Mr. Kappel’s head? There could be no telling what goes on inside of his head. She might even be able to find out what gave him such a rough personality. So Elise turned her attention to Mr. Kappel and reached into his cloud of thoughts. It sounded like she had just tuned into a lecture. To her relief though, the speaker’s voice was smooth like molasses and a pleasure to listen to.

…The last few years involved a few very fast sieges and brutal battles. Oh, to see those great places at that time; Antioch, Arqah, and of course the Holy City itself. Knight Templar Erhard never got to see the siege finished however. On June 12th 1099, the 5th night of the siege, heathen raiders attacked under the cover of darkness. During which they managed to kill and capture a few of the Knights Templar, Erhard amongst them.

In their dark methods, the heathens saw a way to destroy the Knights and lift the siege. They would harness a dark power and turn it into a weapon of sorts. But in order to assume control over this power, they would have to bind into a vessel. A vessel of flesh and bone motivated by an indomitable will. The captured knights would serve as such vessels. In their night raid on the Knights Templar they had managed to capture seven knights, counting Erhard.

Taking the knights into the back alleys of Jerusalem, they bound the Knights in heavy chain and snuck them out onto a boat in the middle of the Dead Sea. There they would enact their ritual and save their city from the besieging Knights. They would have to wait until the following night, June 13th – the 6th day of the siege, in order to have the ritual act as intended.

They were not to succeed however. In the early hours of the morning of the 13th, Erhard was visited by the Archangel Azrael, master of death and retribution. Erhard knew that his end was near, but he begged for aid from Azrael. He refused to be weapon of the heathens to be used against his devout brethren. At length, he told Azrael of his past exploits and of the ones that he would never achieve. Azrael listened to Erhard and his staunch refusal to accept his fate. When Erhard was finished, Azrael sat quietly for a time, before responding with “You are a truly selfless and devoted son of our father, Erhard. I will tell you how you can break free of these heathens and rebuke their heresy.”

Azrael instructed Erhard to bite his tongue and paint a mark in blood with his tongue on himself before the heathens could enact the ritual. He ensured Erhard that when he was so marked, the ritual would fail and he would be able to deal with the heathens. When the time came, Erhard did as he was told and bit his tongue and make the marks as Azrael had shown him.

The ritual worked, but in the way the heathens had intended. Erhard was flooded with a wave of power and killed all the heathens before him. It was only after they were all dead that Erhard realized that in his frenzy, he had also killed his other captured his other brothers and set the boat aflame.

I like to call that the day I moved in. Did you get all that kid?

Elise blinked. What?

What do you mean “what?” Did you get that all or not?

Elise sat baffled. She had never had someone’s thoughts comment on her presence before. Then another voice popped into the thought cloud, this time one that was rather gruff and all too familiar.

Verek, who are you talking to?

Just one of your naughty students. Little girls should not poke around in other people’s thoughts, even if they are invited.

Elise snapped her eyes open and looked at Mr. Kappel. Mr. Kappel stared back at her, his eyes hard. She tried to say. Mr. Kappel just raised a finger to his lips and let out a long shhh sound. He mouthed “see me after class.”

#creative writing #short story #to be continued #draft #working on writing #Forsaken Progeny #slice of life #fantasy #high school #still figuring out target audience

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Mental Minefield

It can strike at any given time. Without warning or signal. It is as fast as a lightning bolt and as devastating as plague. It washes over you in a tsunami of repressed thoughts and emotions. It burns away hope and happiness in a sweeping wave. Yet, others will not know its passage.

It goes unseen except by those that know its signs. Those who know what it is and what it does to you. They can only watch as you are wrapped in its toxic embrace. They can offer their aid and their help in the aftershock. There is only so much prevention that can be done however. Only so much protective action and precursory thought to safeguard against such a thing.

Life can be a minefield, for the body and the mind, literally and figuratively. You can only do your best to avoid stepping on a landmine, with the mental ones being arguably the most difficult. It gets even harder when someone that knows you is laying the mines.

#poem #poetry #prose poem #prose poetry #landmine #bad memories #post trauma stress #almost a year later and it still haunts me

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Karma (revised)

A sadistic smile had found its way onto Merrick’s face. Murder and theft were two of his favorite things. He relished stabbing people with a knife or shooting them with a gun. He loved to loot precious food from struggling people or to acquaint himself with a hefty sack of caps. It was even better when he could do the two at the same time.

