Thoughts from Christmas Eve {Izori}

THOUGHTS FROM CHRISTMAS EVE
(c) Izori

Enchilada sauce is the smell of Christmas, I think,
as Mom hovers over the bubbling pot, stirring and waiting.

I've set the table, with the old holly plates smiling up
in readiness to receive the spices, the sauces, the love of food.
I straighten a fork and re-fold a napkin.

In the very center is our advent wreath--it's spray-painted foam,
fake ivy, and five candles. Three are purple,
one is pink, and one in the very center is white.
It's the Christ candle, simple and pure.
I can't remember a Christmas without our little wreath.

Our tree sparkles and glistens like the stars in the dark sky
over Bethlehem did two thousand years ago,
only they're yellow, red, green, blue, pink, and purple,
festive and shining for their king's coming.

I dusted the piano earlier today, but I return to the figures resting
on its dark brown wood. A pure white Nativity set
that I unearthed from its wrappings at the beginning
of the month is at my eye-level. I look at them all--
the wise men, the shepherd, the angel, Mary and Joseph,
the animals are all staring solemnly at a manger with a baby.

It's all so peaceful, yet I realize how different it really had been.
Strange, I thought, how miserable He made Himself to
bring us peace. Strange, but fortunate.

And so I turn back to look into our bright kitchen,
where Dad is grating cheese and Mom is stirring
enchilada sauce for tomorrow.

stella self-published her first book

on sale at Amazon; self-published via CreateSpace

i'm not supposed to love you {sally}

the way you shine

pretty in the moonlight

the way you laugh echoes

through the air

it makes my skin prickle

it makes me shiver in delight.

the way you flirt

dancing and bouncing

the way you smile

shining through the dark

it makes me feel unbalanced

it makes my mind go foggy.

the way you gaze

eyes sparkling into mine

the way you act

always carefree and kind

it makes my heart leap

it makes my face light up.

they told me not

to have this feeling

they told me

it was wrong.

i'm not supposed to love you...

but i do.

sleepless nights {sally}

sleepless nights

© sally 2011

sleepless nights

tossing, turning

insomnia stricken.

lying flat

eyes wide open

seeing only black.

cold dark night

swallows the soul

in moonless sky

fear sets in

the creeping feeling

deep, deep down.

breathing out

a heavy sigh

of sleepless nights.

Defying Gravity - A New Series by Sally

Lia and Zane were best friends, but they never intended to fall in love so quickly, and Lia couldn't imagine that the secrets that Zane held about his past could hurt her so much.
But when Lia receives a message containing Zane's suicide note, her wold turns completely upside down. Completely overwhelmed, she must learn to come to terms with her grief, her memories, and her love, as she learns how to say goodbye, even when it seems impossible.

Defying Gravity is a PUBLISHED novella by Teen Ink Magazine and can be found in full length by following the link below:     

http://www.teenink.com/novels/realistic_fiction/book/84379/Defying-Gravity/

Check back on Anecdote for short snippets along with special author's comments and footnotes to learn more about how the story came to be.

wings

it's an incredibly bizarre thing when you're falling, the way time blurs and warps and speeds and slows at unpredictable intervals. it's how i would imagine traveling through an interdimensional portal, a blur of colors and faces and noise.

i feel your fingers grasping, hear your wings beating, and i reach to you, but i am falling too fast and my hand, slick with rain and blood, slips again and again from your desperate, clawing fingers.

your face, so beautiful, glowing with that unearthly light. i'm in love with an angel, i think, almost stupidly, and feel a bizarre urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation: me falling, dying, and wanting to laugh.

some part deep inside me knows that i'm going to die, so i give you a wide smile and spread my arms out, like wings. drops of red fall around me, spattering me. is this how it feels to fly? i think, just as my body hits the water with a force that knocks the breath out of me and pushes me below the waves and into inky, silent darkness.

~*~

i don't hesitate. i dive in after her, after Adele, my wings shaping the water to my will.

i see her there, suspended in blackness, her clothes and hair billowing around her. she looks beautiful, almost like a fellow angel, but red flowers out from the wound in her chest, churning lazily in a cloud around her. not much time, i think as i hurridly swim towards her. she opens her soft green eyes and smiles at me, and in her gaze, i know she knows.

her eyes begin to glow golden, then her whole body. i see her soul, pure and gentle, begin to unfold from her broken body which i had loved so much and which had sacrificed itself to send the Evil back to its ancient prison and right the world again.

her spirit is golden and beautiful, visible only to an angel's eyes.

and it has wings.

i glance back toward her body, and she follows my gaze, sadness in her eyes. the face is still in a smile, lazy, glassy.

Adele kisses me once, and then the wings beat and i follow, and we rise out of the water like dead things, except that Adele's not wet and one lazy wingbeat takes her high, so high.

i know i can't follow her, but i do anyway, but she grabs me and we hug, her spirit almost warm, and i keep hugging even when i know she's gone.

LuCA {Epilogue}

LuCA {Epilogue}

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

There was no body, but a funeral service was held anyway. The President wanted to have it held on Earth, but the Lucan government protested. "She only visited Earth once," her foster mother said. "There's no reason to have it down there other than the government wanting to make a spectacle of it." So they compromised. The service was broadcast on television all over Earth and LuCA, and everyone, even the people who lived in the alleyways of streets, knew what was happening.
Mila Arwyr was dead.
She was dead, but she had died a hero, saving Earth from the clutches of an alien race. The other mass detected above Earth during the fighting had vanished. To where, no one knew. Jakk Cynor thought it was preposterous. Mila wouldn't have wanted a big celebration, he knew. Only a few of her closest friends. He was glorified as well, even though all he wanted to do was be left alone. The Elite class didn't look down on him anymore.
The service was held a few weeks after her death, in the central square of LuCA. The rows were packed with important politicians and leaders, lawyers, philosophers, the Elite class of LuCA, along with Jakk, an Egyptian trader who was confirmed to be the last man to see Mila in person while she was alive, and Cassandra, Mila's foster mother. Cassandra was the only person wearing white, all the rest wore black. When the Egyptian asked her why, she replied with a sweet, "Child, black is the color of mourning. White is the true color of death. I taught her so, and I hope she remembered it." She sniffed once, preventing tears from rolling down her cheeks, and turned her attention back to the minister.
There were several eulogies, most of them pomp and show from officials, but a few of them real, like snippets from Mila's coworkers in the rover engineering room, or from parent figures like Cassandra. Jakk kept his short. No tears. Afterwards, the cameras and reporters followed Cassandra and Jakk everywhere, until finally the Egyptian stepped in and told them to go, "Video someone who wants the limelight, we clear?"
"Thank you," Jakk said to the man as he and Cassandra walked away.
"No problem," the Egyptian smiled.

