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[juni0r83]

Hero’s Stand

“It’s time beast,” His voice croaks out from between his cracked, dry lips. The hulking, shaggy creature paces back and forth at the edge of the firelight. Its great golden eyes reflect the light menacingly back at the hero, its teeth flashing as it snarls. “Are you sure you’re ready for this child?” A quiet settles in the hero’s chest, stilling his heart to little more than a murmur. “I was born ready, demon,” The words rolled off his tongue seamlessly as he slid the sword of legends from its hilt, the weight of it in his calloused hand a familiar comfort.

 A broken snarled barking echoed through the night as the creature threw back its wolf-like head in laughter, “we all were young one.” It brought the might of its terrible glare back to the hero, its lips curling back in a wicked grin, “Where are all your friends, hero? Did they all abandon you to the darkness?”

 The words echoed in the hero’s mind, his mind flashing back to the four soldiers that had ventured forth with him into the wasteland all those long nights ago. His brow furrowed and his lip curled back over his teeth. “They were slowing me down, staying my blade when it was ready to strike.”

 “So you struck them down, one by one.” The creature resumed its pacing, the firelight behind the hero slowly beginning to die as it burned through the last of the fuel he had piled on it. “Starting with the terrified child I ripped open on that first night.” Flashes of that first night flickered against the backs of the heroes eyes.

 The beast had surged out of the black wasteland and into the firelight. They’d all scrambled for their weapons as the demon knocked them aside with a swipe of its mighty clawed arm. The captain shouted commands, desperately trying to organise resistance as it turned and launched itself toward one of the fallen soldiers. Chaos engulfed them as gleaming swords struck out, scattering the light onto the churned up snow at their feet. The demon’s talons found purchase in the prone soldier’s soft flesh and he screamed out in desperation and just as quickly as it had started, the camp was still, the creature vanishing back into the darkness. All that remained of the attack was the smell of smoke, sweat and blood, as the soldier’s cries echoed through the night, chipping away at the hero’s resolve. His cries turned to pleas through the night, as he begged for peace.

 “He asked me to, it was a mercy, better to die swiftly than to let the wound fester and rot him from the inside out.” The words spat from the hero’s mouth tasted bitter on his tongue. The soldier had begged for mercy in the end, but the long night of screaming agony had let the fear creep into the hero’s soul, and he’d wanted to silence those cries long before the soldier had pleaded for his end.

 “And the following night? The one who’s leg I bit?” The beast’s lips curled back in a wicked grin that twisted his visage and caused those yellow eyes to flicker with glee. The second night had been little better, after a day of pursuing the creature across the frigid landscape. They’d been ready this time, swords at hand from the moment the sun had set, waiting for it to show itself again.

 The captain had leapt into action as the beast had appeared on the edge of the firelight. Torches were lit, and the four of them encircled the creature with swords held at the ready. It lashed out towards the hero, and they all struck forth in unison. The blade had almost quivered in the hero’s hand as it landed its blow harmlessly against the beast’s matted fur. It spun on its heels and lunged for one of the soldiers. We all rained down blows again, but the soldier had been less prepared for the savageness of the creature’s attack and he stumbled and fell backwards. His eyes widened and the colour quickly drained from his face until his hue matched the snow he lay in. The beast dropped to all fours and struck out with its might jaws, latching onto the poor soldier’s leg. The crunch of bone and the screams of pain pierced the stillness of the night before the beast launched itself over the fallen soldier and disappeared once more into the darkness.

 “We all agreed, it was for the best,” the hero said resolutely, belying the weight he felt crushing his heart within his chest. “We couldn’t care for him and hunt you at the same time.” The memory of the soldier’s eyes wide with horror, begging for his life in soft murmurs, his blood staining the snow around his leg, the bone poking awkwardly through the skin. “I’m sorry,” the hero muttered, more to himself than the poor wounded man, as he thrust the tip of his sword between the man’s ribs and into his heart. Those wide eyes burned themselves into the hero’s mind, forever searing into his memory the moment that the life faded from them and the light went out in the man’s soul.

