Logically the guards probably would have been hot on her heels, but logic plays no part in a fantasy tale! They were either a) fighting off the cloaked man, b)re-grouping, c) Finding her address in the Fairy equivalent of the Yellow Pages or d) A mix of all three that bought her her five minutes. I'm also a little bit in love with that tiny last bit of text.
The fairy had little time to dwell on the moments past, on the man who saved her life, and the other man who'd been intent on taking it. She heard the largest horn bellow out, it shook through the trees, dragged birds from their nests and forced all necks to crane towards the skies. Straightening herself out, arms by her side, she rocketed past gaping mouths and wide eyes. Arine knew she didn't have long, by rights she didn't even have a minute, but flapping her wings with all her strength she flew straight to the first place they'd probably look for her.
Of course she didn't have the key to her own home; it was with her belongings in the Council tree, so the fairy broke into her own home. She smashed the glass of her bedroom window, using a branch from the tree she lived in. Arine was lucky to have a carved out home within a large circular tree, it was expensive but very much worth the luxury. Luxury she'd have to leave, she thought sadly as she scraped her way into her own home.
Arine didn't have a bag, that too was gone, so she grabbed a pillow case and very quickly began to throw belongings into it. It was dark within her home, the light from the few windows filtered in, but normally she kept the door open and candles lit to bring a warmth of light. Now in the dark everything looked cold and twisted. Flying down from her living quarters Arine stuffed her feet into her sturdiest boots and gave a quick glance to the window. The guards were no where in sight yet, she could hear distant yelling though.
She grabbed a few precious items that were scattered about her home, jewels, a few books and a pen. Arine then skidded into the kitchen and began to raid her cupboards, everything was off. She managed to salvage some salted ham and a couple of stale bread rolls. Better than nothing she mused for a moment until she felt a blade at her throat.
All sane thoughts scattered from her brain and she was left with fuzziness again, the very same fuzziness the Captain had given her. It quickly parted when she heard louder shouts. The guards were nearly upon her home. She'd come to far just t be beaten, so using the very little strength she had left Arine swung her pillow case hard and wide behind her and connected with the fleshy body of her attacker.
The blade clattered down and Arine turned to face her opponent, bag raised high, ready for another blow. "Arine?" A voice asked. Arine knew that voice, she'd known it all her life. The fuzziness nearly clouded her vision again but she shook it clear.
"Beaun?" Arine asked back to her younger brother. It was him, same brown inquisitive eyes, dark brown hair flopping over his face making him look silly yet lovable.
"You're alive!" He squealed and ran over to hug his sister, but then quickly held her at arms length. "I thought you were dead! You're supposed to be dead! I came here to protect your home! I thought you were here to steal!" He spoke quickly and loudly, Arine hushed him down and glanced out the window again. She could see the guards now; she had minutes, if not seconds.
"I escaped, I'm leaving Beaun, I'm going to head south, to the sea." She said, feeling sad that she was lying to her own brother. Of course she was heading north, but of course the Council would ask Beaun questions and she knew he couldn't lie. She looked back at him, wetting her lips, "how are Mother and Father?" Even as she asked she knew the answer, and Beaun's face said it all.
"They still don't believe you," he took a small pause, "You're dead to them Arine." It was a hard blow to take but she nodded curtly. "I want to ask you one last time. Did you kill her Arine?" Arine ground her teeth together, setting her jaw hard and flared her nostrils at the question.
"I did not murder Lady Lily Beaun, I don't care if anyone else believes me or not but I need to know, do you believe me?" Arine looked out the window; the guards were descending, the Captain leading the way. So much for her heroic rescuer she thought, gathering her pillow case up again. She flew up to the bedroom and made for the window, she had one foot on the windowsill when Beaun caught her up. He grabbed her hand in his and pressed their foreheads together.
"I believe you," Beaun then shoved her out the window just as her front door was broken in to. Arine thought Beaun aged beyond his years in that moment, the floppy haired boy she knew was replaced with the man she'd never know.
Showing posts with label themes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label themes. Show all posts
Monday, 11 June 2012
A Fairy's Tale - Chapter 2
So Chapter 2, the introduction of a mysterious hooded figure and lots and lots of perilous fun! Not much to say about this chapter, it's a new addition, all written recently. I had to think of a way for Arine to escape, in my original notes she was mysteriously just let off. Just a "Oh, you killed someone? That's bad. Death!" Then a moment later "Wait, hang on a mo', exile!" The theory was that there's this old fairy who knows best and she needed Arine so she saved Arine in the hopes something would happen to the younger fairy...Or something? Bah, it's getting rewritten anyways!
Chapter 2:
A scream echoed throughout the land, loud and ear piercing. Blood pumped all over the weathered boards but the blood was not from Arine, no the blood and screams of pain came from the executioner as his hand fell limp and the sword clattered down. An arrow had shot straight and true through the executioner's wrist, shattering bones and ripping the skin apart. The arrow was now embedded in the big wooden door, quivering slightly from the impact.
The Captain's head shot up towards where the arrow had come from, an angered look of pure fury spreading across his face. He then began to bark orders to guards; some disappeared behind the now open wooden doors, others drew their swords. The few that had held Arine down were now scrambling to their feet as a few more arrows embedded them selves within the wood of the tree. The Captain pointed sharply to where the arrows were coming from and barked for some guards to get up there.
Within moments three guards flew high into the thicket of branches and leaves while more guards pored onto the platform from all around, some flying in, some storming through the door. The Council members were given cover and escorted away, deep into the tree to be protected.
While all this was going on Arine had managed to shuffle her way to her knees, but the wretched Captain kept a short leash on her neck rope, wrapping it twice around his fisted hand. The young female fairy was furiously working her bonds though, pulling and tugging her feet to free her ankles. With all the commotion no one was paying her any attention, not even the Captain. He was just sending more and more guards up into the tree tops with sharp tongued barks.
Then there was a creak, a snap and the top of the tree gave way, sending it plummeting along with the unconscious bodies of the many guards the Captain had sent up there, all of them knocked out clean, swords in their hands still. The weight of them all piling up had broken the branches and sent them all plummeting. In the action of it all no one saw a shadow leap from the falling branches, bounce of some intact branches and land down onto the platform before rolling out of the way of an unconscious guard.
It was a cloaked man, with no wings that could be seen, who kept his hood tight about his face. As soon as the dust settled from the fallen branches as many as forty guards began to rush this man. He had no sword, no daggers and no arrows left within his quiver; instead he used his wooden bow and a short thick pole. He took each guard as they came, taking a blow and giving three back. But he was never fatal; it was as if he merely wanted to knock the men unconscious than to kill.
Arine had little time to catch a glimpse at her rescuer, she was squealing in frustration as she worked at her wrist bonds, rubbing her hands and stretching her wrists as hard as she could. As the branch fell the Captain had dived away, dropping her leash. Arine had rolled twice, faltering both times, bashing her shoulder each time, but as her leash fell so did the sleeping guards, on top of it. She had tried pulling with her neck, using all her winged power would give but the rope wouldn't be freed. So she needed her hands back.
She glanced around every so often to see what was happening, the cloaked man was fending him self very well, he seemed to be enjoying himself almost. And the Captain had recovered, he made eye contact with Arine, her tear filled brown eyes connecting with his hate filled green. The world seemed to stop for a moment for Arine, she could see the Captain gathering to his feet, grabbing a weapon and taking flight, ready to shoot towards her. It was then Arine saw a sword in a guards grasp sticking out from the pile.
The fairy turned, lined her arms up and sliced her bonds away with a cry as the blade sliced her skin too. She didn't have enough time to undo the noose from her neck but she flew to safety from the Captain's fatal blow. Using some very precious time Arine slipped the rope from her neck but felt no relief as the Captain was at her again. He flew into her middle, sending her sprawling out on her back.
Just as Arine made it to her shaky hands and knees he sent his boot hard into her stomach. She felt sick as he did that, bile coated the back of her throat. Then a kick to the face and another to the side had her down, on her stomach, clawing at the wood, scratching it.
"You're nothing more than a traitor." He spat violently, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "Killing your own kind," He spat again. "Traitor." He dragged Arine by her hair, her arms flew up, trying to claw him off but he dragged her still, towards the edge. "You'll still die a traitor's death!" He pushed Arine so she was facing him and her bare feet balanced on the edge of the boards. He held her throat in a death like grip and readied himself to plunge his blade deep inside her chest.