For those who knew Mila, her death was a great blow. But to those that didn't, she became a martyr. A person whose life they could hold up and say, "If I had to die, I'd like to die like she did." There were more ceremonies, and more speeches read. More tears shed, candles lit, prayers said. More cameras, more televised interviews, as the populace demanded in such a technology-imbersed age. Letters were sent to Jakk and Cassandra and Mila's friends, letters ranging from schoolchildren to the presidents of countries or important corporations. They even put up statues in LuCA and in places around Earth, all inscribed with the phrase that would become historical, revered, almost holy in the many years following:

I Am Llachan

*          *          *          *          *

The funeral service was playing on the big screen. The president of LuCA had just finished a rousing montage, and his head was bowed as applause issued from the speakers. The cameras switched to the audience, displaying the tears on their faces.
"Oh, that's real cute," the woman said, playing with the end of her blonde ponytail as she watched the display at the front of the ship. "I'll bet half of those tears are fake." Her gaze drifted over the impeccable dresses and suits of the Elite class. "Amar, close the screen please."
"Yes ma'am," the technician said, and the display vanished from the front windshield of the ship, leaving a view of space before them.
"Excellent," the woman said, then crossed to her seat in the middle of the ship's bridge room. She pressed a button on her headset. "Jennings, we good to go?"
"Yes ma'am," came the reply.
"Fuel?"
"Half full, but that's more than enough."
"Supplies?"
"Fine, if you could tell the scientists to lay off the Powerbars."
"Personnel?"
"All accounted for."
"Jump capabilities?"
"Right as rain."
"Medical conditions?"
"Captain, with all due respect, ask Dr. Owyn yourself, if you need an excuse to talk to him."
The woman smiled. She turned to look at the hooded girl sitting in a chair to her left. The girl was clothed in a light blue robe, pulled over her head, exposing only her face and hiding the intricate tattoos that covered her shorn skull. "Ready to go home?" the woman asked. The girl nodded her head slowly, her eyes not moving from the view outside the window.
Glancing down at Earth's moon below them, the woman gave Amar the thumbs up, and he pulled a lever on his console. "Five, four, three, two, one," she counted dramatically under her breath. Mila Arwyr gave a final laugh as the Astrum vanished in a millisecond.

The people down on Earth didn't bat an eye.

i dreamed a dream {sally}

.......in no way is this related to the song.

i dreamed a dream

© sally 2011

i dreamed a dream

of life anew

with sunshine

hope and love.

the darkness gone

away it fled,

the clearing sky

brightened again.

in this grand new world

the two of us

shall forever be

side by side.

in harmony together,

take my hand

and hold it tight

show me that you're here.

a pretty fantasy

in my mind

imagination now-

tomorrow's reality?

turtle tale {sally}

turtle tale

© sally 2011

turtle shell

with painted mud

in the reeds.

tiny head

four feet and tail

peek out.

slowly moves

inching slipping

to the water.

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-Three}

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-Three}

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

(Ahhhhhhhhh it's so short! And it took me forever to write it too, sorry about that.)

"Not helpless?" Hawking laughed coldly. "You can't move an inch."
"Really?" Mila whispered. The cold feeling that had rose behind her eyes back in the tomb in Egypt started to return. But this time, it didn't engulf her. It was as if the power was the ocean, and she was the moon, controlling the tides. And right now, she held them back with all her might, until she knew she would need them for sure. Slowly, she flexed the fingers on her left hand, the hand that wasn't holding the detonator.
Hawking's faced twitched, but he managed to regain his grin. "Oh, moving your fingers, that's very threatening," he said in a mocking tone. "What are you going to do, curse at me using sign language?"
"I had something else in mind," Mila said, and raised her right arm so that Hawking could see the trigger. The smile vanished from his face altogether. "Two can play at this game, thermometer," Mila said, this time without a hint of effort in her voice. She was done with being pushed around, done with being poked and prodded and played with like a pawn in a chess game. She had broken free of the bonds that Hawking had conjured around her. She debated for a minute the possibility that he had just used a special type of voice that appealed to cells in her brain to keep her still, but she had no time for formulating hypotheses.
"Drop it," Hawking said, the mocking tone in his voice completely gone. It was now filled with a cold, harsh sound that reminded Mila of scraping metal. "Now."
"No," she whispered, not taking her eyes off of his. "I'm going to blow this ship up, and there is nothing that you can do about it."
"Oh, yes there is," Hawking said. He drew out his gun from his holster and pointed it between her eyes.
Mila smiled, though panic riddled her brain. "Empty threats," she hissed, stalling for time. "We're both going to die either way. You should have known not to mess with the Llachan."
Hawking laughed coldly. "Llachan?" he said. "The Llachan are long gone. Dead and buried, or else floating in space, the air parched from their lungs. That little speck of a planet that houses their descendants—Chordus, do they call it?—is a joke. The only thing they've managed to keep from us is the coordinates of their base, but no matter. We will find them eventually." He took a step forward. "And even if you do destroy this ship, there are others out there. Thousands of them. No one can rival us. No one can beat us. Not even your precious Llachan."
Mila laid her thumb on the detonator button. Looking up into the eyes of the man that had once been one of her closest friends, she said, "I am Llachan."
And pressed the trigger.

lonely {sally}

lonely

© sally 2011

all alone,

walking through the forest.

by my lonesome,

underneath the trees.

only me,

looking at the starlight.

feeling rather lonely,

gazing at the sky.

one by one,

every day goes slowly.

all alone,

wading through my life.

voiceless {sally}

voiceless

© sally 2011

this need to speak,

it burns.

the voices in my head

yell 'talk!'

but i cannot.

the word on my tongue,

it arises.

i open my mouth,

and

nothing

comes out.

i am voiceless.

leaf fall {sally}

leaf fall

© Sally 2011

green for the summer

and yellow and orange

plus red for the autumn. 

november brings brown

the leaves start to drop,

twisting and turning

effortless spiraling

tumbling tumbling down.

bare branches for winter

the leaves on the ground

frozen by snow. 

The Other Side of the Card: Chapter 5 - Harumi [Moonstar]

My eyes widened and I lowered my head in shock. True, I had forgotten a lot about my brother, but I absolutely do not remember him to be a cruel person. How could he have done something like that to Sousuke? I’ve seen Dr. Kurosaki rewrap several of his injuries while he’s asleep, and they are NOT pretty. I’m surprised that he didn’t die from the pain. When I looked over at Sousuke again, he had gone back to his bed and was sitting up, eyes closed. That suited me just fine, though, because I had always been a little spooked by his dark gaze. Truth be told, I had a hard time trusting Sousuke’s words, even though they were probably right. The thing is, I really don’t remember much about my brother. But if someone claims that your family member is some kind of horrible person, you’d want to prove him or her wrong, right?


It’s been a few days, and Sousuke didn’t talk to me at all. But apparently this moving over to sit next to my bed had been too much for his severely weakened body, and once he had returned to his bed with several opened wounds, he passed out from blood loss. I hadn’t noticed any of the red liquid seeping through his bed sheets, but luckily the hospital had some way of figuring out when a patient faints, so Dr. Kurosaki was in our room in a flash, a small kit of medical supplies in hand. As the doctor swiftly unwrapped Sousuke’s injuries, I winced at the sight, trying not to look. In his rush, Dr. Kurosaki had no time to pull the creamy white curtains around my roommate’s bed. I have seen blood a lot, so the crimson liquid pooled on his pale skin didn’t scare me that much. What spooked me was his mangled wounds, the stitches having been torn apart and separating his flesh. Staring down at my bed blankly, I tried not to picture Sousuke’s horrible wounds. In a way, I was happy that his stay in the hospital had been prolonged. Who knows if I would ever see him if here were to be discharged! I admit it, I had grown fond of Sousuke Shinihara. But on the other hand, he wasn’t talking to me at all, which created some rather awkward silences during the day. I was fine, because I had quite a few books to read, but Sousuke had nothing. I wonder if he ever got bored. It was to be expected, having to stay in a hospital for a really long time. Some weeks passed, and nothing changed that much. I still coughed. I never grew another decimeter. And Sousuke’s silent treatment still persisted…until he came to visit. It’s interesting how people changed after a long period of time passes. He was no exception. That’s right. On that bleak, mid-winter’s day, my brother, Takuto Smith, came to our room for a visit. Except it wasn’t to see me.


