Showing posts with label heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heart. Show all posts

16 September 2011

WenRant 1

Title: The Start of the Journey to the Heart of All Realms
Author: SilverInk
Writing: short scene/ excerpt of an unwritten story
Word Count: 2139
Note: If this were an actual full-blown story then this note wouldn't be here. Chronologically though, this scene would take place after three characters did battle with dark demonic figure known as a Shadow. The six characters are now at a mansion where they are given a mission.

First things first. Don't volunteer for missions with random strangers. Especially if one of them has a crazy Shadow stalking them. Not to mention the other dweebs are either idiots or pompous psychos. I'm serious. We were six kids attempting to embark on the most complicated mission I’d ever heard of.

—-

“I have no choice now, confined as I am to my home, but to ask you six to help me,” the rich man on the floating “wheel”chair said gravely. “My wife is missing, gone off to find a place few have ever returned from…the Heart of All Realms.”

“Do we have any clues, Mr. Jackson?” asked a boy with jagged ears and tanned brown skin.

“My son should be able to help you,” replied the man. A skinny boy with fair hair and a shy expression stepped up next to him. “I also have given Miss Violet Kyson here”—he pointed to the purple haired girl that looked like she had no idea what they were saying— “a bag of portals. They are all I have to help you, unfortunately.” Mr. Jackson then fell into a bout of coughing and quit the room, leaving the six alone.

Quiet fell over the hall. One boy put his feet on the table and his hands in his pocket. His expression was bitter but not hostile. Cody Jackson’s son stood nervously next to the boy who had spoken and who now spoke again: “Well…”

The pretty girl with red curls and a white skirt looking up, taking a cookie and breaking it into crumbles over her plate. Next to her, the purple-haired girl lifted an invisible teacup and drank. A winged girl with a black halo and black dress sat two seats away from purple-hair, staring stonily at the others.

“Erm.” Everyone whirled and turned to Mr. Jackson’s son except for the stony-faced girl, who simply turned her head slowly, like a statue. The boy faltered.

A few minutes of awkward silence later, jagged-ears said, probably over-enthusiastically, “Well, I’m Jing Long, last of the Tideborn, as far as I know. Sorry about the Shadow earlier.”

“That was your fault?” red curls asked, picking up another cookie.

“Erm, yea. I’m not quite sure what I did to anger him.” It was jagged-ear’s turn to look nervous. Curls nodded before pulverizing the cookie. Poor cookie. Another pause later, Ears fidgeted and turned to Jack’s son’s son. “So, what’s your name?”

“Kenneth,” the boy said quietly, as if he was afraid of answering wrong. The boy with his feet on the table rolled his eyes.

“Kenneth Jackson. Not a bad name.” Jing chuckled, which sounded strange for an 11 year old. “Beats Gold Dragon.”

“Rizea actually.”

“Huh?”

“Kenneth Rizea. It’s my mother’s surname.”

Boots-on-the-table suppressed a laugh and Curls asked the question on everyone’s mind: “Why did you take your mother’s surname?”

“It’s actually my grandmother’s,” he explained. “My mother adopted it because she didn’t have a surname. Both my sister and I took the Rizea name…at my father’s insistence.” He shrugged. “I know it’s confusing. I don’t get it myself all the time. But yea. I’m Kenneth Rizea.”

There was a pause as everyone took this in before purple-hair said, “Confusing, family of yours is.” She proceeded to introduce herself. “Me is Violet, of Kyson.” She turned to feet-on-the-table.

He made a face before replying. “Wisconsin.”

“Of Wisconsin?” Curls asked innocently. He gave her a funny look. “You mentioned you came from Earth.”

He shrugged. “Surname Tynan. You?”

“Lewis. Maple-Ann Lewis. I hail from Cieonna Halls though,” she said the last part with a smirk.

A silence again.

“You are all fools,” the last person suddenly said. Everyone faced her, but unlike little Kenneth, she did not falter under their gaze. “You toss such names around as if they were common.” She turned her hard gaze on the amicable Jing: “Gold Dragon is a name of promise if not yet known. It was a well-chosen name, yet you waste your life in foolishness, anger a Shadow and endanger your kind. You know you are the last of your species yet you have not more capacity for seriousness?”

She turned to Violet without stopping a beat: “Kyson! She may be some distant relative of yours, but the blood of Kerra Dusk, Lady of Darkness runs strong in your blood. You embody one of the few phantasmic people that walk this world with neither curse nor confine and yet you cannot even begin to understand the legends that surround your family.”