 “Then there was the pit,” the demon continued, “were you all in agreement then? Or did you have a taste for it by then?” Memories of the third night came flooding back to the hero as he watched the beast continue to pace back and forth at the edge of the dimming firelight, leering in at him. The hero had caught sight of the creature early that night, spotting it off in the darkness as it edged closer and closer to their camp, stalking in at them with the quiet confidence of a master hunter.

 A quiet rage built within the hero as he remembered the two companions who had fallen to the demon already, and gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles went white and the leather wrappings creaked uncomfortably. With a scream he had drawn his sword and launched himself off into the darkness after the beast, the last two remaining soldiers taking a moment to realise what was happening before quickly following. A smile flickered across the creature’s face before it turn and fled, dropping to all fours and churning up the fine powdery snow in its wake.

 It raced over a small hill, and the three of them rushed headlong after it. Through the eerie darkness, the hero spotted the roughly dug trench ahead and leapt easily over it, the captain following suit, although his awkward landing betrayed how blind he really was in the dark. The last of them though, wasn’t as quick on his feet. The bone crunching snap as his foot caught in the shallow trench echoed through the night and the captain and hero both turned back just long enough for the demon to disappear once more.

 The hero cursed the man’s clumsiness and ranted as he stomped back over to the fallen soldier. The captain was already there, his knife having cut off the man’s boot and exposed his twisted and deformed ankle. Tears rolled away from the man’s eyes, freezing on his face as he clenched his jaw against the pain. “I need your help,” the captain said, turning back to the hero who continued stomping back and forth muttering to himself.  “We had it on the run,” he declared, his eyes pulled wide by his clenched brow, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “If it hadn’t been for this clumsy oaf we could have ended it tonight!”

 The captain shifted himself between the fallen soldier and the ranting hero. “That doesn’t matter now,” he fired back, the heat in his face quickly turning it vibrant red, “we can’t defeat that thing with just the two of us. It’s time to go home.” The hero’s face quickly settled from a snarl into a grimace, and after a few breaths of air settled the fire in his breast in stepped forward until he stood beside the captain.

 It took just an instant. The sword of legends flashed as it struck down; biting deeply into the wounded man’s chest, blood welling up and spilling out onto the snow. “NO!” the hero screamed, just inches from the captain’s face, “I decide when we’re done!” The wounded soldier gurgled as the blood began to fill his throat and ooze from his mouth before he convulsed once before finally falling still, the red stain in the snow continuing to spread slowly out from his body.

 “If you know so much why are you asking?” The hero asked of the demon, dragging his thoughts back to the now. “Why aren’t you, foolish pup?” The beast had gone strangely still, facing off against the hero, its great arms dangling almost to the ground. “You don’t think it odd that the great saviour took the lives of all four of his companions?”

 Those growled words hung in the air between them like a toxic cloud shifting ever closer to the hero as his thoughts twisted in on themselves. “You didn’t ask me about the last one,” the hero finally spoke after what seemed an eternity of silence between them. “Maybe he ran off into the night when he realised it we were alone.”

 The beast grinned back at the hero’s defiance. “Because I know your tale, I’ve seen it before.” His eyes sparkled and gleamed as the final flickers of the firelight began to die. The truth in his words stung at the hero as he glanced briefly at the red stained sleeve of his shirt, remembering the captains warm blood as it spilled out of him and over the hero’s hand. The moment of the captains last shuddered breath, the sword of legends protruding grotesquely from his chest, frozen within the hero’s mind like an insect caught in amber. “I am the hero of legend, my tale has never been told before, because I’m here to end you beast.” The hero spat the words out at the demon like a dagger, thrusting his sword into the space between them, its point trained on the creature’s chest. Its grin softened into a wry smile, its ears twitching in the wind. “You will, and in time you will understand, the Elders need their demon of the wasteland to keep the villagers in check.”