A knock came on the door. It wasn’t a soft knock, but it wasn’t that loud, either. A shadow had appeared at the door’s blurry window, and it depicted a head with short hair, presumably a male. Obviously, I couldn’t go to open the door.
“Come in,” I said in an audible voice, but not loud enough to wake up Sousuke, who was taking a short nap.
Slowly, the wooden door was slid to the side to reveal a young man, perhaps in his twenties. His green eyes gazed around the room.
“I’m here to see Shinihara,” he said in a low voice, marching over to Sousuke’s bed.
Speechless, I watched as the man pulled the soft curtains around my roommate’s bed. I could see his shadow from where I was sitting; he had moved to sit on Sousuke’s bed. After a few moments of painful silence, the sound of bed sheets rustling could be heard throughout the room. I heard a muffled sound, but it was soon abruptly cut off. I knew that something was wrong. Breaking the hospital’s rules again, I slipped out of my bed, trying to make no sound. Quietly, I pressed the emergency button next to me, hoping that the hospital staff would arrive soon. I swiftly pulled the curtains back, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks. Scarlet stained the pale sheets and was dripping onto the pure white floor. The man was standing over Sousuke, a knife slowly sinking into the pale skin on his throat. Adrenaline coursed through my veins when my eyes fell upon the scene. “What are you doing!?” I screamed.


The man turned to look at me, green eyes gleaming. Where are the doctors? I thought frantically.
“Oh, my dear sister,” he said, and my eyes widened. Takuto? Was this the bloodthirsty man who towered in front of me really my brother? There was no doubt about it, though. He still had the same birth mark at the corner of his mouth, the one shaped like a grain of rice.
“Sorry for hurting your boyfriend,” he continued to say. “And I’m sorry for this–”
Takuto’s mouth widened into a mad grin, and he stepped forward, raising the knife. Before I could do anything else, he plunged it into my left shoulder, just as Dr. Kurosaki burst in through the door, several doctors behind him. I collapsed, and Takuto leapt out of the window after smashing it, the glass landing on the floor and Sousuke’s bed. A chunk flew by me and grazed my outstretched hand. But I could hardly feel it; the pain that flowed from my shoulder inhibited all of my senses. Just before the doctors finally got out of their shock, my vision started to blur, and the world started to spin. One name lingered in my mind as I fought for consciousness. Sousuke…

sweet dreams (c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

please just stop talking to me.

I don’t want to hear your excuses.

please stop.

you’re starting to annoy me and I am not pleasant

when I am annoyed.

I don’t want to talk.

leave me alone. please.

go ahead and destroy the remains of the genesis of my sanity.

go kill the butterflies that flutter in the dark.

go take a goo bath or something.

just leave me to my work.

I am a clean oiled machine, I do not have time for you.

I have seen the face of God because I am insane.

multicolored flowers bloom in your chest.

don’t pick them. keep off the grass.

do not feed the animals.

keep your rumors in your ears and your tongue where it belongs.

I’ll be dead in a few days, don’t keep me waiting.

without I am nothing

without I am faceless

I mean nothing.

I need

I need to get back to

needs me

needs me to keep sane

is going crazy without me?

you cannot answer my questions without shattering your eyes. I understand.

I know how it is in the darkest.

you will too.

sweet dreams.

The Other Side of the Card - Chapter 4: Sousuke

I've been really caught up with writer's block for a really, really long time... *Frowns* But here is the next chapter of my novel thing... (I'm using it for Nanowrimo, by the way~)


oOo

I don’t know what got into me yesterday. What made me suddenly tell my recently retrieved memories to Haruhi Smith, my quiet roommate, an almost complete stranger? But that doesn’t matter to me. I’ve decided to get a favor back in return: today I’d ask her about her past. I mean, if I told her something that I should have actually told the doctors instead, I should at least get something in return from her, right? From the way the curtains were still pulled around her bed, I could tell that Dr. Kurosaki was still doing on his check-ups on Harumi. He did come over to look at my condition at times, but not as often as he id to Harumi. As soon as he was done and all of the medical staff had left the room, I would get up and ask Harumi Smith about her past. Something about her, those dark green eyes and long, flowing black hair, and the way she looked at me every day intrigued me greatly. I wanted to know more about Harumi Smith.

I probably sounded a little obsessed just now. Trust me, I’m not obsessing about her. Isn’t it natural to be curious about people? Especially when you have to live with them for a while? Well, that’s all I feel towards Harumi. It’s not love or anything like that. Just curiosity. As the curtains around her bed were slowly pulled back, I gathered up my words in my mouth as the doctor and two nurses filed out of the room, each clutching one or two clip boards to their chests. As soon as they left our room, I scrambled off my bed. It was pretty low, but as soon as my feet hit the ground, a jolt of pain ran up my right leg. Looking down, I realized that it was wrapped in tight, white bandages. Oh, I thought as I stared at my leg. I guess since I hadn’t really stood or walked for a while, I never really paid attention to the lower half of my body. Trying to stand up straight, I failed and limped over to Harumi’s bed, ungracefully sitting in the chair next to it. She looked over, green eyes blinking in surprise.

“What?” she asked, staring directly into my eyes.

“Erm…” I started, unsure of what to actually say. Damn, I thought as I looked back at Harumi. I thought I knew everything I had been preparing to say. Whatever… “An eye for an eye,” I said suddenly, eyes probably becoming a little brighter as I recalled the small speech I had prepared in my head just moments ago.

“Huh?” Harumi asked, face masked with confusion as she stared at me with those emeralds she had for eyes.

“Y-you asked me about what happened to me and I told you,” I stammered. “So now you have to tell me about yourself.”
For a while, Harumi kept on staring at me, then her eyes cast downwards, staring holes through her bed sheet. “Okay,” she said at last, looking back up into my eyes. “I’ll tell you everything.”

I wasn’t expecting her to tell me everything. But I guess if she wanted to, she could tell me her whole past. I leaned forwards onto the edge of her bed as she began her tale.

“I was born into quite a rich family. My dad was the CEO of some big company. But of course, like all tragic stories go–“

I winced at the word ‘tragic’.

“–he soon lost his business and we landed ourselves in a one room apartment with almost no money at all. I was about five, and I didn’t have this sickness yet. I remember my older brother, Takuto, running away when I turned six. He was sixteen. I think he joined a gang or something, but I’m not really sure. I rarely ever saw him after that. Soon, I turned seven and was admitted here. After that, I only saw my parents once. They came the day after I had some kind of surgery, but they never came back again…”

by that time I had closed my eyes. Yes, I knew what it was like to have no family. I had lived with my peers for as long as I could remember.; I was used to having no adults around. But Harumi’s life was completely different. A happy family torn apart, with no support left in the world. I had no support from the beginning. Something about her story reminded me of something I just couldn’t remember quite well. Furrowing my eyebrows in thought, I tried to think about how her past had anything to do with what I had ever experienced in my short life. Takuto, I thought. Gangs… a sudden image flashed through my mind. A sixteen-year-old boy, towering over my broken body as I tried to glare at him through the blood dripping down my face, stinging my eyes. The memory jolted my senses a bit, and my eyes quickly snapped open as everything fit into place. “Takuto Smith,” I said in a raspy voice. Harumi’s head turned and her green eyes locked into my face. “…he was the leader of The Bloodmen.”

november {sally}

november

© sally

crunchy leaves

on the ground

brown and dry

all around.

hint of snow 

in the the air

crisp and cold

wind in hair.

darkness falls

harvest moon

rises up

through the gloom.