She bore down on the youngest of the group: “You are young, but are a cretin nonetheless for not knowing your own name. Your father chose Rizea for your sister and you because it holds power, more so than the name Jackson. Aurora Rizea is one of the Nine Houses, Master of the Carpet Eveline, and the legendary Traveler of the genesis times.

“And you—“ She whirled on Maple, who sat calmly, a half-crumpled cookie in her hands. “Reon Cieonna is another of the Nine Houses, Master of the Scarf Eveline, Storm-Keeper, Ghost-Ruler—do these titles mean nothing to you? You forsake your name and by extension your birth and power. You have no idea of the power kept by the Halls of Cieonna yet you would cast it aside for some unknown “Lewis”?” She sat in an indignant huff.

“Fools all. I should call myself one for associating myself with you.”

She stopped there, and sat with her eyes piercing into the “cretins”. Her harangue had left Kenneth in tears, Jing in guilty silence, and Violet in stunned confusion. Only Maple seemed unaffected, the half cookie still in her delicate fingers.

Maple set the cookie down untouched and re-pinned a curl smoothly before saying, “And whom might you be, so wise in the ways of our families and our names?”

“I am known only as The Lady Archangel,” came the stern reply. “I am the Servant on the Nine Houses themselves, and a force not to be reckoned with.”

Maple-Ann Lewis of Cieonna Halls evidently ignored that last part. She took a bite of the cookie thoughtfully and set it down again with a pleasant smile. “Good cookies,” she said briefly to Kenneth. “Better than the kind my sister bakes.”

To the force that had named herself The Lady Archangel: “Yes, my sister. Esthien Cieonna, who carries the burden of the Curse of Cieonna. The Curse, and the powers that come with it.” She took another bite of cookie and continued evenly, “Reon herself named me Lewis. I do not aspire for more than I am entitled to. I do not aspire my sister’s position as I am certain she should not aspire to mine. My name is very much appropriate to my person.” She paused again to finish the cookie, perhaps mostly for effect, and finished, “And whatever sources you relied are clearly incomplete.”

The Lady Archangel didn’t miss a beat: “Notwithstanding you have left the Halls though, Miss Lewis. Is the calling of one of the Lost of Cieonna Halls too difficult for you? Why else would you linger so far away from the Halls and dawdle time snacking on—on trinkets!” she waved her hands expressly at the pile of cookie crumbs and crumbles that had gathered on Maple’s plate. “You are—a halfwit!”

Evidently Maple had no answer for this, as she simply took another cookie and nibbled away nonchalantly. The forgotten boy with his boots on his empty plate abruptly moved, shrugging his hands from his pockets and crossing them over his chest.

“What about me? You don’t seem to have a problem with me.”

“Tynan is an obscure name,” the Lady dismissed. “You are an inconsequential speck in comparison to the history that your companions keep.”

“Am I?” He suppressed a sneer.

“Your name is unknown. I suggest you disengage yourself from this motley group before your name is tainted as well."

“Right. I don’t know my name.” He paused, and this time the sneer was unhidden. “But I know my relations.”

The Lady stared down at him with narrowed eyes. “As you should, you—“

“I was abducted when I was 4,” he said flatly. “And before then I lived in the streets. I never met my family.”

“Then how—“

“You may know them too.” He let that hang there for a moment before continuing. “Erin Jenevive. Know her name?”

He was met with silence.

“Didn’t think so. What about Nem Suis?”

“Suis,” Maple-Ann muttered.

“Veraline?” A pause. “Does Evangeline ring a bell?”

Maple snapped her head up, staring. Wen smiled. “Evangeline is my twin sister. I’m told we don’t look alike.”

“You don’t,” Maple said curtly, selecting another cookie from the few left.

“She has witch blood and I…another.” He withheld the information but Jing, the only other person besides Maple that had seen Wen fight earlier, supplied the information:

“A…warrior of the energy blade. What’s the word—“

Wen twisted his mouth and blinked. For a kid, the boy had caught on extraordinarily fast.

“A Leth,” the Lady breathed, half in scorn, half in disbelief.

The Leth shrugged. “Of course, no one besides this, what did you call her—this halfwit, has caught on yet what I mean. This must mean you, my good lady, are less than half-wit. Shall we say,” he paused, pretending to think, “A dimwit?”

Maple laughed aloud and Violet’s expression was caught halfway between a smile of amusement, a frown of disapproval and a twist of confusion. The younger two didn’t understand the battle of wits until the last word, when even they caught on that the older boy had called the Lady a dimwit.