In the rush of it all and the way her mind was rushing Arine didn't see behind the Captain, she didn't see the piles of bodies, some clutching wounds, other out cold, she didn't see the dark cloaked shadow quickly work it's way towards the pair or see the glint of a blade within it's hand. But the Captain did out of the corner of his eye, he heard the silence and had become suspicious and he had reason to.
But before the Captain had any chance to make a move the shadow's blade was cool against his throat. The Captain made no move of retreat, he still held Arine by her throat, tightening his grip by the second. The shadow upped it's game and bit the blade harder into his neck, forcing some blood to trickle down the metal. When again the Captain made no offer to free Arine the shadow, quick as lightening, stabbed the Captain in the shoulder with an arrow. It was a dirty move but necessary. Howling with pain the Captain released Arine immediately but the shadow held onto him with it's blade.
Then all three heard heavy foot steps and roars of the cavalry guards that had been called. Again, some were flying in and others climbing the tree. The Captain smiled menacingly and chuckled a little to himself, but the shadow twisted the arrow and it put an end to his laughter. The shadow lifted his head quickly, and nodded to Arine. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever set eyes on, sharp and bright but tinged with so many emotions.
Arine went to say her thank you-s but he silenced her with a gruff "Go. Now." Arine stopped, nodded and jumped from the platform, plummeting down into the shadows of the undergrowth.
Chapter 2:
A scream echoed throughout the land, loud and ear piercing. Blood pumped all over the weathered boards but the blood was not from Arine, no the blood and screams of pain came from the executioner as his hand fell limp and the sword clattered down. An arrow had shot straight and true through the executioner's wrist, shattering bones and ripping the skin apart. The arrow was now embedded in the big wooden door, quivering slightly from the impact.
The Captain's head shot up towards where the arrow had come from, an angered look of pure fury spreading across his face. He then began to bark orders to guards; some disappeared behind the now open wooden doors, others drew their swords. The few that had held Arine down were now scrambling to their feet as a few more arrows embedded them selves within the wood of the tree. The Captain pointed sharply to where the arrows were coming from and barked for some guards to get up there.
Within moments three guards flew high into the thicket of branches and leaves while more guards pored onto the platform from all around, some flying in, some storming through the door. The Council members were given cover and escorted away, deep into the tree to be protected.
While all this was going on Arine had managed to shuffle her way to her knees, but the wretched Captain kept a short leash on her neck rope, wrapping it twice around his fisted hand. The young female fairy was furiously working her bonds though, pulling and tugging her feet to free her ankles. With all the commotion no one was paying her any attention, not even the Captain. He was just sending more and more guards up into the tree tops with sharp tongued barks.
Then there was a creak, a snap and the top of the tree gave way, sending it plummeting along with the unconscious bodies of the many guards the Captain had sent up there, all of them knocked out clean, swords in their hands still. The weight of them all piling up had broken the branches and sent them all plummeting. In the action of it all no one saw a shadow leap from the falling branches, bounce of some intact branches and land down onto the platform before rolling out of the way of an unconscious guard.
It was a cloaked man, with no wings that could be seen, who kept his hood tight about his face. As soon as the dust settled from the fallen branches as many as forty guards began to rush this man. He had no sword, no daggers and no arrows left within his quiver; instead he used his wooden bow and a short thick pole. He took each guard as they came, taking a blow and giving three back. But he was never fatal; it was as if he merely wanted to knock the men unconscious than to kill.
Arine had little time to catch a glimpse at her rescuer, she was squealing in frustration as she worked at her wrist bonds, rubbing her hands and stretching her wrists as hard as she could. As the branch fell the Captain had dived away, dropping her leash. Arine had rolled twice, faltering both times, bashing her shoulder each time, but as her leash fell so did the sleeping guards, on top of it. She had tried pulling with her neck, using all her winged power would give but the rope wouldn't be freed. So she needed her hands back.
She glanced around every so often to see what was happening, the cloaked man was fending him self very well, he seemed to be enjoying himself almost. And the Captain had recovered, he made eye contact with Arine, her tear filled brown eyes connecting with his hate filled green. The world seemed to stop for a moment for Arine, she could see the Captain gathering to his feet, grabbing a weapon and taking flight, ready to shoot towards her. It was then Arine saw a sword in a guards grasp sticking out from the pile.
The fairy turned, lined her arms up and sliced her bonds away with a cry as the blade sliced her skin too. She didn't have enough time to undo the noose from her neck but she flew to safety from the Captain's fatal blow. Using some very precious time Arine slipped the rope from her neck but felt no relief as the Captain was at her again. He flew into her middle, sending her sprawling out on her back.
Just as Arine made it to her shaky hands and knees he sent his boot hard into her stomach. She felt sick as he did that, bile coated the back of her throat. Then a kick to the face and another to the side had her down, on her stomach, clawing at the wood, scratching it.
"You're nothing more than a traitor." He spat violently, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "Killing your own kind," He spat again. "Traitor." He dragged Arine by her hair, her arms flew up, trying to claw him off but he dragged her still, towards the edge. "You'll still die a traitor's death!" He pushed Arine so she was facing him and her bare feet balanced on the edge of the boards. He held her throat in a death like grip and readied himself to plunge his blade deep inside her chest.
In the rush of it all and the way her mind was rushing Arine didn't see behind the Captain, she didn't see the piles of bodies, some clutching wounds, other out cold, she didn't see the dark cloaked shadow quickly work it's way towards the pair or see the glint of a blade within it's hand. But the Captain did out of the corner of his eye, he heard the silence and had become suspicious and he had reason to.
But before the Captain had any chance to make a move the shadow's blade was cool against his throat. The Captain made no move of retreat, he still held Arine by her throat, tightening his grip by the second. The shadow upped it's game and bit the blade harder into his neck, forcing some blood to trickle down the metal. When again the Captain made no offer to free Arine the shadow, quick as lightening, stabbed the Captain in the shoulder with an arrow. It was a dirty move but necessary. Howling with pain the Captain released Arine immediately but the shadow held onto him with it's blade.
Then all three heard heavy foot steps and roars of the cavalry guards that had been called. Again, some were flying in and others climbing the tree. The Captain smiled menacingly and chuckled a little to himself, but the shadow twisted the arrow and it put an end to his laughter. The shadow lifted his head quickly, and nodded to Arine. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever set eyes on, sharp and bright but tinged with so many emotions.
Arine went to say her thank you-s but he silenced her with a gruff "Go. Now." Arine stopped, nodded and jumped from the platform, plummeting down into the shadows of the undergrowth.
A Fairy's Tale - Chapter 1
Chapter 1, this has changed quite a few times, the bare bones idea has always been the same, in trouble for murder, but the ideas and ways I've worded it have changed every single time I attack it. First she actually killed someone, but that seemed too malicious. Then it was accidental, but she never showed much remorse for it I thought. When I had a first draft all written up, Arine was a real Mary-Sue, and that bugged the hell out of me. She was rebellious against her upbringing, all the boys wanted her, she was terribly cheeky and rude and was always fluctuating in her emotions. Sometimes she'd come across as a feisty scrappy woman and then the next a fearful girl. And she never had an occupation, which also bugged me. (And yes, I wrote this character but I never bothered to address her faults)
Also, the Captain in this chapter needs some work I think, he's just a bit to mean. I either want to tone it down (But I love the peril!) or add some flesh to his character (one or two lines to hint at something more maybe...)
Chapter 1:
Arine, daughter of Arhun and Bettine, a brown haired, bookish sort of girl with a good standing job as a scroll scribe and was as normal and un-heroic as the days were long. But this bookish un-heroic fairy held the future of everyone within her ink stained grasp.
And it is here now we find Arine in the worst situation imaginable, in a cell, awaiting the dawn for her execution.
The young fairy was sat upon a sack of hay reading the small book of folk tales that her brother had sent her in pitied love. She could hear screams and wails coming from all around, some begging for release, others were just howling relentlessly.
With a quivered breath she continued to read again, trying to suppress her own strangled wails of fear.