Hiatus

Hello all! Sally here with a brief announcement.

NaNoWriMo is starting in just one week, and I wanted to let you know that I will not be blogging on Anecdote during the month of November, due to the fact that all writing that I will be doing with be on my novel. You can still check up on my writing progress by becoming my buddy on the NaNo website and also by checking TREBLE CLEF for word count updates and perhaps even some excepts :)

See y'all in December!

Switch [chapter two]

In the aftermath, she stared at the ceiling, her left hand fingering her nose like she always did, except her face was very different.

She wondered if the bomb had won the war. If Twig was still alive. If it was worth it, being a spy.

She refused to consider the alternative. If her sacrifice was for nothing. If Twig turned out to be dead. If, in fact, the rebels were just like the very force they sought to destroy.

She frowned. How they had managed to fix her, to patch her broken body together again, she did not know. I suppose I owe them my life.

Whose arms had they used, connecting severed neurons and blood vessels together again before it was too late? Whose skin? How could they have fixed her shattered spine? Her blinded eyes?

She moved a skinny leg. All seemed sound as always. Her hands still worked. At least they were still thin and long and left-handed. Carmen probably tried to make her right-handed on top of everything else.

The mention of her mother's name stirred up bitter memories.

She and her mother were never exactly close. Marcelina had grown up with her father in San Francisco, but when he was killed, she was shipped off to join her mother in her home in New York, all the way on the other side of the country.

Marcelina's and her mother's personalities clashed almost instantly. Carmen was a perfectionist, was obsessive/compulsive when it came to housecleaning, and, though kind, was, in Marcelina's opinion, one of the silliest people she had ever met.

Marcelina, meanwhile, was skinny and tan, with a large nose, slight buck teeth, and scars all over from helping her father at the docks, different from Carmen's pale, soft skin and pretty face. She had seen the look of dissaproval flash briefly in her mother's eyes when she'd first arrived, twelve years old and suitcase in tow, on her mother's doorstep. Plus, Marcelina was relaxed and laid-back, not giving a care about the little things, independant,  and preferring football over croquet.

Sparks flew, naturally. Marcelina couldn't blame her father for the divorce.

And then the war happened, four years later. It was a conflict between the United States and the new supercountry Eurasia over the United States stealing Eurasia's idea for a new superweapon, a plasma bomb or something like that, and suddenly the world was turned upside down.

Marcelina was drafted, as was her mother. She worked as a spy in Eurasia, weathering it out as a college student in an institution. You could go to college at sixteen, their laws said. She met Twig, a boy there, began to have feelings for him. She told the truth about her identity eventually, and then he joined up too.

Several missions later, the Bomb.

Marcelina had almost blown her cover, so they figured they shouldn't take chances.

And then she was gone. Twig was gone.

And Carmen had made Marcelina beautiful, in a sense. Though Marcelina, who had so often dreamed of an elegant nose or just no squint, suddenly wished for her old body back. Wished for her callused and capable hands, her scars, which she looked upon with pride, her big nose with the lump she always fingered...

The tears were coming back.

~♦~

Rehabilitation began the next day and extended for over five months. Marcelina was forced to endure painful excercizes, but was slowly getting stronger. She always asked about Twig, but the doctors would always exchange troubled glances and not answer.

Marcelina had a horrible feeling when they did that.

The War, as a matter of fact, was still raging, stronger than ever. The bomb had only angered the Eurasian government further. San Francisco and D.C had been nuked. It still brought tears to Marcelina's eyes. She could never return home. Her friends, her family...gone in a burst of light and deadly radiation.

Near the end of her treatment, Marcelina was running on the treadmill when her mother came, a sad smile on her face. "Marcelina," she said. 

 

Marcelina stared straight ahead, her jaw set, anger coming into her features. She still hadn't forgiven her mother yet.

"Twig's dead."

Marcelina tripped and was dumped on the floor in a tangled heap. "What?" she asked. 

"Twig's dead," her mother said again. 

Marcelina felt tears welling up. "They couldn't save him. He was...too injured." 

Impossible. 

"I hate you!" Marcelina cried, and fled from the room.

It made it all the more painful that Twig had died for absolutely nothing at all.

 

october night {sally}

october night

© sally

wind blows,

icy cut,

slices air,

stings the skin.

leaves rustle,

swirl to ground,

land scattered,

blow around.

damp grass,

crunchy, dying
'neath my feet

rustles softly.

harvest moon,

orange and full,

illuminated,

rosy glow.

Switch [chapter one]

Something is thumping in this blackness.

It was abrupt, as if someone had suddenly flipped a switch. Bam. The thumping was soft at first, muted, but now it was loud, pounding through her body.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

It was regular, never hurried. She marvelled at it, wondered what it could possibly be.

She was becoming aware of something else besides thumping.

She could feel every twist of this body, every turn, every bit of blood that was pumped through her veins by the thump, which she now realised was a heart.

There were fingers and toes, arms and legs, a torso. Something felt odd. Were those tubes, clinking together like that in this liquid silence?

Experimentally, she twitched a finger.

She didn't dare open her eyes, but her curiosity was becoming unbearable.

A pair of brilliant blue-gray eyes flashed open.

Pink hands floated in front of her. All sorts of wire tubes were attached, looping around her wrists and around her body. She was floating in some liquid, and a mask was attached to her face, pushing air into her lungs. She inhaled on her own, and suddenly the mask stopped pushing, but air gushed in, pure oxygen. She breathed in, closing her eyes. It tasted delicious.

She opened her eyes as the nagging feeling that someone was watching her reached a peak.

Two people stared at her with wide smiles on their faces, though they looked worn and tired.

She became conscious of the fact that she hadn't a shred of cloth on her.

They watched each other, and then one of them, a male, bustled off, leaving the female staring at her with a sort of loving smile, maternal and overjoyed. A tear leaked out of her eyes.

Who was she?

She stirred a faint memory in her mind, a complicated relationship that she didn't care to figure out just now.

The woman pushed a button, and she began to rise, slowly, her fragile frame supported by tubes and a metal framework encasing her back. 

My name is Marcelina Grace Switch.

As she rose, the name came to her. It sounded familiar and soothing, like something repeated.

My name is Marcelina Switch. I am sixteen years old. I should be dead.

It fluttered in her mind, like a well-known nursery rhyme.

And then she was cold.

Bone-shatteringly cold as she rose, out of the warm fluid that had housed her for who knows how long. Her head was so heavy, her body buffeted by cold, cold air. Marcelina sucked in a shocked breath and her eyes widened, but she couldn't move. The weakness was too much. She couldn't move a muscle.

The woman busied herself with slowly unplugging Marcelina from her tubes. She shuddered and gasped, for the sensation was not pleasant. In their place, a metal wristband was clamped around her right wrist. The woman, who had long dark hair and warm brown eyes, dressed her in undergarments and a long sleeved shirt, pants, and fluffy white slippers, complete with bathrobe.

