The Mirror {Izori}

THE MIRROR
(c) Izori

A girl stares into a mirror, and she examines her face. She does not like what she sees. It is a round face, with freckles like ants running across the nose and cheeks. All of her friends would describe her as jolly, but if they could see her face now, they would not think so.

"You're not beautiful," a voice whispers in her ear. It is her own voice.

"No, I'm not." She agrees with herself.

"You will never be beautiful."

"No, I won't." Her voice is heavy.

"Look at your eyes. They're squinty, see? And your chin--doesn't it look like your brother's juggling ball?"

"Yes," she says, eying her chin. "It does."

"I'm always right, aren't I? You're not beautiful."

And the voice was always right to the girl, so she never saw what her friends saw. She never saw the beautiful eyes that cared or the mouth that smiled.

"If only I looked like my sister," the girl says wistfully. "Then I'd be beautiful."

The door opens, and her older sister comes into the room. Seeing the girl, she stops.

"I didn't know--" the sister begins.

"Oh, no, come in," says the girl. "It's fine. I was just leaving."

So the girl slips out of the room, and her sister comes to stand in front of the mirror.

The sister stares into the mirror, and she examines her face. She does not like what she sees. It's a long face, with lips that aren't the shape of the models on the magazine covers. All of her family would describe her as graceful, but if they could see her face now they would say she's miserable.

"You're not beautiful," a voice whispers in her ear. It is the sister's own voice.

"No, I'm not." The sister agrees with herself.

"You will never be beautiful."

"No, I won't." She touches the face that will never be beautiful.

"Your face looks like you're a wooden puppet. And that nose--why, you look like Pinocchio!"

"Yes," she says, eying her nose. "I do!"

"I'm always right, aren't I? You're not beautiful."

And to the sister, the voice was always right. She never saw what her family saw. She never saw the intelligence in her eyes, or the compassion in her face.

"If only," she says to herself. "I looked like my sister. She's beautiful."

And neither ever knew they were beautiful.

Seasons Always Die {Izori}

SEASONS ALWAYS DIE
(c) Izori

Summer is fading
Like a sad, sweet song
And the geese, silent
Mourners of her passing
Wear black and gray
As they follow warmth.

Autumn, her walk
Like bittersweet coffee
Crisp morning, sad nights,
And the leaves fall
Like spirits whose bodies
Have died and been buried.

How many seasons
Have passed us by now
And we, the poets,
The observers of beauty,
The crafters of words
To represent our lives,
Always grieve.

'Sentimental', we're called
Yet each time a season passes
We feel the loss
As deeply as if we did not know
They always die.

LuCA {Chapter Twenty}

LuCA {Chapter Twenty}

(c) Akire Zyll Flickerclaw

Mila slid the access card through the slot on the side of the door. The entryway was marked Transporter, which Mila recognized from her years on LuCA. Conceivably, Amoveon transporters would work the same way the ones on the lunar colony did. The light on the top of the slot blinked green twice, and the transporter doors slid open. Feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, she stepped inside.

The transporter was a blinding white. Mila had almost forgotten that most transporters were this eye-wrenching. It was to minimize the amount of stimuli the brain had to absorb while being dematerialized and rematerialized. If there were too many colors or sounds in the space while the transporting was going on, the subject would become disoriented and might act accordingly. (i.e., throw up all over the place)

Mila turned to her right, looking for the buttons that would tell her the places to go. She needed to get to the main power console, which was right in the middle of the ship, where it would be hard to attack. The control room would be a good second option. But the language that labeled the buttons was unknown to her, even with her Llachan senses.

"What now?" she said aloud. She didn't know who she was talking to, but it was something to do, especially now, when the adrenaline was pumping through her veins, electrifying her and making it hard to concentrate. "I don't care what anyone else says," Mila muttered. "Adrenaline is the worst drug."

She scanned the rows of buttons again. "Here goes nothing." She selected a random button and pushed it.

A flash of white light engulfed her vision. She knew it had cleared only when the doors in front of her slid open.

In front of her was a large room that she could tell was the control room of the ship. A huge computer console flashed and blinked a few feet away, Amoveon text scrolling across it's screen. Mila realized that this was as good a place, if not even better, than the main power console. The power fed directly to this monitor, and the monitor controlled not only the power of the ship, but everything else as well.

If she could shut this down (or blow it up, either way was pretty good), then it would buy Kema and the rest plenty of time.

She stepped out of the transporter and picked her way silently towards the console. It was strange that it was so quiet—but that was how Amoveons were, she thought—silent until the very end.

The computer towered over her, large and imposing. Mila unzipped her backpack and pulled out the sticks of C-4 explosives. She peeled off the sticky back of each one and arranged them at strategic points on the console. As the last one beeped into place, the remote detonator in her hand turned on with a whir.

