Soldiers

I see soldiers

I see soldiers and they’re coming for me

I see soldiers led by a leader, a commander, a despot.

She fights as the commander

She fights with every weapon in her arsenal

She fights using guilt as a grenade

Her second in command

Seconds from her side

Succumbs to her sour manipulation

Who will win?

Who will lose?

Who should?

There they are:

The understudy

The tyrant

The soldiers

And the soldiers are coming

The Departure of Madame Josephine

            He held his hand out for the fortuneteller, and she immediately took it in her own, unfurling it on her small table. Stars glimmered in Madame Josephina’s eyes as she looked down at his palm. The black ink written out on his hand read: They are coming. Madame Josephine’s suddenly took on a grave and sober look as she lifted her head back to the young man’s face. Yes, she saw the resemblance now.

“You are his son?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. He solemnly nodded his head.

“My brother was a great man once, but lately it has been difficult to remember why. I am sorry that we had to meet this way, but even more so, I am sorry for what I am about to do.” And with that, Madame Josephine pulled a glass phial from her cloak, lifted off the cork lid, and let its strong, acrid scent swim through the air. As his nose caught whiff of it, his eyes began to roll back in his head, and he slumped to the floor. A single tear ran down Madame Josephine’s face as she pulled her hood over her head, gathered a small bundle from the back of her shop, hung a closed sign over the door, and left, knowing full well she would not ever return to her quaint, little shop.

A sudden and mysterious wind

*For a recap: see posts with label "Henry's Story"*

Henry stared down at his ticket, completely and utterly befuddled. 9 ¾, what bloody sort of a joke is this? He ranted silently. It seemed so silly and pointless, but looking down at his watch and seeing that he only had a quarter hour before the train should leave, he decided to continue on. After just about navigating the entirety of King’s Cross Station, Henry lost himself standing between platforms nine and ten, tightly grasping his ticket in his left hand and steering his cart with his right. He dropped his left arm to his side when a sudden and mysterious wind plucked the ticket directly from between his fingers.

            “No! My ticket!” he exclaimed frantically, jumping after the fleeing slip of paper. Strange stares followed him around platform ten as Henry chased after the elusive ticket, his cart screeching after him. Running directly at the barrier between the two platforms, he was finally able to snatch it up in his left hand. Alas, his triumphant smile was fleeting as he realized he was about to collapse into the massive barrier. His feet stopped too late, and he tumbled face first into the barrier. But the impact never came.

Blue

Falling. . .
     Falling. . .
          Falling. . .

     She was surprised at how calm she was, considering her circumstances.  The sky wheeled above her, the wind roaring in her ears.  Would her chances of survival been any better if she had stayed on the cliff?
     The alternative would have been worse, she convinced herself. The men who had chased her to the edge probably expected her to choose to be taken, instead of jump.
     Now, as she stared up at the blue above her, she wondered if it had been the right choice.  Not that it really matters, she thought.  Not anymore.  This was the last thought she had before the cold water engulfed her,  engulfed the blue of the sky.
To resurface...
~N.

Hide and Seek

Where is Cedric? He has been gone for too long. Maybe he—no, that’s not possible, Virginia speculated. Suddenly the door opened with a conspicuous screech. Virginia jumped out of the chair she had been lounging in and ran. She made it to the secret door, the only way out, just before she felt enormous, cold hands wrap around her, pulling her back. She screamed in alarm, but felt those same filthy fingers cover her mouth. Trying to wriggle out of his grasp, she silently prayed to whatever god was listening. Virginia felt a fire burning in her veins. It pulsed through her mind and soul. Some called it magic; to others, it was a gift; to Virginia, it was just who she was. She released it. Virginia knew she had been defeated when she felt her spell blocked. An eerie cackling filled the room. No! her thoughts cried, This can’t be happening! The guard, with a tight grip, swung Virginia around to face the room. Virginia wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes, for the sight she saw was nothing short of a horrible nightmare.

Guards huddled around her two sons, whose feet and hands were bound tightly with rope. And in the center of the room, with a hair-raising smile painted on her face, stood the duchess. Finding the guard’s hand no longer wrapped around her face, Virginia addressed the villainous monster in front of her.

“Aglica,” she hissed, “I never thought I’d see the day when you sunk low enough to employ men to do your dirty work.”