Mother, Marcelina thought.

Her mother lifed her gently and laid her in a chair. A recliner.

She screamed as it all suddenly came rushing back.

Twig gripped my hand tightly in his. Tears were streaking down my cheeks, though I was determined. In my pocket, the tiny bomb ticked quietly, awaiting its final destination.

Twig raised our hands and the searchlight trained its white gaze upon us.

It happened quickly. Twig and I were separated and ushered off to the main compound, thrown in electric cells.

I knew that it was time.

Alone, I held the bomb in front of me. I burst into tears and pushed the button.

I couldn't feel my arms. Something was wrong with my legs, with my body. Alarms screamed, but it was too late. There was redness and heat, and wailing, infinite wailing. The building rumbled, and there was a great crash, more pain, and a huge snapping noise.

My legs were gone.

I couldn't see. There was a milky film over my vision, but through the smoke and dust I was lying underneath something, barely any light to see, two bloody shoulders with no arms attached and legs vanished under something big and dark. I had no hair. I couldn't close my eyes. And there was so much pain.

And then everything was gone.

She screamed and screamed and screamed, her screams subsiding into sobs as everything before that came rushing back.

How am I still alive?

Her hair was intact, its thick blackness comforting. Her hands were as nimble as always. She was still left-handed.

"Mirror," she croaked. Same voice, but different. More...musical. Carmen smiled, a sad one this time, and whisked away, coming back seconds later with a rather large square one.

She snatched the mirror away and gazed into it.

That was not Marcelina Switch staring back at her.

The nose was elegant, the lips full and pink. Her face was pale and beautiful and breath-taking, framed by thick, rather bushy black hair, so black it was almost blue.

That was not Marcelina Switch.

Marcelina Switch had a squint and a big nose and thin lips and tanned skin and lots of scars and big teeth.

That's not my face.

"What you done?" The pink lips parted, the thin black brows furrowed together in an expression of bewilderment and dawning fury.

Carmen smiled softly.

"What have you done?" Her voice had risen in volume, climbing towards a scream. "This is not my face, not my body, not my voice! What have you done to me! Where am I?!" With a massive effort, she pushed herself up and off the recliner, unused to having legs that worked. Marcelina staggered forward but fell. Carmen caught her and Marcelina unveiled perfect white teeth and bit her mother. Carmen dropped Marcelina in surprise and pain blossomed in Marcelina's jaw as she hit the floor.

"Don't touch me," she spat. This body was not hers. It felt alien, strange, odd to move. Marcelina climbed up back into the recliner and hurtled the mirror at her mother. She dodged, and it broke into a thousand pieces on the wall.

Carmen opened her mouth, perhaps to explain why she made her into her idea of perfection, what Marcelina should have looked like, but she silenced her with a glare that said everything.

Carmen took the hint and shuffled from the room.

She flopped back onto the recliner and let the tears flow.

The Waiting Game

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

I play the waiting game everyday.

I sit on a wooden stool and I wait and wait.

I know the kitchen countertop by heart.

I know the bumps in the floor like the back of my hand.

The ceiling is low over my head, but it opens out into a large room.

On the far side of the room, there are windows.

They look out onto emptiness.

For as hard as I try, I cannot remember the view beyond.

I sit and I wait for someone I know will not come.

And when my waiting is done, I take the handle of the front door.

And I open it.

And I wake.

I like the waiting game.

Here in my gray haven I am safe.

I escape from all the things that worry me.

I am back home, instead of in this place.

While I am awake I am surrounded by fear.

I do not know if my friends will die today, or if I will die today.

I am surrounded by noise.

But while I am waiting, everything is still. Everything is in place.

The others don't like the waiting game.

soliloquy of a broken heart {sally}

soliloquy of a broken heart
© sally 2011

i went on to facebook

and i saw your latest status

and my heart began to crumble

when it said you want to die.

all at once i trembled
without you i'd be changed
and i just couldn't lose you
so i took instant action.

i texted you and told you

that i would always listen

that i'll always be your friend

that i'm always here for you.

i typed in all the words
i've told you times before
of friendship grace and laughter
of never-ending hope.

i wrote 'you are loved!'

even though you don't believe it

and i told you it would break me

if i knew that you were dead.

my phone set to the side
i didn't know what to do
i could only wait and worry
there was just one other thing to do.

so i kneeled down on the floor

and i brought my hands together

and i prayed so long and hard

hoping you were safe.

i prayed for guidance
for you and for me
i asked for an answer
that you were living still.

that night i couldn't sleep

i was so scared and worried

i lay in bed and tossed around
overcome with fear.

deep down inside my soul
i felt a cavern forming
and the thought came to my head
that you were gone forever.

in the depths of my being
like some internal instinct
something told me there was no way
that you were coming back.

but i've been wrong before

so i thought i'd disregard it

and all next day i waited

in vain - you didn't reply.

you were not online

and you didn't call me back

and that knot inside my midrif

just would not go away.

i texted you a million times
telling you of my fear
i asked you to please reply
else i would surely fall.

i spent another sleepless night,
pacing around the room
and getting rid of worry
was impossible to do.

i drifted off 'round five o'clock
and dreamed that you were there
you smiled at me and waved
before turning and leaving me.

i awoke to an empty house
to the ringing of the phone
and it was that fatal voice
on the other end.

they told me how it happened
how you jumped and fell
how they tried to save you
and of their failure too.

in your final note,
they said you wrote my name,
they said it read 'i'm sorry.'
with my number underneath.

'tell her how and why'
you wrote before you did it
'i could not go on anymore,
but tell her that i love her.'

with that solemn call
the world just collapsed
i fell to the ground and lay there
the telephone forgotten.

hugging myself i cried
my body racked with sobs
grief overwhelming me
pain gripping my heart.

i stayed alone and home
for about a week
i went to see your body
but in the end i couldn't.

yesterday was your funeral
and everyone was there
my dress was splashed with tears,
from the very beginning.

flowers were everywhere
and people said nice things
i got up and spoke a bit
but got choked up and cried.

when they lowered you
deep into the earth
my life shattered again
because you felt so gone.

dropped into the dirt
moldering in the sand
sleeping, finally sleeping
at peace at last.

now i feel so empty
there's this hole inside my heart
my friend i miss you!
come back to me.

you've left me hanging
always wishing
broken beyond repair
where they can't see it.

this longing for you
to see you again
to make you laugh once more
can never be fulfilled.

my dear friend
where have you gone?
you've left me
now i'm hollow.

devoid of happiness
drained of tears
hanging in a state
of deepest gloom.

i think of days before
when the sun shone down
on you and me
the best of friends.

someday perhaps i'll resurface
maybe then i'll smile
i might exclaim in delight
i could laugh again.

and even later still,
my days too shall end
and shining death will take me
and i'll rise to the cloud.

there among the heavens
you'll be with open arms
to welcome me to eternity
and i'll be with you forever.

that day is years away
way off in the future
a lifetime still awaits me
possibilities in store.

today however
i will cry and weep
and i'll sit down and write
i'll type out my sad story:

my soliloquy of a broken heart.

Switch [preface]

Was this a real place?

She gazed around, that little crease between her eyebrows making itself known as she frowned. It was a room with a domed glass ceiling, fractured light spilling through it. White mist dominated the landscape, save for two chairs, sleek and modern.