Merrick and his fellow raiders had come across a small gathering of ghouls. The zombie-like folks had both a good supply of food and caps, as well as a number of weapons and will to fight them off. They had set up a camp of sorts inside the ruins of a factory mill. The dilapidated structure was about three stories tall and sat next to a set of storage tanks set into the ground. It was an easy spot to corner and butcher them all, with a convenient hole for a mass grave. A perfect setup for Merrick and his gang.

He crouched back down behind the stone wall. Merrick surveyed the rest of his crew and took a quick headcount. With the fresh blood from the last recruiting run it put his gang at about twenty strong, with enough guns for everyone to have at least one. This was going to be good.

“Whatta thinkin’ boss?” asked Charlie, Merrick’s right hand man. Merrick snorted at the question. Charlie was always one step behind him, no matter how obvious the situation.

“We surround the place, kill ‘em, and take all the supplies,” Merrick explained. Charlie grunted his understanding. Quietly, he spread the orders around. It only took them about a minute to get into position and, with a yell, it began.

Merrick was first into the building, eager to use his new toy. His eyes darted about before they locked onto a ghoul just inside the entrance. Her face was quite soft for a ghoul’s. If she was not just a step above a zombie she could have almost been cute. She had a rifle strapped over her shoulder and was still in the process of readjusting her over-sized combat armor when she froze before Merrick. Horror and surprise played out across her face in a sad mix. Merrick smirked. She would certainly have a whole lot of shame and regret in the afterlife. A spurt of flame from Merrick’s incinerator set the ghoul a light. The woman screamed and dropped to the ground in the hopes of putting the fire out. It was music to his ears. “Let the slaughter begin!” he yelled. His crew joined in his reverie as they charged into the building.

The ghouls fought as hard as they could, but theirs was a losing battle. Merrick’s crew cut into them like a pack wolves upon sheep. Many of them screamed and begged to be spared. Such pleading fell upon deaf ears however. Merrick’s gang left none alive, killing them regardless if they put up a fight or not. Merrick himself made his way up to the third floor, Charlie just ahead of him. Charlie just crested the top of the stairs when a blurred figure of a ghoul toppled him over.

Merrick hustled up quickly and leveled his incinerator. Charlie and the ghoul wrestled with each other across the floor, keeping Merrick from a clear shot. “Get me the shot!” Merrick yelled. Charlie grunted in affirmation before launching the ghoul off of him with a good kick to the chest. The ghoul stumbled away, gasping for breath. Merrick bathed the ghoul in fire.

The ghoul did not seem to react at all. It was covered in flames from head to toe and reeked of cooking flesh. Heedless to the fire, it launched forward. Charlie cried out in horror. Hastily he pulled out a pistol from his leg holster. He put round after round into the flaming ghoul but it did not fall. The ghoul lept over top of him and seized his head in its arms. In a swift and savage twist the ghoul broke Charlie’s neck. His lifeless body collapsed to the floor.

Merrick swore, and reached for his own pistol. Fire did not seem to do the trick and bullets seemed to little against it. Maybe a clean shot to the head would put it down. But before he could even level the weapon at the creature, it was upon him. Its flaming fist clocked him across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground. The damn ghoul was like a burning spirit as opposed to anything remotely human. The ghoul pressed down upon him, its hands reaching for his throat. Merrick fought with all the strength he could muster but his defeat seemed inevitable. Merrick cursed. It would seem that he would join Charlie in death.

A large metal rod smacked into the side of the ghoul’s head. The force of the blow sent it sprawling away. Merrick gasped for air and pushed himself up as fast as he could. Salvation had come in the form of Leslie, the best brawler in his gang, and her prized baseball bat. Merrick hauled himself to his feet as she repeatedly beat the flaming ghoul with her prized weapon. Her flurry of blows drove the creature to the edge of room and threatened to drive it off the side of the building. Leslie yelled angrily as she swung with as much force as she could muster. The bat smashed into what was left of the ghoul’s face and sent it toppling over the edge. She looked over the edge for a long moment, breathing hard. Finally she turned around and asked, “You alright boss?”

Merrick coughed before he responded. “Yeah… everything clear downstairs?” Leslie nodded. “There’s nothing left of them and the boys say we’ve got a good haul.”