“You withhold another name,” the Lady said, eyes narrowed but otherwise unfazed by the insult. “Say it.”

Wen shook his head with a superior smile. “You should know this, all-wise one.”

“Say it.”

Maple finished another cookie, leaving only three more on the plate for the others, none of who had touched one yet. She wiped her fingers on a napkin delicately. “Evenette Suis,” she said evenly. “That is the name you are missing.”

“Surely that one you recognize?” Wen asked innocently.

Everyone recognized the name. Evenette Suis, the witch-that-had-gone-insane. Evenette, who had been gifted with the rare ability of dualcasting elements. Evenette, who held more power than entire armies in a single pointy fingernail. Evenette, who was rumored to be the Destroyer—who else could wreak havoc so easily without conscience?

“Your name is a tainted one,” The Lady Archangel said finally. “Yet you flaunt it. Evenette’s curse may yet be your own.”

“Evenette’s curse is her gift which is my twin’s.”

For a while no one said anything. Wen Tynan put his feet down and snagged a cookie from the plate. He bit, found it to his liking and consumed the remainder of it quickly. He tossed another to Jing, stood and patted his hands off on his pants and pulled a gadget out of a pocket as if checking the time. “Well, glad that’s settled. Now, if we have a clue where we’re going, I have a ship outside that might be handy. ”

Maple stood and waved a hand over her plate of crumbs, clearing it immediately. Jing, who was already standing turned to Kenneth, who picked the bag on the ground next to him and nodded. Violet looked up. “Me may…join you on quest?”

Maple smiled magnanimously and put a comforting arm on the purple-haired phantom’s shoulder. “Of course,” she murmured. “You are welcome.”

The five nodded and headed outside, leaving the girl in the long dress and black halo with the final cookie.

The Lady Archangel sat with her hands folded before her, eyes staring through the innocent cookie. “Their mission may yet be successful,” she murmured barely audible. She stood and looked after the five-some and back at her scythe leaning against the wall. She swept the scythe into one hand and flicked the cookie onto the blade in a single, practiced move. With precise movement she brought the blade towards her and snatched the cookie up with her free hand. She ate a little chunk, cocked her head in tasting and tucked the remainder away to one of the many cross-deminsional vaults created with a swipe of her scythe. Then she smoothed out her dress and walked through the wall to join the other fools.

Okay, fine, they turned out different than I’d guessed. But they were difficult too, and sometimes they reminded me of my old assassin crew. I just thought of it as another mission. It didn’t matter who assigned it.


Artist's note: Hi :) This is Silver Ink, hopefully reporting back after a summer hiatus. Yep!

So...I already know this is going to be a really really long note so I'll try to divide it up:

About the post/ story: So...yea...:D Wen's life took an unexpected turn, hehe. There are two other Wen-stories I already have written and will be posting... so... yea. As with any other story that vaguely mentions Wen Tynan, this is dedicated to TATAbox. Hopefully she's not disappointed that I posted something other than what I said I would....but it fit better to post this first, I think. :)

About the hiatus and life: Hehehe...Sorry about the unexplained unmentioned hiatus. I was away from my computer (omigosh -.-) for most of the summer and I had summer school so....that's my excuse? hehe! College is starting as well, so I don't know exactly how much I'll be writing yet, but I'll try to keep with the good old 500 words/ week :)

About...another blog. You might not have noticed, but this post is being posted from a different gmail account; aurasinewindrose@gmail.com (cookies if you remember where Aurasine Windrose comes from). Don't worry; it's just a new alias. In conjunction, The River Windrose is now up, though not yet running. It's going to be only my stuff :P but it's not completely the same. I'll still be posting random stories and scenes here on DiW <3. TRW will be a little different. I'll keep an update on how that goes (expect slowly :P ) :)

Also, I realized that the subscribe button only works with gmail only and only to the blogger feed and that thus, no one was getting any notifications about posts! That's been altered to a subscribe by e-mail gadget now, so hopefully it'll be a little more useful. It's at the bottom of the right hand bar, right under the horridly outdated Links section. Tell me how it works! :)

Please comment! Thanks in advance!

Anyways...that's all for this week! Glad to be back!

~SilverInk


29 May 2010

Hollow Heart

Title: Hollow Heart
Author: Silver Ink
Writing: Horror
Wort Count: 866
Warning: Murder, excessive blood.



There was something about killing that makes it hurt.

My hand was still around the dagger when the blood began to flow. At first it was just a trickle, a faint perception that the figure was not yet deceased Soon though, the crimson stain oozed its way through the gaps between my fingers and poured out it mineral-rich cherry waters.