Almost as if she hadn't done it in a while, she took a step, expecting pain, but her leg, in its soft boot, was whole and solid as it had always been. Gingerly, she felt her scalp. Thick black hair, waist-length, obscured her face, as usual.

She walked carefully to the chair and sat quickly, unsure of what else to do. Was this heaven? If so, it seemed awfully...pale. She held out a hand. The skin was its normal pale peach, complete with knife scar and looking real.

If she was whole again, it was definetly heaven.

She was wearing her favorite gray sweater over a rock t-shirt accompanied by jeans, converse shoes, and knee-high red and black striped socks. Oh, yeah, and don't forget her father's cap.

She decided to just sit back and enjoy her limbs, well and whole the way they were before the Blast. She hugged herself, just to ascertain once more that yes, I am real, this feels solid, I feel a heart.

My name is Marcelina Switch. I'm fifteen years old and I should be dead.

Over and over she thought this. It was coming back, slowly. She had been a key piece in the war, had sacrificed herself for the Blast that vanquished the enemy.

I should be dead. Why am I still here?

Was this a weird limbo stage? Was she destined to stay here forever?

She froze as a rumbling filled the station. The white mist cleared to reveal tracks and a tunnel, and entering the tunnel was a sleek golden mag-lev train, shining so bright and looking oh-so inviting.

Marcelina stood and walked hesitantly towards it. It radiated warmth and safety, a visible aura of comfort and health around it.

The door opened and a ladder decended, shimmering gold and perfectly spaced for her small feet.

She took a step forward, blue eyes wide.

Just then, another rumble made itself known, and a different train arrived in the other side of the station, pointing the opposite direction as the golden train.

It was dirty and tired and covered in grafitti and smoke. Lots of smoke. It looked like someone had tried to clean it, though, because there were shining patches. Intrigued, she shuffled slowly forward until she could see it up close.

In the shining patches were faces.

There was Twig, and Daddy, and SOS, and all the different people she loved, all smiling, all alive.

And all at once she understood.

She glanced back at the golden train. She could end it now, right here, and go to a better place, a place where she could see her father again, a place where there was no pain or worry and definetly no missing limbs, a place where she could be healthy and strong forever.

It seemed to wink.

With a bit of reluctance, she turned back to the steel-rail. It looked so dingy and dirty and beat-up compared to the shining train. In the cars were familiar things, loves, losses, acheivements...

She glanced back almost regretfully at the golden train. Who knew what lay in wait at the other end of the tunnel? She certainly knew what lay at the end of the dirty train's tunnel.

Marcelina climbed up the dirty train's greasy ladder and sat herself down in the cab. The golden train shimmered enticingly before her train picked up speed and it was lost to view.

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-Two}

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-Two}
(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

(Wow. Twenty-two chapters already? I thought I'd go in a different direction for this chapter, a little change in perspective and a nice refresher for any Jakk fans out there :D)

Jakk Cynor hated Mondays.
Like any other member of the working populace, Mondays were the start of the week: a long week that would leave him exhausted, dirty, but most of all, lonely. He missed his best friend. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself at first, but after nearly a month, he was ready to face the truth. He was ready to do anything. He wanted Mila Arwyr back.
He had barely managed to scrounge up the slightest bit of information on Mila, and even that wasn't telling him much. All he knew was that she had gone to ULOS, made up some ridiculous excuse about the object they had found, then booked a ticket on the next shuttle to Earth and left without any warning. Where on Earth, he had no idea. It was suspicious to say the least. She had left him a strangely cryptic interface message before she had gone. It was a scanning of some book she had found that mentioned the Llachar, and tombs in Egypt.
He sat in the old, broken down swivel chair in his lab, the computer screen displaying the news the only bit of light in the dark lab. He felt desperately lost, and he didn't know why. You never know the worth of water until the well is dry, he thought despondently. Well, now I know.
The image on his computer screen crackled and fuzzled. He peered at it. It was an old model, and sometimes it acted up. He banged on it twice. Nothing. Rolling his eyes, he pushed his chair back and started to get down on his hands and knees to look at the wiring, but the picture came back up.
"CITIZENS OF THIS LOWLY PLANET!" A voice boomed, echoing throughout the lab, nearly blowing Jakk's eardrums out in the process. He quickly cupped his hands over his ears, but it did little to muffle the sound. "YOU SHOULD SAY YOUR LAST PRAYERS NOW!"
Was this some sort of joke? Jakk looked at the screen again. The image he was getting was clearer and brighter than any he had seen on this computer before. It was a man, an old man, who looked somewhat familiar to Jakk. He was dressed in a gray and black uniform reminiscent of some of the commanders on Earth. His bright eyes were cold and calculating. He stood on a metal floor, and behind him was...
Jakk gasped. He had found his friend.

*       *       *       *       *

"Citizens of this lowly planet! You should say your last prayers now!"
Under any other circumstances, Mila would have laughed at how dramatic this was, but that was then. Here in the now, her stomach was turning knots and she felt like she was going to throw up. She had to do something, anything, to stop him. But what could she do? Even if her "powers" as Hawking had put them--(she liked to think of them in her mind as abilities)--were working, it's not as if she could tackle Hawking, or stop his transmission, or find a self-destruct button--
The cold metal of the object still curled in her hand pressed against her palm. The remote detonator. Hawking hadn't noticed it. If she could just get far enough away...But she couldn't move. Hawking had done something to her so that she was limited to turning in a circle. That didn't include running away and flying a Macto back to the Astrum.
But there was another way. She could press the remote detonator where she was, and blow up the ship right here, right now. The remaining Amoveon fighters could be easily taken out by the Llachan forces. But detonation now would mean she would still be on board. And if she was still on board...
Mila swallowed hard. If she was still on board, she would die almost instantly. She would be blasted into oblivion before she had a chance to say a silent goodbye to her friends.
Over at the console, Hawking continued his speech. "You may wonder who we are," he said with a smirk. "We are your downfall. We are the dominant race, and we will continue to be after we are through with this pitiful planet. This is the last straw in a war that will soon be won. See, I have proof!" He swept his hand back toward Mila. "We've captured the leader of the rebels trying to defy us. Even now they are watching this broadcast on their screens, knowing that they're fighting a losing battle." Mila stared up into the light that showed the camera. She wondered if Cadfael, Jennings, even Lumen were watching her now.
"You cannot win," Hawking continued. "Surrender to us, and you might be spared. Do not--" and here he smiled in such a way that it sent chills down Mila's spine, "--and you will be destroyed. Look at her! She stands there, helpless, unable to move. She is defeated. You all are defeated! There is no hope for you!"
Very softly, so that the viewers watching all over the world could barely hear her, so that Jakk Cynor and Cadfael Owyn, without knowing it, leaned in simultaneously, Mila said, "I'm not helpless, Hawking."

a rainy, rainy day {sally}

a rainy, rainy day

inspired by....well....it's not rocket science.....

© sally 2011

dripping down the window

drumming on the roof

pouring on the sidewalk

a rainy, rainy day.

blowing through the trees

flying on the wind

pooling on the asphalt

a rainy, rainy day.

falling from the heavens

splashing on the ground

streaming down the gutters

a rainy, rainy day.

Life

Another one of my [strange] poems fueled by my sudden emo rush. ...enjoy?


~*~*~*~*~


If life was a book,
I'd burn it.
If life was an iPad,
I'd smash it.
If life was my house,
I'd demolish it.
If life was a doorway,
I'd refuse to walk through it.
If life was my knowledge,
I'd forget it.
And if life was my own,
I wouldn't live it.