Merrick walked over to Charlie’s corpse. He had been a part of his gang for a long time, and despite being a bit of a blunt tool, he had done a lot of good. Damn shame he had to die in such a way. Merrick pilfered Charlie’s pockets with a twinge of remorse. As he did so, he barked an order to Leslie, “Get the crew together and ditch the shit we don’t need. Beat anyone that tries to say otherwise.” Leslie grunted in affirmation and set off downstairs. Merrick was going to need a stiff drink or a hearty chem to make him forget about Charlie’s death and the burning ghoul.

It was not until the sun had fallen and the fires of the raider’s raid had died out when John awoke. His entire body felt like a perpetually occurring train wreck. His skin felt like it was way too small and weak to contain his innards and his muscles were screaming with agony. Where was he? Painfully, John opened his eyes. He was lying face down in a metal pit. A metal pit. The metal pit. The storage container next to the factory ruins. The ruins that he had guided his company to. The place where they had all be murdered and he burned alive. He recalled all the details in painful clarity. Raiders had come and killed everyone he knew and loved. One of them had set him on fire.

Rage and sadness mixed in a messy emotional slurry in his mind. John’s vision blurred from the sensory assault of his body and mind. He vomited violently. John felt that he might just come apart with the effort. For about five minutes he crouched there, retching. Stumbling to his feet, John struggled to climb out of the pit. He felt so very weak and death beckoned to him like an inviting bed.

John hoisted himself out of his supposed grave. The smell of others charred flesh mingled with the scent of his own. His feet felt like lead blocks, but he forced them to move anyway. The ruins of the factory mill had more in common with a macabre house of horrors than anything else. The bodies of other ghouls were strewn about the place, left right where they were killed. Some of them still burned. John did not know what force kept him standing. What will allowed him to witness such horror and debauchery yet keep him from the release of death.

He looked at each body in turn. Images of their smiling faces and sweet memories of each came to him his mind. He wanted to push the thoughts away, to avoid the pain they brought, but he forced himself to remember. His wild emotional tide cooled and turned to a boiling ball of fiery hot hate. John stumbled to the center of the old mill. Fumbling with the rubble there, he pulled a heavy steel beam from the concrete. With a sharpened metal rod and a hammer, he set about carving each and every one of his fellow ghoul’s names into that steel beam. Minds can forget about pain and memories can fade, but steel could remember forever. While John swung the hammer, he kept the face of the raider leader in his mind. He would bring karmic justice to that bastard. Once he was done with the beam, he knew just the tool he would use to deliver such a sentence. John had hoped he would never have to use it again but it appeared life would not allow him such a luxury.

Merrick kicked back in his chair. All in all, it had been a mediocre raid. Merrick counted three of his raiders dead and another two seriously injured. The ghouls had some interesting items, like old prewar documents, but nothing exciting beyond that. It felt like he deserved to have found some better things for the lives that been lost. He was feeling a bit of regret from launching the attack. Merrick shook his head and a quick mental scolding banished the doubt from his mind. He was alive and had plenty of goods to go around.

Merrick and the rest of his gang were holed up in their hideout, a not quite rundown motor garage, licking their wounds. The rest of his gang were down in the garage proper, leaving Merrick alone in what was once the mechanic’s office. Merrick idly munched on some Sugar Bombs, wondering what he would tell his gang next.

He pondered making some sort of rousing speech. About how Charlie was a valued member of the crew and that he would need someone strong and stalwart to replace him. Hopefully the competition for a better position in the gang would keep their minds off the poor raid. Or they could start killing each other, or him. A hard thing to think about to say the least.

A loud boom ripped Merrick from his thoughts. The whole garage seemed to shake from something out in the garage proper. Shouts and cries rang out from his gang. The voices of gunfire and battle cries quickly joined in. Merrick jumped from his chair, his hand darting to his trusty pistol. What the hell was going on?

Merrick moved to the doorway to the garage proper. He was greeted by a wall of smoke. Much of the garage had been set on fire, and all the munitions his gang had gathered were cooking off one by one. A mini nuke cooked and the blast nearly blew Merrick off his feet. “Fuck!” Merrick screamed. Then Merrick noticed something worse, he could only hear the sounds of the fire raging. No more screaming and no more gunfire. What was going on? What the hell kind of thing could destroy his gang like this? He did not have to wait long to get his answer.

A massive armored figure burst through the wall to Merrick’s right. The unmistakable bulk of someone in power armor loomed before him. Its surface was scarred to an almost pitch black. A name, etched in white upon the chestplate, read “Sigurd.” Merrick did not know enough about power armor to know what kind of armor it was, but he knew for certain he was screwed. Merrick made a dash for the back door, hoping his smaller size and speed would help him get away. The power armored individual would prove him to be very very wrong.

