Off with Her Head

There once lived a girl in Wonderland
Who loved to build things in the sand
But the Queen of Hearts was not dead
And she declared, "Off with her head!"

Remembrance

            The wolves had left the scene of the brawl, but they would be back once they sensed it over; Kajulian wolves weren’t keen on getting between others’ fights. They just did as they were told, as the Sorcerer told them. Shay’s childhood nickname for her echoed inside the depths of her mind, diving into memories she’d thought she’d left behind. Repressed emotions, carrying her deeper into relapse, reversing all she’d worked for.

            “Jez,” he called, “come out, come out, wherever you are. You can’t hide forever, you know.” Jasteirra sucked in a quick breath before Shay wandered over to her hiding spot behind the drapery.  She closed her eyes as if it would keep him from seeing her miniature figure in the fabric. The sharp sound of the curtains being drawn made her flinch away. She opened her eyes and gazed upwards, to find her brother looming over her, his eyebrows arched salaciously. “Found you” His hand sliced through the air, grabbing for her, but she was faster. Jasteirra ducked with lightning speed, slipping under his arm and scurrying away. She jumped onto her feet, racing to the door; in seconds she found her face smothered by her mother’s warm belly. She hugged her, wrapping her short, child’s arms as far around her mother as she could. She turned her head around, to see if her brother, Shay, the monster, was still there. Shay stood by the window, acknowledging the unspoken truce between them. He met her gaze, sending her a sore glare.  That was the biggest rule—and the one that kept Jasteirra out of trouble the most often: never in front of Mother. But it didn’t matter; he would get her back later. He always did.

           She winced; the memory struck her with immeasurable force. There certainly was a reason that some nightmares were repressed. Jasteirra wasn’t that scrawny, weak, little girl any more, though. And after that day, the rules hadn’t mattered any more. Mother had died the very next day, Jasteirra’s one safe haven, snuffed out like a candle. The doctors couldn’t tell their family what’d killed her, but Jasteirra had always suspected, deep down, her own brother. That had been the day that Jasteirra had realized that her only chance of survival lay in toughening up. And that was just what she had done. Her brother hardly ever received the chance to hurt her again. And now, looking at his lifeless remains, Jasteirra smiled. He’ll never be able to hurt me, never again. 

The Great Jasteirra

For a recap, view posts with label "Kajul/Anora"


Jasteirra froze with shock, as if she’d been caught in a sorcerer’s spell. For an entire minute, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her father was dead; the king was dead; her own brother killed him; the prince killed him. Thoughts formed tangled knots in her head. Is he here to kill me? She desperately racked her mind for a solution. But the answer was clear; she’d seen the look on her brother’s, Shaelan’s, face. Shaelan intended to kill her, probably right where she lay.

            “Shay,” she expressed dumbly, her mouth hanging open. He looked at her funny, like she was stupid.

            “Jez, are you entirely obtuse?” the prince laughed, “I come here, to kill you; I have just slain our father, the king; and now I have practically slit your throat. But you, you don’t put up a fight, don’t scream, don’t even try to preserve your own precious life. You just stare at me with those doe eyes, as if it will sway me to spare you, just like old times.” Jasteirra inconspicuously inched a few steps away, totally avoiding Shaelan’s notice.  “I am going to kill you, you know. And once you’re dead, yes, once you’re gone, there will be no one to question me, no one standing in my way. I will be king, king of all Anora. What will everyone think, sister, when they hear that the great Jasteirra, the uncatchable Jasteirra, fell without a word—that you didn’t care that you would die, when you took your final breath.” Throughout his whole speech, the prince had remained oblivious to the fact that Jasteirra had composed herself, shifted positions so that she balanced on only one knee, and had pulled a dagger from her  pocket. As soon as Shaelan had ended his monologue, she pounced, throwing her knife at him. It struck him precisely in the center of his chest, slicing open his heart. Shaelan’s wide eyes stared down at the blade poking through his ribs. That will teach him not to underestimate me again, Jasteirra thought. The prince collapsed to the ground, facing the consequences of his grave mistake.

            “I thought I told you, Shay,” she mocked, “ you’re much too talkative.” She smiled, seeing the hate in his eyes. That was the last emotion he would ever feel, the fury burning within him. 

Landing

Jasmine stood there, on the edge of nothingness, looking down into the dark abyss. She didn’t know what was down there. Heck, she didn’t even know if there was a down there. The large crevasse before her, for all she knew, could continue on forever. Either way, she had to go through it. The others wouldn’t understand, they’d think her to be mad, except Jessica. Jessica might understand. Still, she couldn’t tell anyone, they’d all try to stop her. And maybe that would be for the best. Who knew where Jasmine would end up when she dove head first into the darkness?
No, no second thoughts, she thought to herself. She couldn’t wait any longer. The sun was almost set. Jasmine, without another wisp of doubt, leaped into the dour, relentless chasm. No going back, She whispered softly to herself as if it would matter now. She fell for what seemed like hours, floating in and out of consciousness. Her hair flew upwards, like a giant upside-down waterfall. Her feet stopped beneath her as she suddenly came to a halt. She bent her knees as she landed; that was what Margaret had taught her to do while landing. It still hurt her legs, considering she had been falling for a while, but hey, it could be worse.
She glanced around her to see where she was and took a deep breath in surprise. All around her, green lush trees with immense canopies relaxed in oddly shaped groves. Directly in front of her was a small pond, just big enough for a few koi and goldfish. Light flooded the odd landscape from a source unknown to Jasmine. Where the Hell am I? She whispered, barely audible.

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.

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.

The Summoning

“You have disappointed us, human.” His bellowing voice echoed throughout the entire throne room, bouncing off the marble walls until it reached Jen’s ears again. Authority radiated out from the magnificent god’s corporal body. Jen cowered before the mighty war lord.
“Mr.—um, sir?” Jen whimpered. Spasms shook his arms. Cold sweat and tears mingled on his face, a salt bath that would only worry Jen more.
“Stop. Blubbering,” The god thundered, “We do not give second chances to those who whine.” Jen held his breath, holding back the tears that threatened to cause a downpour. He clutched his eyes closed and nodded his head, knees resting on the frostbitten, stone floor.
“Stop, my brother. Can you not see that the poor boy is absolutely petrified?” The old, wrinkled god spoke for the first time. “We shall let Reason decide the boy’s fate; it is not our place to do so.” The malevolent war god let a wry smile cross his face.
“Who, then brother shall summon her? I wish not to be the victim of her wrath as I was last time. Shall it be you?” Silence took the gray-haired sea god. His blue eyes screamed with worry.
“I shall.” Then he started to chant in a language unknown to Jen. His speaking was slow and whispered. Jen shook with unease. The ancient verses began to take speed. More rapid and loud it became, until it was just short of screaming. A tremor took the massive room, and the words stopped. Absolute quiet haunted the air around Jen.