Dungeon

JournalWord: Someone Else's Son

::

I could scream and someone would hear.

The gate is so close, but my parents are so far. And, besides, I don’t know where I am.

But I know, if I scream like I did that night they captured me,

Mum will lose more sleep.

And Nancy and Bill say they’ll kill

Mum and Dad if I tell.

But the gate is open

And the neighbors are out watering their lilies.

Someone will help me

Someone will take me home.

I can’t go, though, because if I am caught again,

Surely the belt blows will break my bones.

I have to keep Mum and Dad safe,

Because I can,

So I’ll stay someone else’s son today.

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Fear of Happiness

JournalWord: These flowers have teeth.

::

The bouquet of flowers fly through the air in a heap of bright green hydrangeas and crisp white and yellow daisies. The dark blue ribbon wrapped and tied around the stalks flutters, like wings aching to take to the skies, as they soar towards the pitched, excited shrieks.

Her heart drops at the site, pooling close to her knees. Not now, she begs, trained to the spot in the center of the reaching arms and summer dresses. Please, she prays, watching, frozen, as the flutter of petals sail closer. 

Her eyes are wide when the flowers crush and crash into her forehead, bouncing off her gaping expression like a physical shield.

A soft noise of disappointment rings through the crowd of whining girls when a familiar hand catches the rejected bunch of posies. Her head snaps at the frown hidden under the forgiving smile and she catches him shaking his head. 

"It's our turn," he whispers, a promise, reaching for her clenched hands entangled into the fabric of her violet bridesmaid dress. 

The flowers are missing chunks of petals and the ribbon is loose when she is forced to hold the offending object. It's so cold in her sweating palm.

::

I'm on a wedding phase!

Although both post so far are far from conventional wedding ideas...

Hopefully these give your mind a little exercise :P 

Keep cheery!

Mera.

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Poison Prince

JournalWord: He is poison.

::

His first memory is war and starvation.

His next memory is of darkness and crying bodies.

He can hear the sobbing of other children beside him, quivering and howling in the pitch dark. He feels the walls behind him, pressing his hands against the rough stones of the cave. 

The howls and cries are so loud and don't stop for nights and days; time he can't decipher anymore.

 His tears of fear have dried from listening to the other children, and he can't find the heart to care about them. After fending for himself all his life on the merciless streets, scraping for days on rotten fruit and dried crumbs, this is an opportunity he must pull through with. 

They are feeding us, he reasons, and that is enough for him to ignore the cries and darkness. Just knowing that there is food to eat, albeit cold because he is squished far back by the walls, he can continue to bear with this hellish hole.

Slowly, his patience and perseverance prove worth when retching sounds start to intermingle with the screams and sobbing. The ground has become soft underneath him and he pushes away the thought of why. The bodies huddled and squished around him are losing their heat, so he pushes them away from him, without a care that they don't make a noise of protest.

The noises are silencing, and the sobbing cries are dwindling to whimpers that snuff out in due time. His food steadily becomes warmer by the time it gets to him until, finally, it comes served piping hot, straight from the oven to his waiting hands. 

He hasn't moved from his place from the back of the cave, eating whatever is given to him without a sound escaping his lips, even when the stomach pains ached for him to scream. The pain has long since passed, along with the cries, without any indication of it being present in the first place.  

He still eats, and the other children die beside him, spoons and bowls clattering around them, but he still eats until his spoon scrapes the bottom of his bowl.

When the first light peeks through the opening at the other end of the cave, a bellow hollers for any survivors to come get their meal. On shaky legs, he makes his first attempt to walk, ignoring the smell he has almost become accustomed to and the mounds of rustic clothes he has to walk over. 

He is met with surprised congratulations at the door and light, and when someone breaks through the crowd to rustle his long, dirty hair, their hand burns black. He passes by the scream and writhing body, walking through the silent path and heading for the table, towards the steaming pot. He sits on the bench, alone, and helps himself to the porridge, having not been fed in nearly two days. 

He has become the poison that he is fed.

::

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BTF: Let Me Sleep

Sometimes, when the stress of household finances weighs on my mind, and I can't sleep, I find myself on my laptop surfing the internet.

I'm looking for contests, sweepstakes, and giveaways, all for cash, all to instantly clear the worries in my mind.

For someone who can't work and needs to devote her time to studying, I crumble at the thought of my father being the only one who is supporting his family. I want to take his place.

But unfortunately, this life doesn't work the way I want it to and I have to continue living off my family to achieve the career I want and need to support them. 

There is no give. There is no mercy. There may not even be a God.

In moments like these, I have no faith. And maybe I should.