Merrick’s senses exploded as the armored figure shoulder checked him into the wall. He felt many of his bones break upon impact. Merrick slumped to the floor, burning stars dancing across his eyes. His hopes for escape dashed, Merrick moved to begging to try and save his life. He cast his hands up in a pleading gesture. “Please,” Merrick begged, “I can give you anything you want, caps, guns, food, whatever! Just let me go.” The armored figure paused for a moment, as if considering it. With a sudden motion the armored figure slammed its great boot down upon Merrick’s right knee. His hope, as well as his kneecap, were broken beyond repair.

Merrick screamed in agony. He yelled and cursed until he had to stop to take a breath. Before Merrick could scream again, the figure stomped down on his other knee, rendering his leg into a broken mass of bone and blood. Merrick sat and writhed in agony.

Almost mockingly, the armored figure turned away from him. Merrick noted It stood there and waited for Merrick’s cries to die down to quiet sobbing. Merrick tried to force words out of his mouth but only pathetic sounds escaped. The armored figure knelt down before him. With a click and a hiss of pressurized air, the figure removed its helmet. A mixture of pain, surprise, and rage all played out across Merrick’s face. John, his skin a black and burnt mockery of flesh, leered back at Merrick with the utmost contempt.

Merrick tried his best to speak but could only mouth the words “you.” John nodded in agreement. Merrick thought of a million and have curses to spout at burnt ghoul. Thoughts like “Damnation, I killed you, why did you die you fuck,” amongst others boiled around in his head. Only angry spittle dribbled down the side of his broken face though.

John seized Merrick by the throat and lifted him up in the air, his shattered legs dangling above the ground. Merrick continued to gurgle incessantly as John marched out the backdoor. He stopped just behind the back of the garage.

John fixed Merrick with a stare. There were many things that he could say to him. About how he’s a ruthless killer, how John loved and cared for his fellow ghouls, or about any other number of things. John considered giving Merrick a full diatribe. But then, that would be giving some measure of satisfaction to the bastard before he died. He did not deserve a length eulogy, no, a single statement would. Short, brutal, and uncaring, just like the assault upon his people.

Slowly, careful and as cold as he could, John spoke, “Among your many mistakes you made that day, not killing me was the most egregious.” The strange mixture of emotions remained present on Merrick’s face. He made to utter some foul curse. Some last and final words of defiance. The first syllable did not escape his lips.

John’s armored hand snapped closed. Merrick’s throat collapsed beneath the pressure and his spine broke with a sickening crack. Shock had barely registered on Merrick’s face, and the visage followed him to his grave. John stared into Merrick’s eyes, and watched the last lights of life go out. Then, he dropped Merrick’s corpse to the cold earth. John let out a slow breath. He moved his hand in a smooth motion to re affix his helmet. He gave the garage a quick glance over his shoulder. The fire had spread quickly and the structure would be rubble in short order. John turned away and began his slow and methodical march. He would find someone else to safeguard and protect. He would be the proactive leader they needed, not just a reactive force of Karma.

(A revised version of my Karma vignette for a Fallout project I am working on. I was feeling really displeased with how the first draft turned out, so I tweaked it a bit. Feel a lot better about it this time around.)

#fallout 4 #a matter of refuge #the king in rags #vignette #revisit #fallout #fallout fic #fallout fiction

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Trying to write more

Losing oneself in one’s own work is something that is often encouraged. Praise is placed upon those that devote so much of their time and energy to a commendable effort. They can then come home after a long day of labor and go about other needs and activities, knowing that it was a good job done. What this observers and trends always seem to forget, is that once you have put everything you have into something that you are passionate for, there is hardly anything left. Or nothing at all, to spread among what else is left.

Each night, as the clock strikes midnight, I am reminded of this. In as colorful and eloquent expletives that I can imagine, I vocalize my lamentations of missed opportunities. Perhaps with a fresh day and a new schedule I better divide the effort. Or perhaps, I could simply worry about fewer things. Both would work.

#prose poetry #prose poem #poem #poet on tumblr #trying to write more

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Done unto self

There he is, standing atop the trench. With his arms spread wide he hems me in. The earthen floor is full of black ichor and muck, the very stuff of darkest thought. I struggle to be free, to get away from this horrific fate. He stands there still. With a shove and a grin, he puts me back down again. I cry up at him and beg for mercy. But there is none to be had in that face of his, for it is mine.

