Puppeteers: Death of a Friend

Title: Death of a Friend
Author: SilverInk
Writing: story excerpt/ random writing
Word Count: 927

There is a small pool of blood. 

Unfortunately, it isn't mine. 

--|--~~--|--

"Why?!"

Cold gray eyes met her shriek. "I had to," came the murmured reply, so quiet that the wind blowing past her lips could hardly make out the sound. Clearly, the new puppeteer said, "Bree, promise me you won't tell Ever how she died."

"She was Ever's roommate," Bree replied. stroking Cassia Larken's amber hair as she tried to convince herself Cassia wasn't really dead. She was her best friend's roommate--but was she only that? "Sophia, please, of all people, why Cassia?"

"I didn't really think," Sophia replied softly. She was still standing, her straight black hair flowing down gracefully. Her back was straight, and she stood tall, as if she were proud of her deed. 

Bree shook her head. Cassia had been her friend too, the Tracker that had taught Bree how to deal with the puppets. "How could I? You killed a teammate, Sophia. I have to tell Elijiah how it went down. What he decides to announce is not my decision."

"I didn't say Elijiah," Sophia said. "I said Ever. Ever Blaize. She is the only one I'm concerned about knowing the truth."

Bree blinked back tears that stung her eyes. The saltwater was unfamiliar to her, and she couldn't help but remember that the last time she had cried in pain was when a Marionette tracker had burned a library with icefire. The flames billowed outward with every gust of wind and the blue tongues licked at the clouds, sending waves of ash drifting over the town and leaving only brittle soot of once-smooth pages. 

She picked up Cassia's broken body, and a few more drops of blood dripped out where Sophia's untamed puppet had pierced her heart. Bree glared at the new puppeteer harshly "Ever's my best friend. Come on."

Why? Bree wailed mentally as she led the way back to headquarters. True, Cassia wasn't a puppeteer, and any new recruit would not know to mourn her death more than another citizen, but Cassia Larken had become one of the most respected Trackers in the Agency for her knowledge on puppet lore. She hadn't been a bad medic either. 

Sophia trailed behind her silently, her pale violet skin catching the moonlight. Her gray eyes seemed to burn into Bree's back or else Cassia's limp form, but her expression was one of cool sorrow. When they neared the base, Sophia strode forward and opened the secret wall-door so they could pass. They proceeded through the dark entrance hall with Sophia in the lead until they reached the second door. 

"I will give the report," Bree said evenly, controlled. 

Sophia's eye's flashed, so quickly that she couldn't tell if it was pity or concern or unease. "Are you sure?" she ventured, but Bree cut her off with a swift look. Her green eyes briefly met the Sophia's gray ones. 

"I am the senior puppeteer. It is my duty to do so," she said cooly. Sophia dropped her gaze instantly. Here Bree could have taunted or mocked or challenged the new puppeteer in over a dozen ways, but she let the case drop. "You go take a shower and return to your room. I will speak with Elijiah."

The door to her side opened at a mental gesture and Bree strode in, bearing the dead victim. People stared, and when the death had been confirmed, a ruckus emerged, first quietly, with growing urgency. Bree saw Sophia slip away towards the dormitories, as she had instructed.

"She can't be dead! She's survived death before, she'll be ok."

"Not Cassia Larken! What could have happened?"

"Bree, you're unscathed! But Cassia--what--"

"CASSIA!" Ever's screech came over clearly and even Bree flinched as the Analyst-apprentice rushed over. "Cassia, no, no." Tears flowed out like water from a spring as she checked her friend and roommate over to no avail. There was only the one small puncture where the puppet had shot through her sternum and shattered her heart.  There was hardly even any blood. A stretcher had arrived and the dead Tracker's body was placed on the floating platform and covered by a white sheet before being pushed away. Ever stumbled half-heartedly after it for a while before nearly slipping on her own tears. Bree caught her and led her friend away. 