The cell was small and bare, she could just about stretch out in one direction but not the other way. Kindly her jailors had provided the hay filled sack to sleep on and a bucket in the corner that was filthy and leaking.
There was a barred window high up, far from where the fairy could fly as around her slim ankle was a shackle and a length of chain. In her time here Arine had flew as high as the chain would allow and gripped the wall, savouring the fresh smell of the spring air that rolled in just above her head.
Arine realised she was itching again as she was reading. It was the dress. To ensure she'd not hidden anything with the folds of her dress Arine was stripped and forced to wear the brown woollen dress that smelt worse than the bucket.
The hole in the back for her lovely shimmering green wings was too small and the scratchy wool scraped constantly against the fleshy chords connected to her wings.
Between itching herself raw and re-reading the same line of text over and over Arine sent the book flying at the door in frustration with a pathetic wail. The little book banged against the wood loudly and sprawled across the floor with another thud.
Pitiful sobs began to escape her lips; she tried to calm herself down but after spending the past two months with a steely facade about her whole situation Arine couldn't stop herself. She lay down on the sack and curled herself up and cried herself to sleep, alternating between long wails of anguish and quick sobs that left her almost dry heaving.
Just as a wave of calm sleep washed over the exhausted fairy she was woken by heavy fisted banging against the door. Her eyes sprang open and she could see the first peek of dawn spreading throughout her rotten little cell. It was morning. Her last morning.
The heavy wooden door opened with a groan and banged loudly on the wall as the cell began to fill with green leather clad guards. One guard began to take the shackle off Arine's ankle while some held Arine in firm grips and others busied themselves getting her ready for transportation.
If Arine had had any fight within her she might have tried to fight her way out. But the mousy fairy rarely raised her voice in public let alone a knife. Plus the sharp blades at the guard's belts kept any stupid ideas at bay. If she was to die this morning then she would at least go with dignity, not like an animal.
So she let them bind her, first her hands behind her back in a tight rope knot. Then two slip knots, one at her waist and one around her neck. These were to ensure that she wouldn't try to fly away during the walk to the execution platform. A captain of the guards walked in, his green under tunic was longer than the others and swept by his feet with every step. He had a stern looking face that spelled it all for Arine.
He took her neck rope in his hands, gave her a once over and tugged at the rope. Arine nearly lost her balance but the guard holding her middle rope tugged too and she managed to right herself. The rest of the guards circled around her and they began her walk.
As they walked along the dungeon Arine tried to block out the shouts of anger coming from the cells. Even those who were liars, beggars, thieves and worst were angry at her. Arine focused all her efforts into putting her feet forward and not crying.
The group reached a great looking door, intricate and carved with a thousand tales. Two smart looking guards in gleaming armour moved and opened the door with some effort. It was carved straight into the tallest tree and had no metal hinges, only thick wooden ones that squeaked and creaked even after a hundred years of use.
The doors opened and led out onto a weathered wooden platform. They were at the highest point of The Council Tree, The Great Council of Fairies were seated upon carved branches that snaked through the wooden pavilion secured to the tips of the branches of the tree. Their rich silk clothing blew around from the high winds up here. There were twelve of them, varying age, sex and occupation. Some had been born into the role of Council member, while others were considered for their great contributions to fairy kind. Arine's fate rested with them.
The Guards that had surrounded Arine now moved to strategic points around the platform, hands by their sides, soldiers waiting for their commands. Only the Captain held Arine's neck rope now. A small flicker of an idea of punching him in the face and flying to freedom flew across her face but was put out as a heavy handed shove into her shoulder sent her stumbling across the floor. The neck rope tightened violently, nipping into her skin and choking her of her air. With her hands behind her Arine could do nothing except collapse to her knees, making pitiful choking sounds.
The Captain finally released the rope a little after Arine had gone a terrible shade of red. She was kneeled in front of The Council, there were twelve branch seats but only eleven present. Arine bowed her head and awaited the sentence.
"Arine of Arhun," began a tunic wearing fairy to the side of the first council member. "For the crime of murder The Great Council of Fairies found you guilty." Arine kept her head bowed. She already knew her fate. She could feel something trying to escape from her mouth, a scream or vomit she wasn't quite sure.
"Arine of Arhun, you are to be stripped of your wings and hung from the feet so you may never see the skies again." It was the worst punishment any fairy could ever receive, to be stripped of your wings was one thing, but to never see the skies again was a final insult to the traitor as it meant they would never see the heavens with their eyes, only hell below.
The young fairy was hoisted to her feet, the Captain dragging her towards the pavilion edge. Arine could feel a hysterical scream lodged tight in her throat but she just swallowed it down, clamping her jaw tight. She wanted to protest her innocence, she hadn't done anything wrong! But they wouldn't believe, The Great Council hadn't listened to her in trial; they certainly wouldn't moments before her execution.
Arine was kicked by the Captain, down to her knees and then down so her neck fell onto a block. She was dazed now, white noise played in her head as the Captains boot made contact with her head. Her arms were unbound from behind her and held straight out. A long length of rope was looped around and around her ankles so she could be strung up after.
She came to her senses just as the executioner made is way forward. She heard the slice as he sharpened his blade one final time; the sound shivered its way right through her and awakened something inside her. Her fighting spirit.
Arine began to struggle, clawing at her captors arms and shaking her head from side to side, anything to gain movement. She was shrieking now, crying out her innocence again and again. It was all in vain of course, the kicking and the struggling. There were only three men holding her down but it was enough to keep her petite frame at bay. But she had decided to not go without a fight, she'd scream out her innocence with her final breath.
Her screams were silenced though as the executioner grabbed her wing, holding the fine silky flesh to steady it as he went to slice. Guiding him self up, he took a swing back and brought his blade down.
Also, the Captain in this chapter needs some work I think, he's just a bit to mean. I either want to tone it down (But I love the peril!) or add some flesh to his character (one or two lines to hint at something more maybe...)
Chapter 1:
Arine, daughter of Arhun and Bettine, a brown haired, bookish sort of girl with a good standing job as a scroll scribe and was as normal and un-heroic as the days were long. But this bookish un-heroic fairy held the future of everyone within her ink stained grasp.
And it is here now we find Arine in the worst situation imaginable, in a cell, awaiting the dawn for her execution.
The young fairy was sat upon a sack of hay reading the small book of folk tales that her brother had sent her in pitied love. She could hear screams and wails coming from all around, some begging for release, others were just howling relentlessly.
With a quivered breath she continued to read again, trying to suppress her own strangled wails of fear.
The cell was small and bare, she could just about stretch out in one direction but not the other way. Kindly her jailors had provided the hay filled sack to sleep on and a bucket in the corner that was filthy and leaking.
There was a barred window high up, far from where the fairy could fly as around her slim ankle was a shackle and a length of chain. In her time here Arine had flew as high as the chain would allow and gripped the wall, savouring the fresh smell of the spring air that rolled in just above her head.
Arine realised she was itching again as she was reading. It was the dress. To ensure she'd not hidden anything with the folds of her dress Arine was stripped and forced to wear the brown woollen dress that smelt worse than the bucket.
The hole in the back for her lovely shimmering green wings was too small and the scratchy wool scraped constantly against the fleshy chords connected to her wings.
Between itching herself raw and re-reading the same line of text over and over Arine sent the book flying at the door in frustration with a pathetic wail. The little book banged against the wood loudly and sprawled across the floor with another thud.
Pitiful sobs began to escape her lips; she tried to calm herself down but after spending the past two months with a steely facade about her whole situation Arine couldn't stop herself. She lay down on the sack and curled herself up and cried herself to sleep, alternating between long wails of anguish and quick sobs that left her almost dry heaving.
Just as a wave of calm sleep washed over the exhausted fairy she was woken by heavy fisted banging against the door. Her eyes sprang open and she could see the first peek of dawn spreading throughout her rotten little cell. It was morning. Her last morning.
The heavy wooden door opened with a groan and banged loudly on the wall as the cell began to fill with green leather clad guards. One guard began to take the shackle off Arine's ankle while some held Arine in firm grips and others busied themselves getting her ready for transportation.
If Arine had had any fight within her she might have tried to fight her way out. But the mousy fairy rarely raised her voice in public let alone a knife. Plus the sharp blades at the guard's belts kept any stupid ideas at bay. If she was to die this morning then she would at least go with dignity, not like an animal.