But I find it a little hard to believe in an entity that only inflicts pain and suffering to it's followers. 

I would never wish for a sole provider to be inflicted with a disease that painfully, fuses his spinal vertebrae together with no painless solution to slow it down. 

Is it too much heart? Maybe I don't want this heart. Why give me this heart?

At 2am, I don't want to be awake and hurting. I want to be filled with dreams that are achievable and hopes that are believable. 

Asking for so much. Giving so much. Stricken with so much.

I'm tired so, please, let me sleep.

mera.

I'm very worried right now, as my posts as of recently have implied. Lost and very unsure, so bear with me. I'm occupied and can't focus on writing stories. I'm going to try to clear my mind for now, especially with a new semester and deadlines to meet, so posts may be infrequent. Your support is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

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BTF: So Far...

What a way to start the new year...
Feeling absolutely wretched with a cold that won't let me hold anything down.
Weakened by lack of sleep.
Stricken with crazy dreams (drug-trafficking empire in Costco??) induced by medication.
Bruises and muscle pain from tobogganing.
All around anxiety from starting up next semester.
Stress from having to complete the requirements for the BCIT Lab Tech. program by April.

Whoa. I'm a big ball of stress and pain.

And! Not to mention, my overall fear of change. (Hahaha, I'm everywhere right now.)

I'm at a low point at the moment, when I really should be optimistic and positive. I've got to find ways to boost my moral. (any suggestions?)

Hmm, maybe I'll try to reshape myself, with makeup and clothes... (damn, need money for that.)

Well, hopefully I figure something out (especially with uni and BCIT).

I've only got a few days before this holiday ends and reality tumbles onto my shoulders,
mera.

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The Colors of Madness

JournalWord: Girls in wires.

***

Bony fingers tug on his jacket, displaying the thick cuff with clear black numbers carved into the heavy band of metal triple the size of her wrist. He follows the pale, vein-stricken arm, past the cords and wires that creep from under the swatches of dirty bandages, to meet the unwavering stare of two empty eyes.

His first impulse is to rip away from her grasp and run away from the experiment, however, he's frozen in her stare. That's when he realizes that her "empty eyes" are actually a brilliant combination of blue and green. Strange, he thinks, but rephrases when they blink to combine a shade of violet around the black centers, and he finally finds himself saying, "Beautiful."

He startles himself out of his stupor and pulls his jacket from her hold, pausing a moment before he pivots and stalks off to his desk. Sitting in the safe, familiar, confines of his office, he exhales the breath he'd held. 

He can't remember when he held it in; whether it be when she grabbed his jacket or when he saw her eyes. He tries to shake away the memory and picks up a file on his desk beckoning for his attention, but he can't bring himself to read a sentence.

The dull thud of metal smacking concrete whispers from the corners of his consciousness, and he can see the frail arm, outweighed by the cuff, hitting the cold floor of the lab.

Shivers run the span of his back and up his arms like little fingers taunting him in his unknown fear.Why was he scared of her? he questions himself. She can't do anything to him. 

He rubs away the little fingers before they reach his face, but behind his hands, behind his eyes, she's laying on the floor of her cell, mummified in the encasement of wires and brown bandages. Her hair, his mind mocks, pushing snapshots of her bright pink hair pooling around her short gray dress in brilliant waves, in cruel comparison to what she has become.

And then, like a horrible nightmare, the whole picture emerges, clogging his screams and frantic. Eyes shut, pink hair smothered in alien filth lounged on the floor of her cell, thin limbs crushed from being malnourished, wires dangling, face frozen, and arm, still outside her cell, presenting herself only as experiment 9746. 

And voice he remembers all to well, reminds him that he could have been like her.

***

Gotta love sci-fi at it's morbid and creepy glory! I love knowing what you think so drop me a comment (and follow my blog via GFC if I really strike your fancy ;) ).

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Where Our Demons Reside

JournalWord: An immortal who carries around a pocket watch as a reference.

***

"A demon.."

The first accusation floats through the gathering crowd. I keep my head up, boots kicking up dirt as I march through the parting crowds. 

"We are goners. This town is done for. We're all going to be eaten.."

The air around me hums with the whispers and tension of my presence. Parents grasp their children and push them behind themselves like I would snatch them right there. Old men scowl and glare, muttering curses and prayers all in the same breath.

This has become a familiar scenario now so I don't stop my march, face impassive and cold as they stare at the mark burned over the skin of my left eye. My dark travelers cloak and long scarf whip around me, snapping at the knees of the people, encouraging them to jump back and out of my path. The only part of me visible is my face, especially my mark which glows metallic black against my pale skin in sharp curves and surrounds the highlighted strike down the center of my eyelid. 