 As the final flame licked out the hero let out a roar and charged at the beast, his sword aloft, ready to strike. The creature growled and barked in response and leapt to meet the champion in battle. The sword glinted in the moonlight, and the beasts gnashing teeth sounded out through the night. Blow after blow rained down on the creature as its claws raked and tore at the hero’s flesh. Blood spilled out onto the white powder as the two continued their dance of circling and striking, over and over again long into the night. At the end, as the two stood breathless and weak, the beast’s final feeble strike gave the hero his opening. He thrust forward with the sword of legends, his own flesh left exposed to the rending claws and jagged teeth of his opponent. But the sword found its mark, and drove deep into the breast of the creature.

 They fell together in the snow, both heaving for air, blood flowing out from around the sword’s hilt, the hero too weak to clamber away. But there, beside that fatal wound, was a mark that made it all so clear. The brand, the one the Elders had seared onto the hero’s own chest as his final trial, the one that throbbed even now, remained pink and raw against the dark shaggy fur of the demon, and as the dim dawn light broke over the distant horizon the realisation found its purchase in the hero’s exhausted mind. “What have I become?” he muttered as he stared down at that tell-tale brand, the hollow aching presence of terror sinking into his very soul.

[juni0r83]

The Heaven Simulation

A friend of mine had an assignment for English that required her to write a short story and needed some help. I sat with her and worked on a few things: story structure (three act model) and show don't tell along with conflict, foreshadowing and how to build emotional weight. Anyway, once she had a story planned out, I decided to take what she had and write my own version. And seeing as I haven't posted in a while, this is it. Sorry if it's not as polished as usual, I rushed it due to life being in the way.

I guess it all started with the pain, and now it seems that’s the way it’s going to end. Some would say it started with the diagnosis, the life sentence, terminal brain cancer at just 24, but that didn’t really scare me to begin with. The first time I woke up with my body quaking against my will and my stomach cramping up until it emptied over and over again, the stomach acid burning my throat and the bitter, sour taste of bile tingling off of every taste bud in my mouth. That was when I signed the LifeTech contract. The heaven simulation was my only choice, because the doctors assured me that it was only going to get worse. 

The course of medications changed, a list of 8 different drugs quickly whittled down to just 1 soft edged blue speckled oval tablet about the size of grain of rice. It started with just one a day, but soon it seemed like handfuls, and the whole time the pain increased. They gave me time though, time before they plugged me in and I slipped away from the world, time to say goodbye. The party was lavish, with relatives even travelling down from Maine for the first time since my christening, and whose names I couldn’t even keep straight. They’d all come to say goodbye to the dying girl, pay their respects to the nearly dead. It didn’t matter though; Arkyn was there, our last day together, after all the days we’d spent together so far, that last day meant the world to me. We just pointed and laughed as they all slowly paraded past me one by one, naming off all the animals as they came to visit the dying human girl in the zoo before she was released into the wild. 

The first day in the simulation seemed like a blessing. A still ocean pressed around with its warm, summery wetness, the smell of the salty sea breeze in my nostrils and the weight of my own body lifted off of my limbs. The watery world drained softly away and left me standing in the sand, the course texture scrubbing at feet made thick with a lifetime of spending my days barefoot in the outdoors with Arkyn.  

The people seemed nice, even the simulated stewards who tirelessly worked to ensure we would all want for nothing. They showed me to my room on that first day, a plain simple affair with minimalist furnishings of plain wood. And they showed me how to work the systems, to get the most out of my heaven simulation. Everything seemed perfect, but it didn’t last.

It took three days for the pain to come back. A simple headache to begin with, that dull tightness at the back of your skull that seems to persist for days without notice. A week later it was a constant throbbing annoyance, persistent but not enough to spoil the bliss of the simulation. At night however, when there was nothing left to distract me from the discomfort, as I lay on that simple wooden bed, against the impossibly soft mattress, I wished Arkyn was with me again to brush aside my hair and laugh about our day together until I forgot the pain and finally fell asleep. 