“Silence, you wench! You do not afflict me. While you’ve been off, hiding, sharing bed with a fool, another fool, actually, I’ve been doing something useful. And this time, I will not be defeated by the likes of you, or the likes of anyone else."

Chase

Rachel sped down the highway recklessly at seventy miles per hour, trying to evade her pursuers. Then, a squirrel jumped out in front of her car. She didn’t even blink—the squirrel’s life was not as important as her own. She shed a tear, not for the squirrel, not for her dead ex-husband. It was for her son, Danny. Danny was gone, dead; they had taken him away and killed him. She didn’t care that the entire world was chasing her, just that Danny could be saved. The old lady at the gas station had said so, but it wouldn’t be easy. Someone would have to die. But she had to save Danny.
His curious face with hazel eyes like hers and nose like his father’s seared a heart-breaking image in her head. She could save him, she could bring him back, she could see that beautiful adventurous face again—the face of her only son.
Then the car crashed; she went flying. The world flashed in shades of gray and green underneath her as she soared across the deserted street. She landed with a crack on the hard ground of Craybourne Court. It felt a thousand times worse than the belly flop she had accidentally performed last week at the pool. Her heart sighed sluggishly. This was it, she couldn’t save Danny. Danny was lost to her forever. The world disappeared with a flash.

The Wolves of Kajul

Jasteirra ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the menacing creatures that were at her heels. One of the Wolves caught the edge of her skirt, pulling her down to the hard, cold ground. Her face slammed into the dirt, and she felt currents of blood streaming down her leg. She could not do it; she could not escape now; she was dead. Jasteirra put her hands to her ears weakly, attempting to block out the overwhelmingly cacophonous howls of the Wolves of Kajul.
She felt one of the beasts sniffing her side; it was nauseating. Jasteirra then heard an ominous sound from behind her, not a Wolf. They were footsteps that loomed closer every moment that passed. She sucked in a sharp breath of air, holding it. She could feel her heartbeat quickening to the increasingly closer sounds of the strange steps. But she didn’t have to wait for the mysterious being to reach her.
A loud battle cry erupted from behind her. She heard the sounds of swords clashing, a brawl being launched. Who was it that was attacking? Was he here to help her or hurt her? In a world like this, Jasteirra didn’t know who she could trust. Even her own best friends had betrayed her to the Sorcerer of Kajul. Suddenly, the sound of someone falling to the ground flooded her ears.
She feebily  pulled herself up from the ground, to see what had taken place. Laying on the ground was her own father, dead, and standing above him, a victorious expression on his face, was the Prince to the throne of Anora.
“Hello, sister.” he declared maliciously.

Portal

Ryan meandered aimlessly down the dark, abandoned halls of the school. His watch beeped furiously, telling him what he already knew: it was midnight.

“Happy Friday the thirteenth,” He whispered sarcastically to himself. He looked down at the linoleum tile floor, the blue and white checkerboard pattern almost invisible without the fluorescent light that would usually be switched on during the day. He waited for Sean to come; he should have been here by now. He paced back and forth, wondering where his comrade was. They needed to do it tonight, when it was still Friday the Thirteenth—that was the day the portal was able to be opened, the day they could get rid of their problems forever. If they did this, they would be back on the team for good. He couldn’t do it if Sean didn’t come, though. Sean was the key; his blood alone could open the door to the long forgotten world.

Ryan jumped at a small muffled sound coming from down the hall. He had to remember that they weren’t the only ones who wanted to open the portal– the Gregori brothers needed this too.  If those three got through the portal, all of this would be lost, all of their work for nothing. It would all be over. So where was Sean? Ryan gathered up his courage and ambled down the deserted hall, silently praying for the best.

The muffled noises got louder, the farther he walked. As he reached the last door, he knew that whatever it was, or whoever it was, was inside the room. Ryan stuck his hand in his pocket and held on tight to his rosary, knowing that if this was what he thought it was, even God could not save him. He reluctantly kicked the door open, hoping his bravado would not leave him. A single chair stood in the middle of the room. Sean sat, tethered in the uncomfortable kindergarten chair, his mouth gagged. His eyes widened with worry, a look that Ryan recognized immediately, for he had given it many times himself. It said Run! That was when Ryan saw him, with broad shoulders and eyes black like night. His muscles pulsed on his arms. He was like a boulder, strong and unmovable. Ryan felt like he would faint just looking at him. Ryan knew that his life was forfeit now; nothing could save him or Sean, nothing from this world anyway. Their lives were at the mercy of Vincenzo Gregori.