I muse how stricken their expressions are; too scared to run and hide. I continue to follow the path they have made, regarding the buildings the town supports. I regard a trinket shop when a cry calls for me to stop and a sound collision causes the people to gasp and shout. 

The people plead for the child to get up and run away for disturbing the demon. I turn around and look down at the child laying face down in the dirt road, arms outstretched towards my cloak. Much to the crowd's horror, I bend down and extend my hands to lift the child out of the dirt.

"You-you left me behind," the little girl wails when she is settled on her feet. Fat tears start to roll down her cheeks, running trails through the layer of dirt on her face.

The crowd's screams of terror only frighten the little girl more and I have had enough of their ridiculous behavior. 

"She's my goddamn sister," I shout over their howls, effectively silencing them. "Now shut up. She's scared of you lot enough as it is," I finish, lifting the girl into my arms and wiping her tears away with my sleeve. 

I turn away from their gaping mouths and wide eyes, cooing to the girl in my arms in the hope of quelling her fright and apologizing for swearing in her presence. 

I follow the break in the crowd to a large building where I glare at the stares of the guards and let myself in. Ignoring the sputtering of those that see me pass through the guards, I make my way up the stairs, following my own instinct in finding the mayor of this town. 

I find a door heavily guarded and conclude that this is where I will find the mayor. I peck the little girl with a kiss on her mop of soft brown hair and apologize in advance for my rough behavior. I wait for her to nod and place her hands over her ears before heading towards the guards, barking that I want to speak with their mayor. 

There is a moment of hesitation and the shaking of their hands as they point their guns encourage me to step forward. The guards disperse out of my way, dropping their guns on the marble floor as they take cover under their arms. I sneer at their cowardly act, deeming the civilians have more gall than the guards.

I step into the large, luxuriously decorated room of the mayor. My sister pops a small gasp at the bright, gold chandelier overhead and I fight a smile at her adoration of shiny objects. The mayor is seated in one of the plush red couches in the center of the room, so I make my way to the adjacent couch, dropping myself down into the cushion.

The mayor is sweating profusely, stark white like he is on the verge of having a heart attack. I regard the tea set in front of me on the low table, ignoring the terrorized eyes of the mayor, and pluck a honey biscuit from the overflowing platter of cookies. I coax my sister to drop her hands from her ears and offer her favorite biscuit as a reward for being on her best behavior. 

The mayor looks like he's about to faint when she mews in delight. Guards are peeking their heads from the open door and I cough, sending them scrabbling from the doorway. 

Back to business, I speak, causing the mayor to crawl further into the crack between the cushions. "We need lodgings and food," I demand. 

The mayor sputters and finally begs, "You can't ask me to send you my people for your appetite-"

I stop him with a sneer. "I don't want your people," I glower, and his fear is overshadowed by his confusion. "I want bread, dried meat, and milk-" Her little hand tugs at my cloak and I lean down to hear her shy whisper. "And honey biscuits and tarts," I conclude, reaching to hand her another honey biscuit.

I raise my eyebrow at his silence and lean back. He starts to sputter again, horrified to service a demon in his own town. I drop my heavy boots down onto the low table, rattling the silverware and porcelain dishes. The tower of cookies tumbles and crumbles onto the carpet. 

The mayor regains his voice just long enough to call for his adviser to meet my demands and find me a place to stay.  A guard walks in a few moments later, face hardened and without a weapon. I note this and regard he is either aware that a weapon is useless against an immortal or he is a glorified idiot to fight me bare-handed.

Lifting my sister up onto my shoulders, I follow this guard, curious by his unwavering march as he leads me to a small cottage a few blocks from the town hall. He opens the door and leads me in, lighting candles, and I notice that the sun has started it's descent. I pluck my pocket watch out of my vest and peek at the time.

"Why would an immortal carry around a pocket watch?" the guard asks. His question is not accusing, instead, curious and unguarded. I regard his leaning figure beside the door, tucking the pocket watch back into my vest.

Lifting my sister from my shoulders, I unstrap her backpack and toss it onto the bed before ruffling her hair, much to her delight. "As a reference," I answer, peeling my cloak off and tossing it onto the bed as well. 

I take my sister by the hand when I spot a tub in the corner of the room, steaming from just being filled with hot water. The guard watches from his perch as I settle my sister in for a much needed bath before dinner arrives. The guard doesn't speak again until after my sister falls asleep during a story picked from the book in her back pack.

***

Children can settle the soul of even the most demonic. 

Though in this case, the demon isn't very demonic.