#poet on tumblr #prose poem #prose poetry #dark #poetry on tumblr #overcoming impulses

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Absolute Diplomacy

Mikael brushed the sweat from his brow. Fear gripped him and made his heart shiver. He and all the people in his little town could very well die today. He took a deep breath and did his best to banish his doubt. Mikael stood at the bridge’s landing, along the west bank, with his little commune to his back.

The small little town of Lyman sat atop a decaying bridge over the Charles River. Many homes had be created from the broken remains of cars and other automobiles, with a makeshift gate and walls made out of shipping containers. Like the materials of his home, Mikael was very mundane in his appearance. He was of average height and build, with a head of dark brown hair.

Opposite Mikael and the town sat a monolithic horde. It spread over the west bank like a great beast made out of men and tents. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were arrayed in parties and ranks. Mikael could make out around three or four different groupings, guessing by their dress and similar colorations. It was a conglomerate army of so many different people. Mikael wondered what must have brought all of them together under one banner. Despite the differences in the ranks, most all of them shared a singular color; red.

With the horde at their back, three individuals approached the small river town. Mikael was pretty sure the center individual was the one in charge of the whole throng. He carried himself with a certain air of authority, sported short grey hair with matching grey eyes. The skin on his face was wrinkled from age and experiences but it did not show in his walk. He was flanked by a surly woman with the build of a fortress battlement, and an impish looking boy toting a satchel and a number of books. The woman was bedecked in heavy armor, something that looked salvaged from a suit of power armor or something else suitably heavy. Scarier still, she toted a heavy minigun with a backpack full of ammunition.

The three of them stopped a good twenty feet from Mikael. Mikael gripped his rifle tightly, waiting for one of them to say something. For a good minute nothing happened. They stood sternly, as if awaiting Mikael to stare the conversation. He cautiously obliged.

“You’re the one they call the Demagogue aren’t you?” he asked, directing his question at the grey haired man.

The edges of the man’s face creased upwards in a faint smile. “I see my reputation precedes me, although I advise you not to be swayed by whatever words float on the wind. To you, I am Lucius and I am here to talk.”

“Bullshit. I know about you and your ‘Clan of Blood.’ A roaming army of murders looking for some fool to dupe!” Mikael spat, unwilling to be fooled. Lucius took a few short steps closer to Mikael, his gait relaxed yet articulated.

“Do you have children Mikael?”

Mikael was taken aback by question. He had heard awful stories about this man, the Demagogue. It was said that he was the merciless warlord who formed the Clan of Blood, a veritable army of raiders, thugs, and other monsters. Mikael could not imagine what Lucius must have done in order to make something like that happen. He imagined that Lucius was a vicious and manipulative man, grinning daggers while having a couple behind his back. These thoughts made the innocuous question sound like a thinly veiled threat. Mikael settled on doing the one thing he could, talking.

“Yes, yes I do. I have a little girl.” Mikael stuttered.

Lucius nodded. “Ah. I have two little ones, a boy and a girl. I love them so very much. Do you love your children Mikael?”

“Yes, yes I do. Listen, I don’t see what it has to do with…”

“I would do anything for my children. I want them to live safe and healthy lives. The wasteland though, it is an inhospitable and horrifying place. It is full of awful things; raiders, mutants, and monsters. In my nightmares I see what would happen to them if I failed to protect. A quick death is the best that I could hope for, but a sickening feeling tells me what would really lie in store for them.”

Mikael licked his lips. Lucius was a near impossible individual to read. His concern regarding the children seemed legitimate and sincere enough but Mikael could not shake the feeling of a dark murderous threat.

“What are you getting at huh? Are you threatening my kids?” Mikael stammered.

Lucius’s face turned to a slight frown. “No. I am musing upon a certainty that will come to be should you not comply.”

“That certainly sounds like a goddman threat to me!” Mikael yelled, leveling his rifle at the man.

The surly woman growled and the minigun quickly spooled up with a high pitched whine. The horde behind them quickly readied for battle. The men Mikael had at the gate raised their rifles, lining up shots on Lucius. Battle was about to erupt. Mikael was pretty sure he would not survive, but neither would Lucius.