"Bree--Bree, what happened. T-Tell me!" They were standing before Bree's room now--she knew not to lead Ever to her own where it would have so many reminders of the now-dead girl. As a certified puppeteer, Bree had her room to herself. She sat her friend down on the bed as Ever choked on her tears. She wiped them away angrily, demanding to know what happened again.

"Here," she said, handing her friend a handkerchief from the collection hanging on the wall. "Cry yourself out, girl. I need to go report to Elijiah. I'll be back. Go ahead and cry yourself out."

She left the room quickly and headed directly for the executive offices. 

--|--~~--|--

If there was one thing weird about Ever it's her eyes. Usually brown, with no special effects like everyone else's. They were nice without anything else. Rich and soft brown, like a small pool of liquid chocolate. If you continued to think about it that way, her hair is like a waterfall of dark chocolate, silky smooth with the slightest waviness and light touches of cinnamon and chestnut.

No one ever noticed her hair. But everyone remembered her eyes, forever a pool of melting chocolate. 

At least, that's what they thought.

Artist's Note: So I guess last time's post wasn't too random, eh? No, actually it was just because I randomly got the words in the first section in my mind and had to write something on it. So I did.

Like this one better? Dislike? Suspicious? Confusions? Guesses?

Still have no idea wtf (HAH Sarah Palin, I used it RIGHT! And I haven't even graduated HIGH SCHOOL!) "Puppeteers" is and what the difference is between puppeteers and Puppeteers? Ok, that's my fault, I'm not done with the "Story Briefs" page of the site yet. I'll add Puppeteers on there soon. Any other stories I need to summarize up there? And....anyone have a better title for the page besides "Story Briefs"? >_<

And thus, Silver Ink presents the final actual writing post of this writing-year. Starting next week...well, you'll read about this on the next post, which will be...February 1st, 2011

~SilverInk

Birthday

Title: Birthday
Author: Lewis
Writing: Short Story
Word Count: 705

The park is full of people.
“Happy birthday,” says your big brother. “Come on, smile. You’re sixteen now, aren’t you?”
He earnestly takes your hand and leads you to the table laden with cake and presents. Your family and friends crowd around, waiting.
“I‘ll open presents,” you mutter, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Then we‘ll have cake.”
Your best friend nudges playfully at your shoulder. “Open mine first. It‘s the one in the Home Depot bag.”
The breath that everyone seems to be holding is released, and the atmosphere is light again.
When all the presents are unwrapped and accounted for, and you have thanked each of your guests, Mom takes a lighter and sets the candles on the cake aflame. The whole affair is messy, since the area around the cake is crammed with crumpled tissue paper and ribbon. Someone softly begins to sing “Happy Birthday,” in a hesitant whisper. It takes several seconds for them to realize that the song has started, and eventually they’re carrying the tune in more or less recognizable pitches. You laugh at their effort, and applaud loudly to appease their bruised egos once they have finished. The candles are quickly blown out and removed, as one of your kid cousins is clearly yearning to take one home with her.
For your birthday, Mom has agreed to let you be in charge of cutting the cake. The only time she’ll ever let you handle a knife, she says, and hopefully the last. You decide not to remind her that someday you’ll do so- despite her wishes, because come hell or high water you’re determined to learn to cook for yourself. Besides, what have you done to make her wary of you using a knife?
You save the largest slice for yourself.
“Hog,” your big brother whines. “It’s your birthday, and all, but couldn’t you at least be fair?”
“I’m eating for two.”
“Don’t tell me-”
“No! Jerk. It’s Dad’s share I’m eating.”
“Should have known you’d pull up an excuse like that.”
Having eaten their cake, your guests begin to leave. Some stay behind to help clean up, promising to visit again soon. Within half an hour or so, the park is empty save for you, your brother, and Mom.
“I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you and your brother head on home first?” Mom suggests, gathering up the wrapping paper.
Big brother speaks up. “Actually, Mom, I’ll stay and help you clear away the rest of the trash. That looks like it‘s going to take a while to get done.”
It’s still early in the afternoon, and the sky is blue as can be. Still, the walk to your house is short, and you begin to look forward to taking an early nap. One of your friends passes you by in a car, beeping it so loudly that the cat lady living in the house next door pokes her head out in irritation.
“Teenagers,” she grumbles, shaking her fist at the car. She notices you walking by. “Hello, dear. Are you doing all right?”
“I’ve been better, thanks.”
As you shut the front door behind you, the first thing you do is make for the living room to watch TV. You search the room for the remote, but to no avail.
“Dad, have you seen the TV remote?”
You immediately realize your mistake the moment those words leave your lips. The emptiness of the house is glaringly obvious in the complete silence that follows.
It’s frustrating, the way that you can’t get over not having anyone to find the remote for you. If there had been one extra person at the party, you probably wouldn’t have eaten such a large slice. Before, there was someone who would strictly watch your diet and scold you for eating so many sweets. Even though Mom and your big brother have tried hard to make your birthday a memorable one, you haven’t been able to shake off this feeling. You have never felt so incomplete.
That’s right:
Dad died today.