~*~*~*~*~


OK, that sounded really emo. I'm not depressed, it's just a poem. None of my actual feelings are portrayed in it. Yay....

Writer's Block

WRITER'S BLOCK
(c) Izori

It's a funny thing,
This writer's block.
One day it's here,
Another it's gone,
Inconsistent enemy
That it is.
Sometimes I wonder
If it even exists,
Or is it just a name
For something in
Each author's head?
I want to write,
I really do, but this
Tyrant has its laws
That I have to keep.
I suppose that a book
Is ruled by an author,
Which is ruled by this
Inconsistent enemy,
This tyrant called
Writer's block.

to neptune and back

Dear Zeke,

I don't know where to begin.

First of all...love you.

Second...I miss you. A lot.

It hurts me, being so, so far away and not knowing if you're dead or alive...

Come back to me soon. 

xoxo,

Misty

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Misty,

I don't exactly know where we are at the moment, haven't bothered to check the computer. But...I'm alive. I'm surviving, anyway. I can't wait to
see you again.

Love,

Zeke

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Is something wrong? Zeke, if the mission's gone wrong...please don't...

Misty

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh, God. How do I say this?

We're going to die. The mission failed. Love you too much to say. ♥

Zeke

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

No. Not possible.

Misty

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Limited amount of power. A stretch to get this to you.

XOXO

Zeke

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh, Zeke.

I can't express what I feel through these keys. The typeface is so boring. I love you too much to let you go. ♥♥♥XOXO♥♥♥

Misty

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Me too.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BREAKING NEWS!!!

OPERATION 421 FAILED

The second manned mission to Neptune has not made it to the base in time due to an unpredicted fuel leak. They have too little oxygen to last while a rescue team deploys. It is a tragic loss. Friends and family are permitted to have fifteen-minute video comlink chat time with their loved ones on the craft.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zeke? Are you still...

Misty

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zeke?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zeke?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh, Zeke.

I love you forever. I miss you so much.

XOXO for the last time,

Misty

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-One}

LuCA {Chapter Twenty-One}

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

"H-Hawking?"
He was dressed differently than when she had last seen him. Now he wore a gray-black uniform that was similar to the guards at the doors, except his had a red sash draped across the shoulder, and several gold pins hanging off of it. The tops of his shoulders were decorated with gold stars; six of them on each side. Mila was forcibly reminded of the military officers she had during ceremonies back on LuCA, and a feeling of dread began to build in her stomach. Hawking was standing casually, his feet shoulder width apart, leaning slightly to one side, but Mila knew that there was something utterly wrong about his stance. She couldn't place it, she knew only that the last time she had seen him, he had not stood with such power as he did before her now.
"Hello, Mila." His voice was also different, sharper. Mila's hands trembled, and the gun in them wobbled slightly. Hawking seemed to sense this. "Put the gun down, Mila, and then we can talk."
"No," Mila said. "I'm not doing anything until you tell me where you've been the last week and a half." She stared at him resolutely.
"If you want it that way, then so be it," he sighed, then flicked his right hand, just slightly. Instantly the gun clattered to the floor. Mila had dropped it, as if it had been blazing hot. But it hadn't. It had happened faster than Mila could think about it. She bent to pick it up.
"Stay where you are." Hawking said quietly. Mila couldn't help it. She couldn't move. She stared back at Hawking, into those deep eyes, and the sense of foreboding in her stomach grew.
"Now," Hawking said, bending down to pick the gun up, "Now we can talk. And you can tell me exactly what you and your friends have been up to in my absence."
"I'm not telling you anything."Mila said through gritted teeth. "And you killed him, didn't you? The real Hawking. You're just taking his form."
Hawking who was not Hawking laughed. "There never was an Aster Hawking, you silly child," he said. The way he said the word child made Mila want to strike him in the face. "Just like there never was a History Branch of the LuCA Improvement Company. Just like there never was a conference on LuCA twenty-four years ago."
"What are you taking about?" Mila asked, incredulous. Hawking shook his head, a smile on his lips. He walked around her, to the control screen. She turned in place to face him, but found she could not move beyond that. He sat down in the chair in front of the screen and began typing something on the keypad.
"Your parents died in a rover accident, didn't they?" he asked casually.
"Yes, they--" Mila began, and then stopped. Once again, she heard the Aphis Sol's voice, from the chamber in Egypt. That was no accident, Mila.
"It was you?! You killed my parents?! You mercury-filled monster!" She spat, cursing, but Hawking didn't react.
"Well, dear, it was necessary. They were both from very powerful Llachan families. Not Llachan themselves, of course, there's not one of them left alive today, but powerful nonetheless. They had to be destroyed, for the better continuation of the Amoveon race. Of course, we only found out that they had a daughter ten years later, when there was that remembrance day."
Mila remembered it. She had only been eleven, but her caretakers had dressed her up in a blue dress and hard leather shoes and paraded her to the community room for it. She hadn't understood anything that time, but when she was twenty-one, just a few years ago, she had done it again. This time she had made a speech about them. It was a pointless one. Pointless because she had never known her parents. Pointless because this man, no, this thing had taken them away from her.
Hawking was still saying something. "And then we were worried. We thought you might be a threat. But we bided our time. We waited for you to find the transmitter on the Moon, activate it, and bring the great ships right to us. And you did."
"Who is we?" Mila asked. She was still in shock. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, refused to give in to Hawking.
"Sleeper agents planted here on Earth," he explained shortly. "There are a whole slew of them. But our technology is limited, and we don't have deep-space communicators like the transmitter. We intended to just find and kill all the major Llachan lines. But we decided, why not do away with all the Llachan descendants in one go?"
The sick feeling had risen to Mila's throat now. She felt as if she was going to vomit any second. The fate of humanity hung in the balance because of her. Because of her stupid curiosity. Hawking finished typing on the pad. The screen flashed black twice, then gray once. He stood up out of his seat, straightened his uniform, and smoothed back his hair.
"What are you doing?" Mila asked, not really expecting an answer. Hawking glanced back at her.
"Why, dear, I'm addressing the inhabitants of this little planet you call Earth. It's time for them to know who they're dealing with. Not that any survivors will be left to tell the tale, hmm?" He smiled, a cold smile that chilled Mila and reverberated in the back of her skull.
The screen was flashing once again. A countdown. 50, 49, 48...
"We'll jam all their frequencies," Hawking said, the manic smile still plastered on his face. "So no matter what they're watching on their precious televisions, computers, even billboards, they'll know."
"And what do you plan to tell them?" Mila asked dryly.
39, 38, 37...
"Only that we captured the leader of the resistance and that she will be executed."
"Me? You can't mean me! I'm not a leader. Kema--"
32, 31, 30...
"Dead." Hawking said.
"Dead?" She felt lightheaded now, as if the world was going too fast for her.
"Yes," Hawking mused. "The captain was taken down in a suicide mission, I believe. About five minutes before you arrived here. Drove her ship into the middle of our fighters, and caused a chain reaction. She killed nineteen of our fighters. Resourceful, that one."
No, Mila thought. No, it couldn't be true. Kema couldn't be dead. She couldn't...
21, 20, 19...
"And the lieutenant whacked his head a little too hard against a table when we hit the Astrum with a missile," Hawking continued lightly. "So, that leaves you as the next in the line of succession." His eyes reflected the countdown eerily. "Since you are more Llachan than any of the rest."
14, 13, 12...
"But I doubt you could use your little powers anyway. This ship is filled with mercury. Cancels out everything."
8, 7, 6...
Mila's head was spinning. Hawking looked almost demented.
3, 2, 1...
"Say hello to your friends, Mila."