So she let them bind her, first her hands behind her back in a tight rope knot. Then two slip knots, one at her waist and one around her neck. These were to ensure that she wouldn't try to fly away during the walk to the execution platform. A captain of the guards walked in, his green under tunic was longer than the others and swept by his feet with every step. He had a stern looking face that spelled it all for Arine.
He took her neck rope in his hands, gave her a once over and tugged at the rope. Arine nearly lost her balance but the guard holding her middle rope tugged too and she managed to right herself. The rest of the guards circled around her and they began her walk.
As they walked along the dungeon Arine tried to block out the shouts of anger coming from the cells. Even those who were liars, beggars, thieves and worst were angry at her. Arine focused all her efforts into putting her feet forward and not crying.
The group reached a great looking door, intricate and carved with a thousand tales. Two smart looking guards in gleaming armour moved and opened the door with some effort. It was carved straight into the tallest tree and had no metal hinges, only thick wooden ones that squeaked and creaked even after a hundred years of use.
The doors opened and led out onto a weathered wooden platform. They were at the highest point of The Council Tree, The Great Council of Fairies were seated upon carved branches that snaked through the wooden pavilion secured to the tips of the branches of the tree. Their rich silk clothing blew around from the high winds up here. There were twelve of them, varying age, sex and occupation. Some had been born into the role of Council member, while others were considered for their great contributions to fairy kind. Arine's fate rested with them.
The Guards that had surrounded Arine now moved to strategic points around the platform, hands by their sides, soldiers waiting for their commands. Only the Captain held Arine's neck rope now. A small flicker of an idea of punching him in the face and flying to freedom flew across her face but was put out as a heavy handed shove into her shoulder sent her stumbling across the floor. The neck rope tightened violently, nipping into her skin and choking her of her air. With her hands behind her Arine could do nothing except collapse to her knees, making pitiful choking sounds.
The Captain finally released the rope a little after Arine had gone a terrible shade of red. She was kneeled in front of The Council, there were twelve branch seats but only eleven present. Arine bowed her head and awaited the sentence.
"Arine of Arhun," began a tunic wearing fairy to the side of the first council member. "For the crime of murder The Great Council of Fairies found you guilty." Arine kept her head bowed. She already knew her fate. She could feel something trying to escape from her mouth, a scream or vomit she wasn't quite sure.
"Arine of Arhun, you are to be stripped of your wings and hung from the feet so you may never see the skies again." It was the worst punishment any fairy could ever receive, to be stripped of your wings was one thing, but to never see the skies again was a final insult to the traitor as it meant they would never see the heavens with their eyes, only hell below.
The young fairy was hoisted to her feet, the Captain dragging her towards the pavilion edge. Arine could feel a hysterical scream lodged tight in her throat but she just swallowed it down, clamping her jaw tight. She wanted to protest her innocence, she hadn't done anything wrong! But they wouldn't believe, The Great Council hadn't listened to her in trial; they certainly wouldn't moments before her execution.
Arine was kicked by the Captain, down to her knees and then down so her neck fell onto a block. She was dazed now, white noise played in her head as the Captains boot made contact with her head. Her arms were unbound from behind her and held straight out. A long length of rope was looped around and around her ankles so she could be strung up after.
She came to her senses just as the executioner made is way forward. She heard the slice as he sharpened his blade one final time; the sound shivered its way right through her and awakened something inside her. Her fighting spirit.
Arine began to struggle, clawing at her captors arms and shaking her head from side to side, anything to gain movement. She was shrieking now, crying out her innocence again and again. It was all in vain of course, the kicking and the struggling. There were only three men holding her down but it was enough to keep her petite frame at bay. But she had decided to not go without a fight, she'd scream out her innocence with her final breath.
Her screams were silenced though as the executioner grabbed her wing, holding the fine silky flesh to steady it as he went to slice. Guiding him self up, he took a swing back and brought his blade down.
Monday, 6 February 2012
100 Challenge 21. War
Nope.
Don't Ask.
I don't know either.
Total run away twist of Firefly/Titan A.E
...
Just gunna sweep this under the carpet and hope you don't notice. I just need to move on. I'll re-write something when I get fired up again...
Although, best opening lines ever? That's the first thing I thought about when war was mentioned...
War. Huh! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again! *sings*
Ahem. I might be a little tired.
Excuse me.
100 Challenge - 21. War
21. War
"War."
"Huh?"
"What is it good for?"
"Absolutely nothing." The two drinking bums giggled to themselves, before raising their glasses together and downing their small shots of fiery spirit. They both refilled from the glass amber bottle and toasted again. One of them turned in his seat, a merry look upon his face and raised his glass to a shadow in the corner of the bar. He then turned back to his drinking partner, swallowed his drink, ready for another round.
"Absolutely nothing." The shadow mumbled, sipping his drink.
"What you say Cap'n Kale?" A larger man asked the shadow.
"Nothing Brick, not a thing, must be hearing things again." Kale flashed a smile and shuffled in his seat, straightening himself up. His eyes flashing upwards to the door, then to the window and then to every body within the room, he was never relaxed, was always alert to everything about his presence. Brick on the other hand was taking up much of the seat opposite, He couldn't help it mind, Brick was a huge man, dark skinned with large muscles and very little fat. He stood over six and a half, shadowed everyone he met with a menacing look in his eyes, which faded after a good few pints.
Kale on the other hand was lean, he was by no means scrawny, but then again he was in no way the peak of muscular stature. Kale saw it that if he could run a good while before getting wheezy, then he was doing alright.
The door to the dreary bar opened and a cloaked figure walked in, dragging a small silver case on wheels behind them. The fancy grey cloak hood was dropped and a rush of gold locks fell on porcelain white skin. Kale nodded to the new comer and motioned them over. They ordered a drink from the barkeep and made their way over.
"Fancy?" Kale asked, not bothering to rise from his seat to greet his acquaintance. Fancy was a New Breed and it's not that Kale didn't trust New Breeds, but well, Kale Roth didn't trust many people.
"I've asked you to stop calling me that." Fancy said as he sat down in chair next to Brick, opposite Kale. He then shook off the grey cloak to reveal a smart silk grey suit.
"Well I ain't calling you Fer-Raednathavy," Kale said with some difficulty. "Fancy suits you fine. Now what have you got for me Fancy?"
The New Breed narrowed his pale eyes at the insulting Human, but the arrival of more drinks softened the mood a little. He then lifted the case onto the table, moving their drinks out of the way and clicked it open, towards Kale, making sure no drunks could see in.
Kale oversaw what was in the case, a little lump catching hard in his throat. Behind a thick sheet of lit up glass was a genuine square of grass, couple of inches by a couple of inches complete with soil, straight from the grounds of Earth. Kale longed to open the glass and touch the fine green blades, rub them between his fingers, take in their fresh scent, but he had a buyer who was willing to pay highly for this square of turf, so Kale thought better of his longing.
The reason this square was worth more than a grand old painting or sculpture was because of what had happened twenty one years ago. War
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
100 Challenge - 20. Fortitude
Boo.Yeah! 2 in one week, a roll is happening! (Cursed it now mind!)
Had some fun writing this, I'm on a medieval/peasant-Lord thing at the moment (Merlin's fault!) So when i thought about it, and the word "Fortitude" I liked the idea of something to do with "courageous Knight" in some way, and this was tapped out.
Make your own back story up. It's pretty easy to
(Little bit of a mature theme, death 'n' all)
Had some fun writing this, I'm on a medieval/peasant-Lord thing at the moment (Merlin's fault!) So when i thought about it, and the word "Fortitude" I liked the idea of something to do with "courageous Knight" in some way, and this was tapped out.
Make your own back story up. It's pretty easy to
(Little bit of a mature theme, death 'n' all)
20. Fortitude
There was a horrid crunch as I felt bones break and muscles rupturing. Blood then began to flow freely, hot and sticky against my skin, cooling very quickly in the day’s breeze. The offending sword was sharply removed and I heard gasps from all around.
I could feel myself swaying, my legs going numb far too quickly for my liking. My breathing becoming a chore, laboured and heavy while moans and gasps escaped my lips. A hand grabbed my shoulder tight, my offender, dragging me close to him so he was speaking into my ear. I steadied myself up against him, a bloody hand on his fancy clothes, tightly gripping.