The doctors dismissed what I had to say as I met with them through the vid screens, the only way for the outside to come into the simulation. “You’ve got to give it time Rylan,” Doctor Uzbeki told me. “The simulation doesn’t work quite the same way for everyone, it may take a while to calibrate to your personal pain tolerance.” The soft smile and gentle eyes belied a patience that only barely masked the condescension in his words. “But the pain is getting worse doctor,” I complained, “every day I wake up and it feels like there is more and more stuff crammed inside my head, squishing everything else up against the inside of my skull, like playdough into a mold.” The smile faded from his lips as the tightness in my chest rose, and I could feel my eyes start to dart across the screen and my breath shorten. “Just calm down Rylan, I’ll talk to the techs. Maybe they can help speed up the process. Everything will be fine, I promise.” 

A week more went by, and each day the pain just seemed to increase. It seemed like even the stewards were avoiding me now, to say nothing of the other residents who didn’t even want to contemplate that their heaven might in some way be tainted. And my last three appointments with Doctor Uzbeki had been cancelled. Emergencies with other patients they said. And here I thought he only worked for LifeTech, weren’t all his patients somewhere in here with me? How could there be an emergency with someone whose life was a perfect paradise? The only option was that he was avoiding me.  

The calendar in my room continued to countdown the time I had left though. Just a few more days. I had started writing letters to my loved ones. Final goodbyes from a girl they had already said farewell to. But I still couldn’t bring myself to write the last one. The only one that really mattered. And I couldn’t let myself run out of time before I got to say my last goodbyes to Arkyn. 

And then this morning I woke up and the world was screaming inside my head. My eyes wouldn’t focus, and I couldn’t make my body move the way it was supposed to. This was worse than anything I had faced on the outside; it couldn’t be a simple calibration error. But there on the nightstand words scrawled over the last blank piece of paper. A familiar handwriting that had somehow reached into the simulation against all odds. Arkyn had found a way to do the impossible, and send me a message. It was brief, but her handwriting was unmistakable, the funny way she quirked her e’s and the ridiculous straightness of her i’s. “It’s all a lie,” the message read. “You’ve got to get out Rylan, get out while you still can.” 

The tremoring in my heart started immediately. The Calendar now read just one day remaining. But there was a way out. The Doctors had promised the door in the middle of the park. One last way to go back to our lives, a one way ticket back to our families. I started with a crawl; it was all I could manage. But my feet soon found their place beneath me as I made my way out through the lobby. The other residents stared as I shook and dry reached, every muscle in my body contracting and relaxing of their own volition. Something was clearly wrong, and they could no longer deny the truth before their eyes. 

The door way stood like a giant hospital emergency exit, complete with green exit sign, right in the middle of the garden. A harsh grey contrast to the lush green of the vegetation that surrounded it, a final reminder of where we all really were, not in some idyllic paradise, but a hospital ward, drugged into a coma that kept us at peace. I yanked on the door and dropped to my knees and wept. Before me was not the escape we had been promised. In its place, a stark, grey cinder block wall, stark and uncaring as I fell against it, tears streaming down my face, my fists impotently beating against it. 

[juni0r83]

Your writing does matter, even if only you ever read it. Art of any form is a piece of the artists soul torn off and put on display. So every word, every stroke of a key, or scribble of ink is important, it means something, and it matters.

Always remember that there are worlds in your words. . . . I originally wrote this as a reply, but I think it’s important for all writers to keep in mind.

writing is such a trash talent bc at every talent show, at every chance everyone else is doing art and showing off and singing their heart out you’re just … sitting there, wishing someone had the patience to go through your notebook and spend twenty minutes on your one good piece and it’s like. you say “i’m a writer” and people get this look like “okay sure sweetie” and you just… feel untalented and useless and … i just you have people in your life who read and praise your talent endlessly, who give you the standing ovations you deserve, who are obsessed with your characters and constantly stopping you to ask you about the most recent chapter and have your poetry on their walls because writing matters even if it’s hard to believe that with the way the world treats us 

[juni0r83]

Nothing made sense when I first woke up. Not the sudden flooding of bright blue/white light into my eyes, or the screaming of the world around me in my ears. Not even the freezing metal tray beneath me or the soft cotton sheet draped over me. My lungs screamed and then started coughing and spluttering as the cool air flooded in causing everything inside to shrivel up and shrink away from the sudden drop in temperature. Nothing made sense when I woke up from being dead.