Lucius raised an open hand. The surly woman let out a disappointed grunt and lowered the minigun. As one, the horde relaxed to a more passive tension.

Lucius spoke quietly, “I am interested in a peaceful solution, and so should you. But if you continue to be obstinate I will be forced to remove you and any others who resist.”

“What the fuck does that even mean! Talk sense!” yelled Mikael.

Lucius fixed him with an intense glare. His response was cold and his words even, “I will make you watch as I murder everyone you know and love. Then, I will flay the flesh from your bones and burn your carcass. Understood?”

Mikael’s hands shook. Sweat dribbled down his face. Lucius remained certain in his stare unyielding and unblinking. Mikael licked his lips, slowly forming words in the harried tumult of his mind.

The words where slow and punctuated, “What do you want?”

Lucius inclined his head, “You will allow us to pass unimpeded. Further, you will allow any who wish to join us to do so. ”

Mikael leered at Lucius. A few more tense moments passed before he finally lowered his rifle.

Mikael let out a low breath before speaking, “Alright. We’ll let you through. But if I see one of your people step out of line, I will put us all at the bottom of the river.”

“I am aware.” Lucius responded.

Mikael slowly took a few steps back, before finally turning around. He headed off at a jog back towards the small town. With a few yells back and forth, the gates began to open. Lucius waved to the rest of the Clan of Blood. Quickly, the horde gathered itself together and descended upon the town.

The surly woman walked slowly up to Lucius. She spoke in her characteristic gruff tone, “Bring him down?”

Lucius slowly shook his head. “No, the wasteland or the coming storm will do that. The latter has a head start and we still need to get ahead of it.”

A draft of a practice vignette for a project I’m working on in Fallout 4. It’s an introduction for the character “The Demagogue,” the supreme leader of a group of assorted warriors and individuals known as the Clan of Blood.

#vignette #creative writing #Fallout 4 #The Clan of Blood #The Demagogue

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everiene · 9 years ago

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Karma

A sadistic smile had found its way onto Merrick’s face. Murder and theft were two of Merrick’s favorite things. He relished stabbing people with a knife or shooting them with a gun. He loved to loot precious food from struggling people or to acquaint himself with a hefty sack of caps. It was even better when he could do the two at the same time.

Merrick and his fellow raiders had come across a small gathering of ghouls. The zombielike folks had both a good supply of food and caps, as well as a number of weapons and will to fight them off. They had set up a camp of sorts inside the ruins of a factory mill. The dilapidated structure was about three stories tall that sat next to a set of storage tanks set into the ground. It was an easy spot to corner and butcher them all, with a convenient spot to drop the bodies. A perfect setup for Merrick and his gang.

“Whatta thinkin’ boss?” asked Charlie, Merrick’s right hand man. Merrick snorted at the question. Charlie was always one step behind him, no matter how obvious the situation.

“We surround the place, kill ‘em, and take all the supplies,” Merrick explained. Charlie grunted his understanding and quietly spread the orders around. It only took them about a minute to get into position around the place and, with a yell, it began.

Merrick was first into the building, eager to use his new toy. He quickly scanned left and right before locking eyes with a ghoul set to guard the entrance. She was young, holding a weapon and wearing armor easily too big for her. Horror and surprise played out across her face in a sad mix. Merrick smirked. A spurt of flame from Merrick’s incinerator set the ghoul a light. The woman screamed and dropped to the ground in the hopes of putting the fire out. Merrick smirked. It was music to his ears. He waved his crew forward into the structure.

The ghouls fought as hard as they could, but theirs was a losing battle. Merrick’s crew cut into them and quickly ascended the floors. They left none alive. Merrick made his way up to the third floor, Charlie just ahead of him. Charlie crested the top of the stairs first before being tackled by a ghoul.

It did not seem to react at all. The ghoul was covered in flames from head to toe and reeked of cooking flesh. Heedless to the fire, it launched forward. Charlie cried out in horror and reached for his rifle. He put round after round into the flaming ghoul but it did not fall. In a swift and savage twist the ghoul broke Charlie’s neck. He collapsed to the ground dead.

Merrick swore, and reached for his pistol. Fire did not seem to affect this ghoul so maybe bullets would. But before he could even level the weapon at the creature, it was upon him. Its flaming fist clocked him across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground. The damn thing was fast, and even before he could roll over it leapt atop him to finish him off.