------------------------
my longest post yet, maybe?
And I haven't posted in a long time, sorry.
gah.
sadness D:
I want to write a happy story.

~Lewis, posting this in a hurry so that Silver can read it.

Summon the Reaper

Title: Summon the Reaper

Author: Silver Ink

Writing: Descriptive/ Random/Fanwriting

Word Count: 484

Wind lashed violently around me. The sky clouded up, creating a murky effect on the fog covered water at my feet. Ice cold fingers touched my shoulder. My hands clenched the hourglass in my hands tighter, lightly feeling, somewhere within my senses, that the last few grains of sand were slipping through.

The last grain dropped with a ring of cold and the weather ceased abruptly; the last word of my prestidigitation echoed silently and lost itself in the cessation of time.

Momentarily, I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to sink into that of the creature behind me. When I reopened them, my brain was filled with newfound information, my body infused with newfound power. Drawing in a wisp of the frozen air around me, I glanced at my new appearance.

Half my body was now laced with the bonelike signs  of the killer newly born in me. My skin, already light,  was bleached by pale gray; my hair, originally umber, was darkened to  a deathly glaze of night, my dress, once a fading white, was torn at the edges with a piercing black. The creature with the thin hand that had touched my shoulder was now mine to command; its powers mine to control; its knowledge mine to contrive with.

“Emuser eht Emit” I hissed. The voice was not mine, yet it carried a touch of my aura. Not enough to identify me, but enough to give the sound words. Words that came backwards yet fluently. It reflected no emotion yet implied of all the evils in Pandora’s box.

Nevertheless, time resumed. The winds resumed their howl, the waves their barrage, the world its consciousness. With the grace of a predator and the reticence of a prey, I stepped from my pedestal on the rock broken off the mainland and onto the rushing water. I glided over the water, not needing the action of walking, to  the mainland, where my drizzle of elements had not gone unnoticed. A small crowd had already gathered.

“Olleh,” I greeted, polite as ever.  In mock celebration, I raised my hand and conjured a glimmering golden goblet. Despite the complexity of the task, it charged nothing of my energy; the action would have occurred unnoticed had my newly- poignant senses not detected them with ambivalent nonchalance. “Sreehc,” with the same eerie language rolling naturally off my tongue.

For a moment, I thought no one would join my toast, but then I saw a little fledgling of a girl raise her tiny hand, copying my movement. A smirk crept on my ashen face. So this would be the first victim. Keeping the jeweled goblet in hand, I waved my bony fingers at the little girl, causing a gust to carry her lightly towards me. Her white rags dipped into my red drink, and her long, smooth, white pigtails tasted my humble delicacy. 

To my surprise, she smiled. 


Artist's Note: The story was a spontaneous piece inspired by Ironshod (Anne Stokes) on deviantART; said artwork can be found on the attached link. Or here: Summon the Reaper by Ironshod 
I posted this today in case Lewis couldn't post something this first week...don't expect something like this to happen anytime soon..XP Either way, critique, comment, enjoy!


~Silver Ink