I'll get to the transporter, and go somewhere else, and then detonate, she planned in her head. And then I'll find my way to the bay, and then fly back to the Astrum. That's the plan.

"I wondered how long it would take you to get here."

Mila whirled around, her gun raised, to face the voice, a voice that seemed slightly familiar.

She took one look at the person standing in front of her, and gasped.

It was Aster Hawking.

The Other Side of the Card - Chapter 3: Harumi

Don't think anyone's been reading these. Whatever!

I watched, unsure of what to think as Sousuke grabbed his head, shaking slightly, his black eyes widened. And then there was the whimpering, which scared me even more. I hardly knew the guy, but if you saw a stranger like that on the street, you probably would’ve done the same thing I did.

Standing up for the first time in a very long time, I walked over to his bed slowly, not caring that the tubes in my arms were getting pulled off. Placing a hand gingerly around his back and lifting myself to sit next to him, I softly asked, “What’s wrong?”

After a few seconds, Sousuke seemed to relax a little, and looked at me with a strange look in his eyes. “I remember,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I remember what happened that night.”

I was surprised, but didn’t snow it. “Do you want me to call Dr. Kurosaki?” I asked, a little worried.

“No,” came the immediate reply. I sighed, then lifted my head suddenly. “Sousuke,” I said, looking straight into his dull eyes. “Tell me your story.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“I won’t tell you about my childhood,” Sousuke said, eyes darkening. “Only what happened that night.”

I nodded, since I expected him to say something like that. “I was the leader of a gang,” he said after a little hesitation. “The Black Star, we were called. Made up of a group of, erm, unneeded children, we were natural born fighters, and ruled the streets of our city. But another gang came along, and they were equally powerful. We knew them as ‘The Bloodmen’.”

The name tugged at something in the back of my mind, but I ignored it and kept listening.

“We fought almost every day, and it wasn’t that bad, until they did one thing that was unforgivable. They killed Leon, my best friend. We had started The Black Star together, and now he was gone. Forever. And then, that very night, I did something really stupid.” Sousuke looked at me for a moment, then back at his bed sheets.

“It’s what landed me in this hospital. I walked straight into The Bloodmen’s territory, thinking that I could defeat them all by myself. Of course, I was wrong. They leaped out of the shadows, wielding knives, and slashed and stabbed me with no end; all I had were my fists and legs to defend myself. After what seemed like an eternity, a shout came from the distance, and all I remember after that was that they all leapt away from me, because there was a giant truck headed straight towards me…”

Sousuke’s voice trailed off, but I could assume what happened after that. Looking at him, I couldn’t believe that he’d been through so much. Getting stabbed, being hit by a- “That’s not all.” Sousuke’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Being hit by the truck knocked me out for a while, but I remember waking up a little; they were shooting me.”

Seeing my horrified look, he quickly clamped his mouth shut, and stopped talking. He looked out the window, only to see the moon hanging in the black night sky. “It’s getting late,” Sousuke said. “You should go get some sleep.” I nodded; it was late. Creeping back to my bed and not bothering to put my tubes back in place (I was sure Dr. Kurosaki would kill me for that in the morning), I lay down and closed my eyes. That night, I dreamed about Sousuke, lying on the ground, bleeding and broken. It was one of the most terrifying things I’d ever seen.

The next morning, I woke up to Dr. Kurosaki giving me a secret check-up. Busted. I sat up as he stepped backwards, looking down at my arms. Huh? All of the tubes were in place, and the doctor hadn’t even said anything yet. Pulling back the curtains that surrounded my bed, I looked over at Sousuke, who was staring right at me. I looked down at my arm, and then up at him. He nodded. He had put the tubes back in place? Sousuke? I smiled my thanks to him, and he looked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Kurosaki smiling to himself, though it was pretty obvious what he was thinking. I’m not flirting with him!

Arrowstone Prologue

Here it is. The story I am most proud of. It has stuck with me since I was 11 years old. I'm afraid I cannot give you any more than a prologue since the rest is still a work in progress. By the way, feedback would be much appreciated. I haven't revised this in a year and a half... Thanks!


     A large, ragged, dark brown hawk with ruffled feathers, long, cruel talons, and a missing eye flapped through the night. The only thing that penetrated the darkness was the fleeting glimpses of the moon between the jagged mountain peaks and the tiny pinpricks of light in the sky far above. The hawk was exhausted, and the only thing that kept him from taking a quick nap perched on one of the few twisted, scraggly, bare bushes that grew here was the knowledge that if he was late for the meeting that his Master had arranged, it almost certainly meant death delivered by the hard-hearted man. His Master was cruel and clever, and he had an incredible knack for thinking up unimaginable tortures for his servants if they failed to do as they were told.