Live for the Hunt

The girl ran stealthily through the forest, alert and calm. Clad from head to toe with bandana, war paint, and torn clothes all of red, she silently wished her crimson attire didn’t so starkly contrast with the deep greens and earthy browns of the surrounding trees. Yet at the same time, there was no other color she’d rather be wearing than the Red of the Southern Empire. And she was a Southern Warrior, the best of the best. Her job- kill or be killed. She crept silently through the forest undetected by the pair of Eastern Empire Soldiers she’d been hunting for the past few days, waiting for the right moment to make her move. What a waste, she mused to herself, drawing her weapon. The East was green, and they were spoiling the advantage by being stupid. Sad, really.She heard a quiet snap behind her and instinctively spun around to face the sound, finding herself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.


~E.

Not Dead

Melanie stared, stared into the massive arctic barren wasteland. The ice was everywhere, coating the once visible ground in a film of protective chill. Protecting it from what, Melanie didn’t know. A howl ripped through the frozen badlands. Melanie shivered, not stopping to wonder where it had come from. She already knew. It was the Wolves. She hoped she’d get farther before they’d caught her trail, but alas, her luck wasn’t going to change so soon.
They had been chasing her since the Toronto incident, when her brother, Tom, had set off the bomb. The explosion had killed Mr. Carver. No doubt, that was the reason they were chasing them, hunting them. Melanie and Tom could always stop, always surrender, give in to the madmen that had taken their mother from them. But this was war, and you never give up unless you’re left with no choice.
Melanie took Tom’s hand and started running, running for her life, Tom’s life, the lives of everyone who would die if they didn’t win this war. Jonas, Mr. Burman, Chloe, Sally Anne, Ole Johnson Harris were all counting on them. Melanie began to wish that they hadn’t left that car at the airport in Montreal. They were never going to outrun the menacing cries of the Wolves. Tears solidified halfway down her face as she sprinted across the frozen tundra, practically dragging Tom behind her. She couldn’t feel her nose; her fingers and toes were frostbitten; and her eyelashes caught snowflakes before they could reach the ground.
Melanie came to a sudden halt. There was something in front of her. Not something, someone, she thought. She found herself trapped as she saw the face of the man in front of her. She thought he was dead. He couldn’t be alive; she’d seen the remains of the building he’d been in, blown to pieces, nothing had been spared. Tom became paralyzed when he saw the reason why Melanie had stopped, for directly in front of the twin siblings stood Mr. Carver, alive and healthy as ever.

Dreamscape

 Jeremy was running, running from the reality threatening to consume him. He tripped over a small stick, sharp and pointed like a blade. Red liquid ran down his ankle. He had to keep going, though; so he quickly got up and pushed his legs to work again. His foot stung with ache. The ground opened up in front of him, a massive chasm ready to swallow him. He tried to bring his feet to a stop as his life flashed before him: his little sister’s tenth birthday party where his mom had made the cake with baking soda instead of baking powder; his high school graduation; the day he found out that his best friend, Seamus, had been found dead in the woods; the day his sister had told him that she saw the ghosts too, that was when he knew they were real. And now they were chasing him. They used to just lurk around the house, wandering in the halls, standing in front of mirrors, letting out almost inaudible screams in the middle of the night. His parents had never seen them, just him and Molly had. Recently they had become more violent, locking doors, pinching his sister, appearing out of nowhere right in front of them, showing their god-awful, bloody faces. The memories stopped as Jeremy came to a halt in front of the large crevasse in front of him. The stench of death hung in the air around him.  His foot slid less than an inch and Jeremy already felt himself being pulled into the bottomless pit. He knew that if he fell into the abyss he wouldn’t make it out alive.

 The dream shifted around him as he came into consciousness and found himself in his own room. Just a dream, that was all it was; he had not fallen into the deep, dark pit. He cautiously looked toward the foot of the bed to see if a ghost was there; they often followed him into his dreams and made them nightmares. Then he saw his foot. The blood gushing from the wound on the side of his heel. Something was definitely wrong.