Tribute

Tribute

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

They flame so clearly in my mind, like little pieces of stained glass caught in a raindrop and held up to the light of a microscope. A cathedral of beauty in a name. An eternity of time in a chapter. A sea of knowledge with just one word spoken by them in my mind. Their lives laid out like a reel of cloth, patterned and woven and frayed. But I am the hand that controls what the cloth will be woven into. I am their Creator, I am their God. But they do not believe in me. They do not believe that a dark-haired girl with a pale face could have created them out of her mind. Out of her imagination. They do not know. They are so ignorant, and at the same time, they know much more than I. They have traveled different worlds and met many people. They have experienced a lifetime, several lifetimes, each with it's own benefits and drawbacks, it's own shape and color and smell. They have loved, and more often than not they have lost. They have skimmed across the sea of subconscious, made their roots grow deep into the fruits of my labor, and traveled beyond the ethereal curtain of the mind, to places unknown to even I, their God. They are a brand on the shell of my mind, a tattoo deep in my psyche. They contradict me, they know their limits. They talk to me in my sleep, whispering silver notes into my dreams. I know them better than anyone. And they have taught me much, though I gave them little.

The red one with fire in her heart taught me to never give up, to hold on to things even though the day of dawn may be far away.

The star-traveler, the moon-seeker, the crusader of the universe and of herself taught me exploration. But she also taught me that there is always a place to come back to.

The firefly taught me that there is always a light in the darkness. There is always an exit. There is always a way. That rebirth, regrowth, is a gift. Use it wisely.

The golden-eyed taught me to protect. To dig my heels in and fight for what I know is mine, fight for the people I love and the justice I know in my heart to be true.

The youngest one taught me that family is everything, even if they do not share your blood. Love is thicker than blood, than water. It binds us and holds us strong.

The eldest, the first, the purple-eyed empress with scars and bruises, she taught me everything I know. She was my light, and my protector, and my strength. She was my guide, and my family. She taught me love. She taught me that in the face of an oncoming storm, of a hail of bullets, of a rain of bombs blocking out the sky, there will always be an after. There will always be someone for me to hold onto in the darkness. There will always be love.

~Dedicated to the beautiful characters that I have dreamed up, and who have gone on to shape themselves and push beyond the limits I set for them. They are central to me, and show the many sides of myself. Ayla, my warrior, Mila, my crusader, Lyra, my herald, Kayana, my protector, Rachel, my youth, and Akire, my all.

"I said yes because I knew it would be an adventure. And you know how much I love adventures."

—Mila Arwyr

Leo - Chapter One

The action and drama begins in the first chapter of this new series.

LEO

Chapter One

The August air is blessedly cool in the band room after the oppressive afternoon heat I just faced outside. I’m hoping that we stay inside and work on music for a really really long time in rehearsal, because I’d like not to go back outside until it cools down and drops about a hundred degrees. For now though, it's perfect. The room is air conditioned, the band geeks are plenty, and I'm ready for another great season.

            Maybe half or more of the band is already here, and I can see that there seems to be a movement to gather by sections – low brass seems to be taking over most of the band room, and the flutes are commandeering the practice room along with the clarinets. I scan the groups and wave to a couple people I recognize, looking for the trumpets before I hear a shout from behind me.

           “Cassie! YO SHORTIE!”

           Yep, that’s the trumpet section for you. I turn and see a few of them sitting in the instrument room and walk over. There are five people already gathered and I make six. Our section leaders Nate and Kelly, both juniors, are there taking attendance, the only senior in the section, a snobby boy called Mako sits against the lockers looking bored, and the band director’s daughter Abby is talking with Eben, another junior. I’m assuming that it’s Nate who called me over because he’s the slightly crazy-looking one waving his arms around and being loud and obnoxious like always.

           “Hey Nate....what's up Kelly?” I say and wave at the others.

           “HEY!” Exclaims Nate before turning to his clipboard and putting a checkmark next to my name. “Excellent.” He says with a smile. “Only one more trumpet player and we’re all accounted for. How ya doing, Shortie?”

           “Awesome.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “Life is so boring until marching band season starts.”

Nate chuckles in agreement and then goes to greet the final member of our section, a little eighth grader who mumbles his name as something that sounds something like Patrick.

           I guess I should mention that everyone in the band has special nicknames, and yes, mine is Shortie. I’m sure that not being a millimeter over five feet has some advantages, but I haven’t come across any yet, and all my height has gotten me so far is everyone looking down on me, my always getting squished in the halls of school and at every special event,  and the infamous nickname. Everyone has funny names though so really it's not that bad. Like, for instance, Nate is ‘Firework’ because he's crazy and hyper, and Mako is ‘Shark’ because of the shark he's named for.

Anyway, everybody is just hanging, not doing too much because of the heat, and talking in their sections, saying ‘Hi’ to one another. While the rest of the trumpets chat I let my gaze wander around the room. Familiar faces pop up everywhere, I recognized most everyone from the year before, and am excited to see that two of my good friends from the eighth grade have joined. One of them, Allison, seems to be making lots of good friends in the low brass section and I wave but don’t go over to say hello quite yet. My eyes lazily drift across the room to my other younger friend, Hope, who is standing with the mellophones and alto saxes.

           It isn’t really her that my stare is drawn to though, but to the boy standing beside her. He’s tall, quite tall, and stands with a easy, loping posture. His hair is a slightly ruffled dark brown like mine, and his facial features make him look kind of like a hawk. I laugh at that, softly. Hawk-boy. He holds a mellophone in his hands, and he’s laughing too. Laughing, but even from here I can see that he’s laughing to hide something because his eyes tell a different story. They’re dark and deep and sad. I wonder what has made him this way. I know you may think I'm nosy, but I really do care about other people, and am really good at picking up their emotions. It's kind of like a sixth sense. I also have a really good memory and can remember almost anything so I rack my brain for facts about this Hawk-boy. I remember him from last year, he’s a good player, a senior now, nice and kind to all the younger band members. Some find him intimidating, some find him annoying, he doesn't really have many friends, he has more like a lot of acquaintances but no one he's really close to. Maybe the reason lies in his eyes, along with his secret sadness.

           Finally, after coming up with all the other information I know about him, which really isn't much I remember his name. Leo. Maybe I should call him Lion-boy instead of Hawk-boy because of his namesake.

           Leo. I don't know why I feel so drawn to him. I maybe talked to him once last marching band season and I'm pretty sure he bagged my groceries on time down at the Shop'n'Save but I don't really know him at all. Yet somehow, I have this feeling, deep down, that I'm supposed to befriend him, help him...save him. There's obviously something bothering him, he seems sort of unbalanced in his actions, like he's in emotional overload. This just makes him even more intriguing to me. We'll just have to see how this year plays out but I'm determined to learn more about this Leo kid.

           Suddenly, the group he's standing with breaks, and Leo turns and looks directly at me. Dark brown eyes meet bright green ones, and in that moment it's like I can see into his broken soul, I can almost feel the pain I see when I look into his eyes and I know that Leo Dunn is either going to be my best friend, or my worst enemy.

To be continued....