“And what, dear Francis, did that prove?” My eyes widened as his hissed words came at me. God, so much pain, make it end, Gods. Another moan flew from my now bloody mouth. So much pain. “You’ll die and I’ll still do whatever I want to her.” My fear filled eyes darted to Juliana’s. She looked so lost, a deer caught in a trap. “Trying to be the courageous knight in armour?” He pulled me closer, the movement caused so much pain that I wailed out. “You’re nothing but a peasant, an ant compared to me.”
I placed my bloody hand on his face and dragged his ear close to mine. “Never kick an ant’s hill.” My breathing was so painful, rasping gasps now. Lord Bale just shoved me hard, one shot to the shoulder that a smarter man would have been able to defend against, but my feet and my brain were no longer connected so I stepped back a few times before falling down heavy, my arms taking a little of my fall.
I smelled Juliana before I saw here swim into vision, she always smells like summer roses and lavender. She propped me up a little on her, her fair hair falling down in smooth locks. I reached out and played with one a little, my blood smearing over the golden strands.
“Why Francis?” Jen asked, pain scratching at her voice. I could see tears rolling down her face. I convulsed slightly as my insides began to shut down, a moan from my mouth. I could no longer feel my legs and my lungs felt like they were made of lead, every breath so heavy. I took her hand and brought it to my lips and kissed it. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how much I cared for her, how I cherished everything she was and ever would be. I wanted to say that I wasn’t sorry for our love, but I was sorry that she was married to that awful brute.
“Juliana!” I heard Lord Bale shout; he then grabbed her arm roughly and threw her to her feet. I fell back to the floor, my head painfully knocking against the dry mud floor. I saw him tightly grip her arm and slap her hard across the face, her hair flailing wildly across her face. He shook her hard now, screaming in her face. He raised his fist to throw a punch but a strong arm held it back.
I’d love to say I found some strength, some second wind, but I was still sprawled out on the floor, life ebbing away. Instead my words had rung true, “never kick an ants hill,” and my village people were revolting. The men folk had found their strength and courage to fight back and were now surrounding and chasing after Lord Bale. I could heard their roars of anger and a faint cry from that horrible man.
Juliana came into focus again, her face reddened from the slap, a feisty anger in her eyes that I’d not seen in some time. She planted a kiss upon my dry mouth as my eyes flickered back and forth. My body was moments away from sleeping eternally; I was making pathetic sounds, moans and squeals as the pain worsened. It was so much, too much, Gods, God help me, save me. I tried to breathe again but it was too painful.
“You were so brave!” Juliana said, hugging me into her. I felt her tears plop against my pasty skin. She leant down, placed a tender kiss against my cheek, her hair spilling down like a curtain against us and whispered “I love you, my courageous Knight.”
100 Challenge - 19. Grey
Good lord! That has taken me 2 months to write! Some of these blighters are a little hard to do!
First it was happy, love story, blahh
Then it was all angsty and rahh
Then it was about tea (Don't ask!)
Finally sat down and knocked this out and it's okay, but I need to do more "writing" like story/prose style.
(Also, sorry to anyone who thinks I've spelled grey wrong like ten times, I haven't. I'm English and we're kookie like that!)
First it was happy, love story, blahh
Then it was all angsty and rahh
Then it was about tea (Don't ask!)
Finally sat down and knocked this out and it's okay, but I need to do more "writing" like story/prose style.
(Also, sorry to anyone who thinks I've spelled grey wrong like ten times, I haven't. I'm English and we're kookie like that!)
19. Grey
Grey was the colour of his suit, a medium grey, made from cheap polyester material that caught and clicked easily.
Grey was the colour of his underwear, what were once white and new was now stained and washed together with his black socks, the colours muddling together like his memories.
Grey was the colour of his hair, what was left of it anyway. Not silver like a fox, the rich dark locks gone from his youth, leaving only wisps of this grey.
Grey was the colour of his skin, too much smoking has left him with this tinge, now his face hung and sagged, deep sad wrinkles scattered.
Grey was the colour of his brain, fogged up and old, forgotten thoughts, recollections. Suit? Socks? Wisps of grey? Grey?
“Grey is the colour of my suit.”...
100 Challenge - 18. Under
100 Themes Challenge - Variation 2
My little brother had just gone to university, the first in my family to actually "go" (like stay in halls and all that, I stayed at home and commuted) And I don't miss him, but I guess somewhere in my subconscious I do because this just spewed out quite soppy like
My little brother had just gone to university, the first in my family to actually "go" (like stay in halls and all that, I stayed at home and commuted) And I don't miss him, but I guess somewhere in my subconscious I do because this just spewed out quite soppy like
18. Under
Under all that, little brother, I still see you.
Under your heavily tattooed skin I still see the baby of the family.
Under your facial piercings I still see that cherub face.
Under those sleep deprived eyes I still see the baby blues shining through.
Under all that, little brother, I still love you.
100 Challenge - 17. Blood
17. Blood
100 Themes, variation 2
Gooood Lord, it's very long. I just went for it. Full steam ahead! Aye aye Captain!
I quite enjoyed writing this, the ending is piss poor, kind of unraveled because I wanted to keep writing but if I keep writing it kind of stops being a Blood theme and moving onto what it's all really about.
Points if you can guess? ;D It's oh-so obvious but I enjoy where it's going so I might carry on with this one and see where I end up.
TL;DR?
100 Themes, variation 2
Gooood Lord, it's very long. I just went for it. Full steam ahead! Aye aye Captain!
I quite enjoyed writing this, the ending is piss poor, kind of unraveled because I wanted to keep writing but if I keep writing it kind of stops being a Blood theme and moving onto what it's all really about.
Points if you can guess? ;D It's oh-so obvious but I enjoy where it's going so I might carry on with this one and see where I end up.
TL;DR?
17. Blood
The sight of blood knocked me sick; it brought waves of nausea, cold sweats and eventual unconsciousness. My Mother says I was forever being clumsy when I was younger, scraping my knees and gashing my head open. My Father thinks I’m a sissy girl.
Any mention of blood makes my upper lip sweat, the sight of anyone else’s brings clanging to my ears and bile to my throat. The sight of my own blood is all of the above plus me eventually passing out in an ungraceful manner. So here I am staring at my index finger pouring with blood, doing quite well I thought.
My upper lip was damp, as was my forehead and I could hear a familiar clanging and buzzing in my ears. I shook it off as best I could as I quickly grabbed the kitchen towel from the counter, wrapping it many times around the slice as tightly as I could. The blood quickly soaked through the four wraps and a little shrill panicked noise escaped my lips. The buzzing returned but I began to sing nonsensical sounds. Laa’s and hee’s were sung at the top of my voice as I raced around the kitchen in the hope it would help.
I noticed my phone lying on the counter and I thought about ringing for help. My Mother would just chastise me; shout at me for being so careless with a knife. My Father would call me a sissy girl. My sister lived in another County and all friends within available radius would ridicule me for such a silly cut. The thought of ringing an ambulance crossed my mind as the tea towel was now soaked through but again it could be nothing and I wouldn’t want to be a time waster.
I didn’t realise I was singing so loudly until I stopped when I then heard the heavy hammering of a fist on my flat door. I slowly swayed across to the door, grinding my jaw as the blood was seeping through the towel now.
“Hello?” I asked, opening the door wide, hiding my covered hand. A tall man looked down at me, thirties, rough dark hair, dark eyes and angular facial features. His face fell straight, no hint of any emotion. I thought he maybe looked a little amused though.
“Are you okay?” His accent was rough too, masculine but rough sounding. I nodded, hoping he couldn’t see how pale I probably looked, or how sweaty I was feeling. He gave me a quick once over, his eyes giving nothing away. “I heard you singing, loudly.” I forced a small smile of ‘Sorry’ and added a nod too. “Do you often do that?” I shook my head, no, afraid to talk to him as I felt nausea ripple through me. A trickle of blood escaped from the towel and slicked its self down my arm. The crimson bead was the last straw; I’d been brave for long enough now.
The buzzing in my ears grew louder, and I could see the man in front of me talking but his words grew fuzzier and my eye lids felt heavy. I don’t remember falling, but I remember a firm grasp holding me from somewhere, slowly picking me up and carrying me.
