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I'll just have to try again. Here's the whole chapter. Revisions and all. And if I make more, which I don't think I'll need to, I'll just post them here. 3nodding
CHANGES ARE BOLDED!!!!
Never again. She vowed she’d never give her heart again and here she was, sacrificing the very essense of her being…in a role play. The radio hummed to the beat of the busy computer, perfectly matching the teenager’s lust for love, as her hand flew vigilantly about her pink mouse pad…to the tune of MC Hammer, Can’t Touch This.
It wasn’t change she minded. In the end it was the unknown that came with change, the endless void that left blinking eyes in darkness when light was just beyond a shadowed curtain. The punching hand that clenched about the stomach just before the veil was lifted and squeezed until the eyes bulged and certainty blurred entirely away. The whisper in the desperate ear that a single chance will make it all okay—and when the chance is taken and leaves you falling with every last ounce of faith that there would be someone at the bottom to catch the fall…then at last moment feeling the crush of bone and skin when at the bottom someone decided to flinch. Tira Kline had felt the rug pulled out from underneith of her, the crunch of her own bones and skin, and now she prefered to hide behind the shadowy curtain.
The rain rarely came down in such heavy sheets anymore, but on this night it was collapsing from the sky with the threat that it would never stop. As Tira Kline sat at her computer she sped out 96 words per minute, her fingers seeming to fly along the keyboard. Lightning flashed outside, and Tira forced herself not to flinch. The sound didn’t bother her anymore, and she had learned to handle the light just as well. Her eyes sparkled in the dimmed resolution of the LCD moniter she had recently earned for landing the lead in the most recent play her school had been working on. Tira was no good in musicals, and had always ended up working backstage for their production. She had heard herself sing only a few times, none of which were pleasant—and all of which were more than enough.
‘Why don’t you sing?’
The message on her screen made her smile for a long moment, allowing her eyes to fall to the keyboard for a rare occasion. Tira didn’t smile often, unless it was required on stage, and when she did it was usually reserved. When she sent the message thunder crashed outside again, and a shuddering convulsion rang through her windows, causing the girl to look up. She shuddered; it wasn’t the sound that worried her, it was whether or not her window would hold against it. With a sigh she turned back to her new moniter, noticing a flashing light at the side of her face—there would be no reason to turn off her computer until she power cut.
Ping!
Yet another message, remedied by Tira’s obsessively fast typing, which was nonetheless unheard over the storm. The teenager was not abnormal in her connection to the internet. The oddity of her interaction with it was based in the fact that she spent most of her waking hours when she was not busied by the turmoil of school on her computer, hidden away from the world within the four square walls of her bedroom. She found disdail for those she spent her days with, wishing things could only go back to the way they used to be, clinging to her only connection to the past, with desperation her only solace.
Another ping. Orange flashing light at the bottom of her screen. Click. Type. Enter.
The same routine could flow on for hours at a time. Multiple conversations like this seemed as though being able to talk on three phones at the same time. Tira tried to ignore the fact that she had moved—it had only been a year since they had settled in this place, and she hadn’t begun to consider calling it home. She tried to burry herself in her work and her computer, because it could make her forget what she thought was missing.
CRASH!
The sound came to her ears and she jumped, turning to glare out the window at the storm, frustration pursing her lips. Days like this stymied her—days like this made her remember.
With the moon high in the sky Tira finally turned off her computer and watched her connection to the outside world darken, and with it the world about her. She stepped gently to her bed, climbing in and pulling the sheets close around her shoulders, looking to the ceiling as if it were looking back. Staring up there she could almost imagine she was home.
With a smile she said, “Goodnight.”
As she closed her eyes Tira waited for her mind to numb and allow her to drift off to sleep. The moment came, only minutes later—the heavy creeping deadness that swept over the mind just before sleep did—and in the same instant a voice came to her ears, calling her back.
“Miss? Is something wrong?”
Tira slowly drifted back toward consciousness. She could see bright morning light coming through her eyes but it didn’t seem right. She didn’t want to open them, because opening them meant there was no chance of going back to sleep.
“It’s Saturday…” she groaned, turning her face toward the pillow to hide it from the light.