     As the hawk flew, he let his mind wander to the news he had to deliver to his master, of the fulfilling of the prophecy. No doubt he'd be next on his Master's torture list, simply because of the message he had to tell. Dread filled him as he realized that whatever he chose to do, the same fate awaited him. The mountains seemed to loom ever higher, as though they knew that he would die and were mocking him by their sheer height, as though they knew he would probably never again soar among their rocky crags. This is what the bird thought to himself until he noticed his slowly decreasing altitude.

     His lapse in strength angered him, and he exhaled sharply before angling himself downward into a terrifying dive above a wooded valley. Just before the hawk landed, it disappeared, and in its place appeared a huge gray and white wolf with brownish-tinted fur on his shoulders, back, head, and tail. He hit the ground running and shot off like a speeding bullet through the trees. The cold wind whipped past, refreshing him, and the rocketing speed seemed to regenerate him, so he drove himself still harder.

     Before long, the mountain he sought stood before him, taller than all the others. He heaved a sigh of relief that he had made it at last while the coal-black eyes of his Master watched him from high above.

********************

     The king's cloak streamed behind him as his stallion, Korren, raced along the tradeway. The dirt of the road had been transformed into precarious mud by the raging storm around them, making it difficult for the animal to run as he did. A bolt of lightning darted across the sky, illuminating the world for a split second like it was day before the storm swallowed it up again. Thunder crashed high above, as though someone had thwacked an enormous drum high above their heads.

     Under one large, muscular arm, the king held a basket tightly as though his entire life depended on defending the contents of that one tightly woven wicker basket. The calamitous noise of the storm continued as he rode. Soon, under the deafening noise, the king heard the sounds of hoofbeat on wood. Glancing around, he realized he was on the bridge that spanned the great River Agra.

     Then, without warning, a huge gust of wind threatened to shove king, horse, and basket into the raging river below. Instead, it only dislodged the basket from the king's arms and tossed it carelessly into the churning waters. The king halted his horse and scanned the rapids ten feet below his horse's hooves frantically for the basket.

     "Nyya!" he called in despair. "Nylynn! My daughter!"

     Despite his frantic shouts, no one heard him, as the wind pulled the sound away just as it emerged from his mouth. Abruptly, with one last bolt of lightning and crash of thunder, the storm clouds just simply thinned and vanished. The sudden disappearance of the storm revealed the sun just beginning to rise on the eastern horizon. To the king's dismay, the wicker basket was nowhere in sight. With a moan, he hung his head and began his short journey back to Kirrn to convey the news.

********************

     The beautiful, redheaded, fair-skinned, freckle-faced teenager stepped cautiously from the cover of the trees and dashed to the riverbanks. There she crouched and dipped the iron pail into the slow-moving stream of water. Suddenly, glancing up, a large object floating in the river caught her attention. Setting her pail on the ground beside her, she straightened up and waded into the water. Before she was even waist-deep in the river, she got to the object. She realized with a start that it was a basket.

     She removed its lid slowly, dropping it with a gasp when she saw the little curly-haired baby sleeping peacefully with a silver dragon kit curled up next to her inside. The girl scooped up the basket and ran back to the trees, leaving the pail where it sat.

speck

there is a dark spot on the canvas.

it shouldn't be there, but at the same time it is.

the artist doesn't look happy. this was supposed to be a blank canvas.

and there's a speck

on

the

perfection.

naturally, the artist is angry.

he storms from the room.

a little girl comes in the room and looks at the canvas.

the speck is still there.

she glances around the room and grips the painbrush.

and she paints and paints and paints, creating a world unto herself and not caring about the speck.

and then she's done and gone.

and the speck raises its head and winks.

Leo (a second sneak peek!)

My latest story Leo is going to be a very big series, so I want to hype it as much as I can before I release the first chapter in September to get you excited about it.

Cassie

A freshman in high school, wise beyond her years, trumpet prodigy, stuck in a tiny rural Maine town.

Shortest person in the marching band, butt of most rumors spinning around her class, none true, but people believe them.

Few friends, but those who are her friends are loyal.

Fiercely proud, independant and strong-willed, she's not someone to get on the wrong side of, but she can love with the same fire that she can hate with.

And love always trumps hate.

Leo

At only seventeen he has endured the suffering of a much older man, and it's not over yet.
Finally a senior, he dreams of leaving his troubles behind him after graduation,
but by the end of the year he may have lost all hope.
Wrecked by mad grief, struggling to find his place, and yet still a strong, leading presence to those around him.
Falling into the darkness around him,
it may be too late for him to be saved.
But one girl will try.

When Cassie meets Leo, a striking friendship forms.
But Cassie loves too hard, and too blindly,
and Leo has secrets.
Dark secrets that could destroy both his life and hers.
Cassie is determined to save her new best friend,
at any cost.
The only question is,


can Leo be saved?
or is he too far gone into the dark madness of his mind?


there's only one way to find out.






LEO
coming to this blog, september 2011






are you ready?