I hadn’t been out long, minutes, if that. I was now lying on the sofa though, head propped up with a cushion while someone was touching my hand. I rolled my head over to see the man crouched before me, wiping away the blood from my finger with some tissue from my coffee table. It stung like hell but he was gentle in his ways. A small smile was sitting on his lips, he looked up and the smile spread a little further. “You should look away,” he finally said as he stopped wiping.
I gave a little glance down to my finger and made a small retch sound. The cut looked deep, not stitch worthy but messy all the same, a clean slice at the top of my index finger.
“First aid kit?” He asked me. I blinked away a few nauseous thoughts and motioned toward the bathroom across the way.
“Bathroom cabinet.” I mumbled, feeling less fuzzy and more embarrassed. I swung my legs back round and planted them on the floor, sitting upright on the sofa. I took a quick peep at the man in my bathroom, his attire was a suit, a store bought, poorly fitting black thing that he looked so uncomfortable in. I saw a black tie was loosened around his neck as he came back through.
“So, you don’t like blood then?” He asked as he crouched down before me again.
“Never have done,” I replied, not daring to look into his eyes, the embarrassment creeping onto my face. He opened the kit up and wiped the last of the blood away with a wipe, it stung and I made a fuss but he didn’t stir from his occupation. Finally a plaster was wrapped round the wound and he clicked the kit shut. Silently he rose to his feet and went to replace the kit in the bathroom; the man came back and slid the bloodied tissues into his suit pocket. My eye brows hitched up my head at this .
“Oh, oh don’t worry!” He replied to my widened eyes, “I figured I’ll bin them at my place, save you looking at them all the time.” I nodded, smiling a little at his thoughtfulness. “It’s not like I’m a vampire or anything,” He said with a nervous giggle on the end, like there was some big joke and I wasn’t getting it.
“So where do you live then?” I asked in my most coy-slightly-flirtatious voice.
“Here and there,” he replied breezily.
“Here?” I asked with a little too much hope in my voice. He smiled. Drat! He’d caught me flirting. I coughed and regained some composure. “I meant this building? The area? Town?” Jesus will you shut up! Just stop talking! Again a small smile played on his lips.
“Three doors down, Larry, the guy who owns it, has gone on a fishing trip and asked me to take care of his flat.” I nodded again, I had a faint idea of Larry, I could see a wispy old beard and a leather waistcoat. We’d never talked much, or at all except niceties about the news or weather. The man picked up the very wet and very soaked through tea towel and I retched.
“Do you want me to bin this? Put it in the washing machine? Burn it?” I retched again and felt sweaty all over. He dropped the towel into my waste paper bin and with his clean hand came over and forced my head down so I was looking at my feet. The clanging and chimes began to disappear and I could hear him again. “-deep breaths, deep breaths, push against my hand, deep breaths.” I sucked in some well needed air, pushing back against his hand until he let go.
“Please, get rid of it.” I leant back on the sofa, all this blood just for a small cut on my finger. I heard him tie the plastic bag in the waste paper basket up and lift it out.
“I’ll take it back to my place, bin it there.” For what felt the umpteenth time that day I nodded. “You really don’t like blood do you? You look really pale, pasty even.” I hadn’t even thought about how I was looking. I was wearing cheap blue jogging bottoms and an old grey t-shirt with a faded logo and numerous stains. I had mismatched socks on, one bright pink one yellow and my auburn hair was looped into a rough bun, frizz probably sticking out every where.
“I’ve never liked blood.” I rose to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “Childhood trauma or something, just can’t stand the sight of it.” I looked him in the eye. I was very grateful for his rescue, helping my in my hour of need. But he had just called me pasty and I wasn’t having that. I locked eyes with him for a moment, his dark inviting eyes were calculating something but as soon as the moment had come it had passed. I strode across to the door and stood by it, defiantly. “Thank you for all your help...”
“James,” He helped, filling in the space between us in a few easy strides. He was close now, so close I could feel his breath blowing the wisps of loose hair on my head. I felt the heat radiating from his body and those dark eyes looking down at me. Something was pulling me to him, some force making me look up into his beautiful dark eyes, down to his soft wet lips. My arms loosened and fell useless to my sides, but itching to run over his body, through his hair. I could feel my blood pounding in my ears, my mouth becoming dry, lips parting, closer, closer...
I then stepped back, arms instinctively crossing back over my chest. “Yes, well, thank you James, thank you for everything.” I was flustered now; I’d been caught off guard, vulnerable. I scowled at him and held my arm out, showing him the way to the corridor. A puzzle was playing out on his face, like he was trying to do a ten thousand piece jigsaw in his mind. His lips were moving slightly but no words were coming.
“Thank you.” I snapped, almost shoving him out the door, slamming it behind him. I’d feel guilty about it later, probably go over and apologise. Perhaps invite him to dinner somewhere, bottle of wine, back to my place...
I moaned out loud, what was my problem, what hold did he have over me? I stormed into the kitchen, snapped on a pair of marigolds, got a spray bottle of cleaner and a cloth and set about cleaning up the dots and drops of blood. I cursed his name through out, almost forgetting that it was blood that I was cleaning up.
100 Challenge - 16. Spit
Yes this is a poem. My kind of poem. I honestly don't understand poetry, all I know is it either rhymes or it don't, it's all the same (My English Lit. teacher will be so proud!)
So this is what I came up with for Spit...Honestly, it's a silly theme
So this is what I came up with for Spit...Honestly, it's a silly theme
16. Spit
There was a young lad,
Who used to spit on his Dad.
The kid’s Father got mad,
Told the boy it was bad
But the brat just laughed like he was glad.
100 Challenge - 15. Silence
Not happy about this, this theme stirred a thousand thoughts, but none wanted to shine as much as this. Ho Hum!
15. Silence
Glancing at the clock again I sigh a heavy hearted sigh, forty five minutes left until my lunch break. I'm almost dreaming of that little plastic Tupperware box when a RING of a phone and a WHUMPH of heavy papers being dropped onto my desk brings me back. I scramble about for my head set and take a deep breath before "Good morning this is Helen from Phones for Life how may I help you?"
I can hear a SCREAM of a child in the background and a YELL of a woman to "SHUT THE HELL UP!" I then hear a disgruntled sigh and she comes on the line, a scratchy sounding voice with husky undertones. "Listen right, I've been on 'old for ten minutes yeah? 'Ow long does it tek to answer the phone?" I take another deep, calming, breath.
"I'm very sorry miss, what is it I can help you with today?" I try to sound as calming and polite as I can knowing full well she's just listened to the "Your call is important to us, we endeavour to take your call within five minutes" reel that plays with the hold music. There is a BANG of a door and a good few BARKS of a dog. She YELLS at it and then gets back to me. Her credit hasn't gone through, she's got calls to make yeah, what am I gonna do 'bout it?
I quickly sort her out, promising the earth just to get rid of her, breathing a lovely sigh of relief as the click ends the call. I then have another loud woman, but she's just old and SCREECHES down the phone to everyone I guess. Then an man with the LOUDEST laugh I've ever heard, it broke my ear drum I swear.
As I finish with him I glance back up at the clock, five minutes to go. The Tupperware box is calling me from under my desk tucked away in my tote bag. I'm sorting out the mass of papers, the RUSTLE of them grating through me with each leaf. Across the way two colleagues of mine CACKLE away about their gossip and a staple gun is BANG BANG BANGED every second against more paper. I can hear CLACK of keyboard keys and CLICK of high heels against the hard floor.
I'm up and out of my seat as soon as the hand clicks by, grabbing my bag and leaving my head set to rest. I let my floor manager know and she ticks me off a register, she then tries to talk to me about something trivial but I apologise and make a run for it, like I'm escaping. Down six flights of stairs, through the main foyer and out into the open where my lungs take a deep needed fresh breath.
Our office building does have a staff room with vending machines, sofas and furniture but it's often loud and even with head phones in my co workers always feel the need to talk to me. I'm not mean spirited, I'll have a good goss' about anyone with anyone but my lunch hour is to get away from that hustle and bustle.