A large metal rod smacked into the side of the ghoul’s head. The force of the blow took it off of Merrick. He hoisted himself up on his to see Leslie, the best brawler in his gang, repeatedly hitting the flaming ghoul with a baseball bat. Her repeated strikes drove the thing back and off the side of the building. She looked over the edge for a long moment, panting. Finally she turned around and asked, “You alright boss?”

Merrick coughed before he responded. “Yeah… get the gang together, we’re getting out of here.” Leslie nodded and started heading downstairs. She stopped by Charlie’s lifeless body. A quiet curse escaped her lips before she crouched down to loot his corpse.

All in all, a mediocre raid. Merrick counted three of his raiders dead and another two seriously injured. The ghouls had some interesting items, like old prewar documents, but nothing exciting beyond that. Merrick was feeling a bit of regret from launching the attack. A quick mental scolding banished those thoughts from his mind. He and the rest of his gang were holed up in their hideout, a not quite rundown motor garage, licking their wounds. The rest of his gang were down in the garage proper, leaving Merrick alone in what was once the mechanic’s office. Merrick idly munched on some Sugar Bombs, wondering what he would tell his gang next.

Then Merrick noticed something. The garage was quiet. Way too damn quiet. Usually the garage would be filled with the noises of someone fighting over food or a bad joke. Something was wrong. Merrick slowly stood up, looking around. There was still some light coming in from the windows and he could still make out the dim light of the fire his crew had started. Maybe they were just playing a joke on him? Merrick would skin them all alive for such a thing.

Merrick was about to sit down when he saw the figure standing in the doorway. It was him. That one flaming ghoul. His flesh was charred black with bits of bone showing through. Merrick locked eyes with him. The flames that had engulfed the ghoul had not all been extinguished, for his eyes still burned with rage. Merrick scrambled for his pistol. The ghoul was upon him before he could get it out of his holster. With a swift motion, the ghoul broke Merrick’s arm and swept his legs out from under him. Merrick’s cry of pain had barely left his lips when the fall knocked the air from his lungs.

Merrick looked up at the ghoul, his mind racing for ways out of his predicament. Despite its fast early movement, the ghoul slowly paced around Merrick. Seeing a possible way out, Merrick rolled as fast as he could to go for his holdout pistol. A decision he would quickly regret.

The ghoul leapt forward and stomped down on his good arm. Merrick cried out again. Without breaking his stride, the ghoul planted his foot at Merrick’s shoulder and grabbed his arm. With a sharp pull it popped Merrick’s shoulder out of its socket. He cried out in pain again, his senses feeling like they were on fire. The ghoul was not done with him however. As a child would squash bugs with contempt, the ghoul set about breaking Merrick’s legs.

Merrick yelled curses at the ghoul in between his pained gasps. He tried to fight the ghoul but only succeeded in pathetically rolling about. “Just fucking kill me you charbroiled freak! I ain’t gonna give you nothing!”

The ghoul’s response was quiet and full of apathy, “No.”

Merrick faltered, “What?”

The ghoul looked away from him for a moment. Every moment felt like an eternity with how Merrick’s senses felt. Finally, the ghoul turned back to him and locked his fiery eyes with his.

“You killed my people, and tried to do the same to me. You should have just left us alone.”

“I watched you die damnit!” sputtered Merrick. He was confused as to ghoul was trying to give him a lecture or kill. Maybe even both.

The ghoul cocked its charred head. “No you did not. You watched any chance for mercy burn with my people’s deaths. Now, you cannot fight and cannot run, you must mediate on what you have done.”

Feeling an intense mixture of rage and confusion, Merrick sputtered again,“The fuck is that supposed to mean you freak?”

The ghoul turned away from him. Slowly and methodically it walked towards the door. With a brush of its hand, it wiped something from the top of its head. Bits of white shown through the desiccated flesh. The crown of its skull shown through, pearly white against the black. It almost looked a macabre king’s crown.

Merrick screamed at the ghoul as it left, to no avail. Darkness quickly enveloped the motor garage and soon after silence. The only thing Merrick could hear were his short breathes and heartbeat. Then there was something faint. A quiet sound from somewhere far off. A howl. A howl that was quickly joined by several others. It appeared that the ghoul was an enforcer of karma.

A draft of a practice vignette for a project I’m working on in Fallout 4. It’s an introduction for the character “The King in Rags,” a leader of sorts to a group of ghouls.

#vignette #creative writing #fallout 4 #short story #The King in Rags #The Rotting Host

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