“Welcome back,” the voice was friendly, and the face friendlier. Young enough to seem child like and yet old enough to know something. He blows air out of the corner of his mouth to shift the wisps of light brown hair that hung over his eyes as he reads from the manilla folder in his hands.

My mouth opens to ask what’s going on but he interrupts before I can even make a sound. “No, don’t bother talking, I read your report, I know what happened.” The words spill from his lips as mine catch in my aching throat, the acrid taste of hot metal and burning gunpowder still fresh in my memory. “Nasty way to go. Your throat must be killing you.”

“Ill try to keep this simple and brief.” His words go on as my body begins to shiver against my will and I pull the thin sheet around me a little tighter. “Due to a strange quirke of fate, you’re not dead. Well you did die, but, you get to live again.” His words registered in my mind as all of the pieces of the puzzle connected in front of me. I was supposed to be dead, not sitting on some cold metal tray listening to someone babble on. A hole opened up inside of me and my heart stilled for just a moment. I had failed somehow, even as the memory of the pistols loud crack played out in my mind.

“And you’ll get to live again another seven times after this. Nine lives in total.” The word nine echoed in my mind, even as everything else just cluttered together, bouncing off my understanding like bugs against a window on a warm summer evening. “Don’t ask, no one knows why, or how we’re chosen.” Moisture welled in my eyes as I came to terms with my lack of an end, unsure if I had the strength to try again, certain that I didn’t have the will to try another eight.

“Anyway, there’s clothes on the bench there, and here’s everything that you’ll need to get started again.” He slid a large yellow envelope across the workbench he leaned against toward a small folded pile of threadbare looking sweats. Thoughtlessly I eased myself off of the metal tray still clutching at the sheet that covered me and moved toward the clothing, a dull ache now throbbing out from my shoulders and arms from the constant shivering.

“Just quickly, we have a couple of rules,” The sound of his voice swirled around me as the numbness took hold, as though my very soul had shrivelled up to leave a space between me and the world outside. “One: You can’t contact anyone from your old life. For a start, they all think you’re dead, funeral’s in a few days and everything. Not to mention you were like, what, eighty? And now you don’t look a day over twenty two. They wouldn’t understand, and you can’t expect them to.”

I pulled the clothing over my bare skin, savoring what little warmth it offered against the chill now deep within my bones. “Two: You can’t tell anyone about this. See this mark here on the inside of your wrist?” He held my hand and twisted it out, exposing two thin lines of puckered, pale skin running an inch or so alongside the tendons, as though instead of swallowing a bullet I had instead gone with slit wrists and I couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. “That marks you as a two. We’ve all got one, see?” He flashed me a quick view of his own scars, seven thin slits of puckered flesh on the inside of his right wrist. “You can only talk about it with someone who carries this mark, understand? We’d have a pretty horrible time trying to explain our presence throughout history if it got out. Don’t. Tell. Anyone. Seriously. You don’t want to end up a lab rat.”

Glistening tears began to roll down my face, intensifying the glare of the bright fluorescent lights reflecting off of the shiny metal surfaces arranged around the small morgue. I turned my face from the shine and from his attentive gaze that seemed to crowd in on me. “Three:” he continued anyway, “Don’t kill another like us. It sets a bad precedent and you’re likely to create a fairly powerful enemy who can just come and kill you right back. There’s a lot of evidence that suggests we were the ones to start the dark ages, with our constant infighting and revenge plots. And I for one don’t relish the idea of dying in another war.”

He paused for just a moment and I could hear the rustle of his jacket as he checked his watch. “Okay, there isn’t much time left before the medical examiner is due back from his lunch, so you get maybe two questions. But make them quick.” Questions tumbled over themselves in my mind, each seeking a resolution. But only one sounded over the din of the the others. “What am I?” The three simple words seemingly croaked out of my open mouth of their own volition. “Sorry, I can’t help you there.” There was a quirke in his voice, a sense of reassurance even as his words offered only cold comfort. “I think of us multiples, as in multiple lives. But there isn’t a name or anything, or any sort of organised society, just three rules that we all adhere to, and all enforce with each other. Keeps us all safe, you understand.”