I sadly eat my lunch in the car park, on a grassy spot on a bench. I've always questioned why this bench is here, the smokers go round the back of the building to their designated shelter and visitors are very sparse to have want of a bench. But I'm grateful for it every day, I plonk myself down in the middle, to ward off any one wanting to sit next to me, open my Tupperware box, take out a sandwich and lean my head back a little, soaking up the few rays of sunshine.
I can't hear a thing, not an angry customer, not an office moan or a stationary sound; just pure, blissful silence.
15. Silence
Glancing at the clock again I sigh a heavy hearted sigh, forty five minutes left until my lunch break. I'm almost dreaming of that little plastic Tupperware box when a RING of a phone and a WHUMPH of heavy papers being dropped onto my desk brings me back. I scramble about for my head set and take a deep breath before "Good morning this is Helen from Phones for Life how may I help you?"
I can hear a SCREAM of a child in the background and a YELL of a woman to "SHUT THE HELL UP!" I then hear a disgruntled sigh and she comes on the line, a scratchy sounding voice with husky undertones. "Listen right, I've been on 'old for ten minutes yeah? 'Ow long does it tek to answer the phone?" I take another deep, calming, breath.
"I'm very sorry miss, what is it I can help you with today?" I try to sound as calming and polite as I can knowing full well she's just listened to the "Your call is important to us, we endeavour to take your call within five minutes" reel that plays with the hold music. There is a BANG of a door and a good few BARKS of a dog. She YELLS at it and then gets back to me. Her credit hasn't gone through, she's got calls to make yeah, what am I gonna do 'bout it?
I quickly sort her out, promising the earth just to get rid of her, breathing a lovely sigh of relief as the click ends the call. I then have another loud woman, but she's just old and SCREECHES down the phone to everyone I guess. Then an man with the LOUDEST laugh I've ever heard, it broke my ear drum I swear.
As I finish with him I glance back up at the clock, five minutes to go. The Tupperware box is calling me from under my desk tucked away in my tote bag. I'm sorting out the mass of papers, the RUSTLE of them grating through me with each leaf. Across the way two colleagues of mine CACKLE away about their gossip and a staple gun is BANG BANG BANGED every second against more paper. I can hear CLACK of keyboard keys and CLICK of high heels against the hard floor.
I'm up and out of my seat as soon as the hand clicks by, grabbing my bag and leaving my head set to rest. I let my floor manager know and she ticks me off a register, she then tries to talk to me about something trivial but I apologise and make a run for it, like I'm escaping. Down six flights of stairs, through the main foyer and out into the open where my lungs take a deep needed fresh breath.
Our office building does have a staff room with vending machines, sofas and furniture but it's often loud and even with head phones in my co workers always feel the need to talk to me. I'm not mean spirited, I'll have a good goss' about anyone with anyone but my lunch hour is to get away from that hustle and bustle.
I sadly eat my lunch in the car park, on a grassy spot on a bench. I've always questioned why this bench is here, the smokers go round the back of the building to their designated shelter and visitors are very sparse to have want of a bench. But I'm grateful for it every day, I plonk myself down in the middle, to ward off any one wanting to sit next to me, open my Tupperware box, take out a sandwich and lean my head back a little, soaking up the few rays of sunshine.
I can't hear a thing, not an angry customer, not an office moan or a stationary sound; just pure, blissful silence.
100 Challenge - 14. Smile
Wahey! Back on a roll! (probably jinxed it)
Quite like it. Little long, but makes up for all the shorts I've been writing of late.
14. Smile
"Write down one hundred reasons to smile." That was her 'homework' from today's session. Smiling was the first step to happiness apparently, and happiness was a step towards normality. Katie had thought about this on her way home, she hadn't smiled for a long time, she couldn't even remember what the last thing to make her smile was. She sat at the back of the bus and looked around. The dreary bus didn't make her smile; the bawling child at the front didn't either. The trees looked bare outside and the skies were murky grey.
Her boyfriend Elliot greeted her with a kiss, rubbing a towel in his hands. Katie could smell food coming from their kitchen, sweet spices of a chilli bubbling away and vanilla wafted about from a custard dish. He always made an effort when she came home from counselling; cooking a meal, attending to her needs, glass of wine ready. Katie took the wine and sipped at it, "this should be making me smile, I should be smiling." She thought loudly in her head.
Elliot talked about his job today, what happened, amusing stories of banter with colleagues and Katie felt her self smiling and talking back with him but it didn't feel right, her muscles in her face were just contorting to what Elliot wanted to see, her smiling. He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, "it's good to see you smiling again, I've always loved your smile." Katie nodded with another facial twitch that pleased him. She took a gulp of wine.
"Speaking of, I have to write a list." Elliot raised his eye brows in a sign of continuance. "100 things that make me smile." Elliot nodded and drank a little.
"Hopefully I'll be at the top of the list then?" He winked and smiled a wide smile; Katie felt like he was almost mocking her.
"Only if I get dessert," her facial muscles contorted and Elliot was up on his feet, clearing the dinner plates away, bustling himself into the kitchen, getting on with his custard dish. Katie sipped at her drink again. "I should be smiling." She tried hard to feel happy when he brought the custard desert out, really tried to feel this emotion, but in honesty she felt nothing. The food was bland in her mouth, she could guess it was hot and that vanilla was used but other than that it was just wobbly yellow custard with tasteless raspberries and un sweet sugar. Elliot cleared the dishes away and began to wash up, Katie made herself a cup of tea and set out a cup for Elliot.
"Just going to go write this list," she said, slinking away from the kitchen. He nodded, looking at the dish water. Katie knew that he knew she wasn't happy, but neither would say anything for a while. She sat at the dining table, pad and pen in front of her but untouched for an hour. Elliot kissed the top of her head half an hour in, said something about going for a run, don't wait up for him. He went running when things weren't right, he'd come back refreshed and ready to tackle his depressive girlfriend again.
He came back and she'd fallen asleep on her arms on the table, a furrowed frown on her face as she slept. Even in sleep she can't smile he thought. He glanced at the paper, his name wasn't there, she'd written the date, the title and numbers 1 to 20 down the side. There were stuttered dots one number 1 where she'd tried to write something. He kissed the top of her head again and almost for a second he saw a smile in her sleeping face before it slipped back to nothing. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" He whispered in her ear, she stirred, nodded and fell back asleep. "Thought so," he draped his jacket around her shoulders and went to bed.
This list made its rounds round the house, it stayed on the dining table for three days, mail, junk, bowls, boards and assorted house hold rubbish began to lie on top of it before Katie rescued it one afternoon while cleaning. She ripped the page out, folded it a few times and it lived in her jeans pocket for a day and a half.
Elliot saved it from her pocket when he did the washing. He unfolded it, read the nothingness, and pinned it to the kitchen notice board where it stayed, a bill covered half of it in the end and Katie scribbled a phone number down on it in a rush for paper.
It was Wednesday again, Elliot was back to his usual self, promising lamb chops with minted peas and an Eton mess for tea. He kissed Katie good bye and sped off to work in the morning, smiling that wide smile, was he mocking her? Katie busied herself with chores until she had to catch the bus again for her session, when it dawned on her; the list!
She ripped it from the notice board, a takeaway menu and notes covering it completely. Somehow it had a orange splatter on one corner and a phone number scribble. It looked a right mess. But it would do, she was already running late. She grabbed keys, coat, bag, paper and dashed out the door, down the road and to the stop. The bus wasn't there. It should be there it was due any time now. She might have missed it. An old man was at the stop with her.
"Has it been?" She asked him.
"The 12? No, not yet, running late I think." She thanked him and carried on looking down the road. "Cheer up lass," Katie's eyes bulged out of her head and she was about to rant at this man for being so rude when something stopped her. She studied the man; he was dressed in beiges and browns. He wore a bulky cardigan and flat cap perched on his head. In his hands were a bunch of sad looking flowers and a card.
"Who are they for?" She asked, sitting beside him now.
"My wife," He replied, slightly proud sounding.
"Oh I'm sorry for your loss-" The man laughed a little wheezy laugh.
" She ain't dead lass, in a nursing home up route, it's her birthday today. I visit every week but today I thought I'd push the boat out a little." He smiled, clenching the flowers a little harder. "She won't be bothered mind, dementia and all that. Nothing makes her smile anymore, there was a glint in her eyes a good few month back when I played the radio, now not so much as a little grin. She's gone." He looked sadly down at the flowers and Katie felt a hard scratching lump in her throat. She wanted to burst into loud wailing tears, hug the man and tell him everything will be okay. "Here now, bus is here." He got to his feet and waved it down. He smiled a wide smile to Katie and got on, sitting at the front. Katie paid and sat down next to him.