I love writing about children, they make my heart soar by being so goddamn cute! Many of my stories center around them :) their reactions are so interesting (and comical!).

I plan on having a son named Hexane and another named Volta >.<!!! Guess where those names are from ;P

I'd love to know what you think about this story, and this character. (Didn't realize how long this one is..)

I swear I'm trying to get better as a writer! 

Just believe in me :)

~mera

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Pirates, mafia thugs, butlers, delinquent gangs!

The list goes on to include gladiators and bad-ass priests and clever hackers and fast-food employees and gun-slinging cowboys...

But that's beside the point.

I ADORE THEM ALL.

The excitement! The grandeur! The mundane! (Oh, I swoon!)

It's the details that really get my heart going and set my fingers on a mad dash. I make it a mission to pick apart their respective expectations. At the moment, I'm in a phase where pirates and sailors are my obsession, so much so, I've taken to saying nautical (y'know, naughty and radical!) Yeah, I coined that up myself when I couldn't remember what it meant, although, in my defense I recognized that it was a sailor/ship term. I'm cute so it is forgivable (insert cheeky smile). 

And alas, I am off topic. Anyways, pirates, right. This is a blurb of writing I just wrote that stemmed from the idea of pirates and sailors: Hooks. 

*****

Pulled from a platform and tossed into the water, she flaps her arms to upright herself, splashing water and creating a cascade of rising bubbles. In her panic, she attracts the attention of the fishermen overhead and forces herself to still her movements and to slow her breathing to minimize the bubbles slipping from the genetically altered gills under her jaw. 

She can't see beyond her floating dark hair and the veil of bubbles around her, but she frantically searches for somewhere to hide in the clear green water, knowing she won't escape otherwise. Dark faces and thudding disturbs the water around her in the empty pool. She hears a deep muddled sound, vibrating the surface from overhead. She propels herself to her right, unseeing, swimming through the water like a current, slamming into an invisible wall clouded by gaping faces and excited thumping. She floats away from the horde, ignoring her bruised shoulder, and starts to swim in another direction aimlessly but with force. She slams into another wall and swivels to swim again but the lines have already started to cast. 

Heavy hooks, the size of her head, plop and begin their descent into the pool. She presses herself to the wall, noticing that the hooks are clustered around the center where she was initially deposited, slowly pirouetting and showcasing their jagged points. She bypasses the dangling hooks by swimming around them with her fingertips skimming the wall, in search of a way out. 

A riot of thumping from the wall startles her, and she propels herself quickly away from the disruption, unknowingly heading towards the center. More hooks descend around her, filling up the space around her and she freezes as they sink down beneath her. One grazes her arm in its descent, almost scratching her skin. For a moment she stays completely still, watching the glint off the silver hooks as they float on gossamer strings around her. She marvels at their beauty with a racing heart. 

A hook sharply tugs upward on her left and she jerks away from the movement, shouldering the transparent lines around her. A scream becomes engulfed by the water when a hook she shouldered jerks upward, splits the skin on her right hip. A thin trail of blood starts to cloud around her waist as she desperately palms her wound, wearily regarding the surface where the hook had ascended. The cloud thickens against the jade water, alerting the hooks of her location. 

A tremor of fear almost makes it through her body before the frenzy begins. Hooks are suddenly pulled towards her, ripping through the water in sharp thrusts with an excitement that ripples the surface. She attempts to dodge the hooks zipping around her, following her red beacon. A hook stabs through her shoulder and she produces a shriek that carries through the emerald waves. The hook in her shoulder is sharply tugged upwards just as another clasps around her left arm, the jagged point digging into the crook of her arm. The hooks swarm around her like piranhas, grappling into her arms. A couple miss and hook onto her thighs, sticking and tugging her legs over her head to flip her. The lines are tangling in her flip, causing the lines to furiously pull in hopes to untangle themselves. 

A hook flies from across the pool and fastens around her waist, burying into her flesh to gain purchase before pulling its line tight, flipping her horizontally in the water and tangling her in the net of the lines attached to her arms. More hooks find empty spaces on her hips, and with this new-found boldness, a hook grips into her chest, plunging for a breast. 

All the lines are tight, tugging from all directions in an attempt to untangle themselves, but the flimsy lines hold firm against the forces. A hook darts through the water and she watches, tearfully as it rushes towards her face, catching her throat and snapping her head back before reeling her up.

*****

Yeah... I can be quite morbid (cheeky smile!!). 

There was a tad bit of science fiction in there and I would love to write a companion to this piece with the perspective of one of the fishermen (now, wouldn't that be interesting!).

~Mera 

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