Confusion raged and crashed upon the rocks of my mind, wearing down my resolve. There were others at least. Someone who would be watching over me, ensuring I stayed within the lines as I tried to fill in the colour of my life. “So how many of us are there then?” The words slipped out before I could grab hold of them. All the things I thought I needed to know and all I could focus on in that instant was having someone watching over my shoulder, an ethereal, long lived big brother. “No one knows for sure, or at least, no one I’ve met knows anyway. I’m sure someone does. Which reminds me, if you get one of these envelopes, with a note on it with a time and place, don’t ignore it. It’s one of us coming back to life again. Deliver the package, and if they’re a two, explain things to them will you? Things tend to get a little messy when we have rogues running around who don’t know the rules.”

With a slight “Ugh” of exertion, the young man shoved off from the bench he was leaning against and I turned back in time to watch him walk away. “Anyway, that should do it. I’ll see you around, or not. Have a nice life.” My heart started racing and my chest tightened around my lungs as panic began to set in, realising that I really was about to be all alone in the world. “Wait, what am I supposed to do now?” I called, desperately hoping that somehow he had the answer, the key to a better life.

He turned back toward me with his face twisted into a wry smile. “Whatever you want. But the clock is ticking. Life is short, and nine really isn’t as many as you think.” And in smooth, rapid steps he took the steps up to the exit, and disappeared into the world outside.

Cats are said to have 9 lives and now, humans do too. When a human dies, they retain the knowledge they learned in their previous life, becoming more and more skilled/knowledgeable with each passing life. You’re a person on their 7th life, consoling someone who has just “died” for the 1st time.

[juni0r83]

Some things I probably need to keep in mind

Keep these tips in mind now that the year has begun!

[juni0r83]

The Arguement

This is a creative writing project I completed for a six week course from a few years ago. Let me know what you think. Julie had crossed the line. She knew it. The moment she’d screeched the words “I hate you!” at her mother, a pit had opened up inside her. Now she just sat feeling sick to her stomach, staring at the blank plasma TV as it balanced precariously on its too small cabinet. She rubbed her ugly grey school socks on the grubby brown carpet of their living area and watched the dust drifting in the air, reflecting the late afternoon sun and filling the room with the smell of all things old. Like this house. Like this furniture. Like the arguments with her mother. All over a stupid personal ad because her mother wanted to meet new people. The floor creaked in the dining area. She’s moving again. She’s heading this way. Julie’s stomach did another summersault. Her mother eased herself down into the voluptuous cushions beside her. The muscles in Julie’s neck twitched as she resisted turning to face her. She held her lips tight, stared hard at the screen, and tried not to give away any sign of her sudden onset of conscience. “Honey, Sweetie, please,” her mother’s voice quivered and almost broke. Julie’s resolve shattered and she nearly begged forgiveness but hesitated a moment too long. “I understand that it’s embarrassing to have your friends find your boring old mum’s personal ad, but please see it from my perspective.” Her mother reached out her hand and placed it on Julie’s as it lay at her side. Julie snatched it away, and attempted to cover up the sudden motion by crossing her knees and gripping them with both hands. “I feel terrible that you found out this way, and I certainly never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.” Her mother’s pleading cut deep. She paused to take a breath; Julie hoped that it was over, that she could just be left alone. “You’re going to be moving on and living your own life soon, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. I need to get on with my life. It’s been a long time since I left your father, and I can’t remember the last time I was alone. But if it really bothers you, I’ll make sure the ad never gets run again, and I won’t listen to the messages.” Each confession stabbed right through Julie’s heart, and her stomach churned as she absorbed her mother’s honesty. What had she done? She could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes but blinked them away, still unable to show her mother any sign that she’d been wrong. “Please,” Her mother reached out again, taking hold of Julie’s hands as they strangled her knees, “give it some thought, I think I need this.” Julie stared at her mother’s hand, a more worn, less perfectly pale version of her own, reminding her of just how much they were alike. “But I need you to be okay with it. Please, will you think about it, for me?”