They didn't talk for the entire journey. Just sat like two passengers on a bus. The man pressed the button for the bell. "Wish your wife a happy birthday from me," Katie said to him. The man nodded and smiled again. "How do you smile like that?" she quizzed him.
"Well, one of us has got to smile. She can't, so I'll smile for the both of us." He nodded his head to her, smiled a final time and got off the bus.
Katie felt numb for a second, she had wanted an epiphany, loud trumpets, a chorus and for the grey clouds to part to reveal warm sunshine and colours. She sighed and leant back on the seat, looking out the window. Her phone buzzed noisily in her pocket, waking her from her mood.
From: Smelliot
love you hun :) x
Katie rang him back immediately.
"I'm not happy. I never am, I fake my smiles and hate myself for it. You never ask how I'm feeling and I love you for that because I don't have to lie to you. I'm trying, I really am, I'm trying to smile again, but it's taking longer than I thought. So I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"
"Anything."
"Could you smile for me too? Smile for the both of us?" She heard Elliot chuckle down the phone.
"Course I can." She could feel him smiling down the phone.
"So, I'll see you tonight?" She asked, hopeful for the first time in months.
"Yep, love you."
"Love you too." He hung up on her but she kept the phone to her ear a little longer, in shock. Her cheeks ached, and her lips felt dry, but there she was, smiling.
Quite like it. Little long, but makes up for all the shorts I've been writing of late.
14. Smile
"Write down one hundred reasons to smile." That was her 'homework' from today's session. Smiling was the first step to happiness apparently, and happiness was a step towards normality. Katie had thought about this on her way home, she hadn't smiled for a long time, she couldn't even remember what the last thing to make her smile was. She sat at the back of the bus and looked around. The dreary bus didn't make her smile; the bawling child at the front didn't either. The trees looked bare outside and the skies were murky grey.
Her boyfriend Elliot greeted her with a kiss, rubbing a towel in his hands. Katie could smell food coming from their kitchen, sweet spices of a chilli bubbling away and vanilla wafted about from a custard dish. He always made an effort when she came home from counselling; cooking a meal, attending to her needs, glass of wine ready. Katie took the wine and sipped at it, "this should be making me smile, I should be smiling." She thought loudly in her head.
Elliot talked about his job today, what happened, amusing stories of banter with colleagues and Katie felt her self smiling and talking back with him but it didn't feel right, her muscles in her face were just contorting to what Elliot wanted to see, her smiling. He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, "it's good to see you smiling again, I've always loved your smile." Katie nodded with another facial twitch that pleased him. She took a gulp of wine.
"Speaking of, I have to write a list." Elliot raised his eye brows in a sign of continuance. "100 things that make me smile." Elliot nodded and drank a little.
"Hopefully I'll be at the top of the list then?" He winked and smiled a wide smile; Katie felt like he was almost mocking her.
"Only if I get dessert," her facial muscles contorted and Elliot was up on his feet, clearing the dinner plates away, bustling himself into the kitchen, getting on with his custard dish. Katie sipped at her drink again. "I should be smiling." She tried hard to feel happy when he brought the custard desert out, really tried to feel this emotion, but in honesty she felt nothing. The food was bland in her mouth, she could guess it was hot and that vanilla was used but other than that it was just wobbly yellow custard with tasteless raspberries and un sweet sugar. Elliot cleared the dishes away and began to wash up, Katie made herself a cup of tea and set out a cup for Elliot.
"Just going to go write this list," she said, slinking away from the kitchen. He nodded, looking at the dish water. Katie knew that he knew she wasn't happy, but neither would say anything for a while. She sat at the dining table, pad and pen in front of her but untouched for an hour. Elliot kissed the top of her head half an hour in, said something about going for a run, don't wait up for him. He went running when things weren't right, he'd come back refreshed and ready to tackle his depressive girlfriend again.
He came back and she'd fallen asleep on her arms on the table, a furrowed frown on her face as she slept. Even in sleep she can't smile he thought. He glanced at the paper, his name wasn't there, she'd written the date, the title and numbers 1 to 20 down the side. There were stuttered dots one number 1 where she'd tried to write something. He kissed the top of her head again and almost for a second he saw a smile in her sleeping face before it slipped back to nothing. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" He whispered in her ear, she stirred, nodded and fell back asleep. "Thought so," he draped his jacket around her shoulders and went to bed.
This list made its rounds round the house, it stayed on the dining table for three days, mail, junk, bowls, boards and assorted house hold rubbish began to lie on top of it before Katie rescued it one afternoon while cleaning. She ripped the page out, folded it a few times and it lived in her jeans pocket for a day and a half.
Elliot saved it from her pocket when he did the washing. He unfolded it, read the nothingness, and pinned it to the kitchen notice board where it stayed, a bill covered half of it in the end and Katie scribbled a phone number down on it in a rush for paper.
It was Wednesday again, Elliot was back to his usual self, promising lamb chops with minted peas and an Eton mess for tea. He kissed Katie good bye and sped off to work in the morning, smiling that wide smile, was he mocking her? Katie busied herself with chores until she had to catch the bus again for her session, when it dawned on her; the list!
She ripped it from the notice board, a takeaway menu and notes covering it completely. Somehow it had a orange splatter on one corner and a phone number scribble. It looked a right mess. But it would do, she was already running late. She grabbed keys, coat, bag, paper and dashed out the door, down the road and to the stop. The bus wasn't there. It should be there it was due any time now. She might have missed it. An old man was at the stop with her.
"Has it been?" She asked him.
"The 12? No, not yet, running late I think." She thanked him and carried on looking down the road. "Cheer up lass," Katie's eyes bulged out of her head and she was about to rant at this man for being so rude when something stopped her. She studied the man; he was dressed in beiges and browns. He wore a bulky cardigan and flat cap perched on his head. In his hands were a bunch of sad looking flowers and a card.
"Who are they for?" She asked, sitting beside him now.
"My wife," He replied, slightly proud sounding.
"Oh I'm sorry for your loss-" The man laughed a little wheezy laugh.
" She ain't dead lass, in a nursing home up route, it's her birthday today. I visit every week but today I thought I'd push the boat out a little." He smiled, clenching the flowers a little harder. "She won't be bothered mind, dementia and all that. Nothing makes her smile anymore, there was a glint in her eyes a good few month back when I played the radio, now not so much as a little grin. She's gone." He looked sadly down at the flowers and Katie felt a hard scratching lump in her throat. She wanted to burst into loud wailing tears, hug the man and tell him everything will be okay. "Here now, bus is here." He got to his feet and waved it down. He smiled a wide smile to Katie and got on, sitting at the front. Katie paid and sat down next to him.
They didn't talk for the entire journey. Just sat like two passengers on a bus. The man pressed the button for the bell. "Wish your wife a happy birthday from me," Katie said to him. The man nodded and smiled again. "How do you smile like that?" she quizzed him.
"Well, one of us has got to smile. She can't, so I'll smile for the both of us." He nodded his head to her, smiled a final time and got off the bus.
Katie felt numb for a second, she had wanted an epiphany, loud trumpets, a chorus and for the grey clouds to part to reveal warm sunshine and colours. She sighed and leant back on the seat, looking out the window. Her phone buzzed noisily in her pocket, waking her from her mood.
From: Smelliot
love you hun :) x
Katie rang him back immediately.
"I'm not happy. I never am, I fake my smiles and hate myself for it. You never ask how I'm feeling and I love you for that because I don't have to lie to you. I'm trying, I really am, I'm trying to smile again, but it's taking longer than I thought. So I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"
"Anything."
"Could you smile for me too? Smile for the both of us?" She heard Elliot chuckle down the phone.
"Course I can." She could feel him smiling down the phone.
"So, I'll see you tonight?" She asked, hopeful for the first time in months.
"Yep, love you."
"Love you too." He hung up on her but she kept the phone to her ear a little longer, in shock. Her cheeks ached, and her lips felt dry, but there she was, smiling.
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