So the warm liquid engulfed my hand in sanguine color. It moved over my hand quicker, implying there was still something quit alive with the corpse. Then as the skin’s color turned cadaverous and as the head from the body transferred into the crisp air, as the vivacious color stained my murderous hand., the life of my victim seemed to return. And though devoid of any vital signs, the figure was now very much alive—possibly more so than when the body had breathed and the now-pierced heart bled—because the cruel victim had taken up residence in my mind, my personal reality, and was now, dead, more alive than it had ever been; now that this dead haunted my every thought and ghosted along with my every move, it was a greater threat than it had ever been alive.

Of course, what does one do about threats? Eliminate them of course. Except there was no plausible way to injure this threat without putting me or my welfare in great peril.
---

It was many years after that first murder before I picked up the assassin’s role again. The first time it had been for revenge. The guy had killed an ex-crush and a good friend of mine.

The second time though, it was for the money; my wife was about to give birth, and I was nearly broke. A rich nobleman wanted his adversary killed off and offered a wealthy sum for it. With no other choice, I accepted, planning to kill the guy from a distance; maybe then I could avoid the brutal bloodiness and horrid haunting that followed.

Following the target was an easy matter. Setting up a trap was simple as well. The intended day, I set up myself in the upper loft of an abandoned barn and loaded my rifle, thinking about getting this done with quickly, collecting my payment, and returning home to my wife. I didn’t let bad thoughts overcome me, nor did I let the ghost of my first victim haunt me. I had long learned to block out that voice and wasn’t about to let it bother me. This would be done quickly, easily. Nothing to it.

As if on cue, the target strolled into the barn and dealt with the necessities of the trap. As he was about to leave, I shot him, a clear, clean shot to the head. To be sure, I crept to the other side and delivered a second shot to the chest before he was completely down.

He died.

There was something surreal to his death. Something strange. Unexplainable. To me, he just fell. I never knew if he uttered a sound that last moment, or said any last words. Probably not. It was instant. Instant death. Just a muffled bang and a fall. Fall. A final gasp of breath. And then thud. Fall.

It could have even been the wind.

I packed up my equipment. I went home. I was glad there was no haunting sensation. There would be no moths of recovery after this. I could concentrate on my kid. The client examined the scene. He paid his bill. He even gave me a tip for being swift about it. He gave me another tip for making it clean. It was, at the time. By the time the police arrived, a puddle of scarlet formed, but the client was gone and I was gone. I left. I walked home. Still there was no haunting. 

But the moment I inserted the key to the door, a ghostly sensation crept upon me. Two of them. They swirled around me in a strange ghostly dance, gray dust fogging up my sight. I brushed it away. The dust didn’t cool. The pair of ghosts continued their dance, weaving a tornado of gray around me. I tried to ignore it and opened the door.

It was a mistake. The moment I stepped in, the ghosts whisked away from me. They whirled to the master bedroom and hovered over my wife.

Then I saw the first streaks of red. Crimson splatters shooting through the gray storm.
---

When the dust cleared, I saw my wife kneeled by the bed, blood pouring out of her. A bloody, lifeless little corpse was lying on the ground next to her. As I passed it, a glop of thick ruby spilled out of it and spit a few droplets onto my feet. I paid no attention to it, such was my concern for my wife.

She clenched the bed with one hand, and her chest with the other. She looked me in the eyes and her face paled slightly. A soft sound escaped her, the sound of a warm breath of air on autumn morning and she collapsed against me.

Around her, the pool of cherry water grew deeper.  

Artist's Note: So I found an excerpt in my random-stuff notebook from a few months ago (paragraphs 2 and 3) and got the inspiration to elaborate. And this is what came out of it. 

In case it's unclear: The wife of the narrator (I don't dare call him a protagonist) had a miscarriage and died of blood loss. I'm sorry if it's cliche >_< 

I haven't throughly edited and revised, it, but as I was writing it, I was conscious of the elements I put into it. THIS, is why AP English Language was so wonderful. If I had written this a year before, it would have been pretty very pathetic.

More about the writing itself: Um... As a whole I think I was influenced by Sandra Cisnero's manipulation of syntax in House on Mango Street and Margaret Atwood's blunt, graphic descriptions in  The Handmaid's Tale. Both are wonderful books and I recommend them to anyone who hasn't read them ;)

So, thank you for reading and please comment! And don't forget to express your opinion on the character mini-poll if you haven't already done so! <3
~SilverInk