“Your Highness it is far too late to dally. Especially on a day like this. You are normally up by now. ‘Up before the sun’, you say. Well, the suns up! It is time!” She felt the sheets ripped from her.
For a moment she curled up, cold air flowing over her, chilling her and making her shake. After a time her grip loosened and she allowed herself to sit up and open her eyes, Tira gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth to resist screaming.
“Miss?” The timid voice croaked.
Her eyes widened as she took a glance about the room she was in—the detail was impecable. A small square room of pure hues of white. The bed she was upon was clean and silken-sheeted. All that was otherwise in the room retained the pale hues her eyes had first searched for. The night gown donned upon her was thin and of the same silken material it seemed the sheets had been made of. Air blew in from the open balcony, her gown ruffling in the breeze as she climbed from the bed.
As Tira climbed from the bed, her feet hitting the cold tile and the sound of each slapping step resonating about the room, she made her way from the room and to the railed balcony that extended from it. Below her a garden extended out to the short rows of guarded walls that surrounded the massive building she was within. Winding paths lined with tall flowers and budding plants of all colors. Only a select few trees—each guarded with speculation—were placed strategically about the garden. Statues found themselves about the walls of the building, as if to blend in with its ribbed deep coral colored walls. Another breeze blew stiffly past Tira, slapping her in the chest as if to cause her to squint against it and tighten her grip on the railing she stood against.
All eyes of those working in the garden turned to her, some hands clapping to mouths, “Oh…my god.”
After a long moment to gaze across the garden Tira whirled and jogged back inside, eyes finally falling to the owner of the voice who had first called her conscious in this place. She stood still, looking the girl down and then back up again. Clad in a simple tunic and slippers, long hair pulled to the back of her head the girl appeared to be a maid. And then something came to her eyes, something she’s never seen before…long pointed ears much like those of an Elf.
The word seemed to resonate in Tira’s mind and she felt a wave of confusion wash over her. She’d never had any interest in the medieval times or their mythology. Earth…my dreams are always on Earth…and we don’t have Elfs. She paused a moment longer, looking down and up at the girl before her again. Tira had always been able to distinguish between dream and reality, and was conscious of her dreams as they occurred…but this…
“Your Highness, is something the matter? Would you like me to get your dressings?”
She flushed, her heart pounding and her body rejecting this experience… She ran to the door, flinging it open to see before her a bright hall, of whites and blues. Chandlers hung about every 20 feet down the hall, suspended in the air as if by magic, their candles snuffing out as she watched. Maids, knights, nobles, and invited guests bustled down the hall, many of their ears also pointed as the maid in her room’s ears had been. Everyone looked up at her, each maid tensed as she laid her eyes upon them. She whipped inside, slamming the door.
She turned to the small woman who now stood holding the garments she had picked from the wardrobe on the opposing wall, visibly shaking.
“Where am I?” she hissed, paling more and more by the moment.
It must be a dream, there’s nothing else it could be. Her body so strongly rejected her mind, the idea shocked her that she could be somewhere she was not supposed to be. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door, pressing her fingers into the wood enough to feel the grains and curves of the wood. Calm. I need calm.
As her body slowly allowed her breathing to ease Tira lifted off the door and moved to the maid to reach her arms out for the clothing the girl held. She was received calmly as possible, Two petticoats and a skirt were out on the bed with a tunic and wrap. Tira dressed quickly, strapping on the heavy leather boots lain out with the clothing, and grabbing the cloak incase she would need it, before she went to the door and quickly swung it open.
All eyes fell to staring at her as she walked, though this time she ignored their glances. She touched her chest with a light hand, her heart fluttering anxiously. Even on stage it felt less awkward with so many glancing at her. She wondered why, why the company of this dream were not fading into the background. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Tira Kline intended to find out what.
She walked down the right end of the hallway, turning to glance out the highly arched glass panes. Every inch of the glass was sparkling clean, not a mark on it. There was a simple blue and white—to match the rest of the hall—patterned rug that ran from one end of the hall to the other, stopping in no place. On the other side of the hall were mirrors and doors. Each open door that lead to another hall or room was partially and perfectly covered with a tapestry and hanging silk curtain adding just enough of a shadow to give the people inside the privacy they needed. Each tapestry was ancient, hand-woven and told a story that involved the Elfs and their history.
Tira stared out the windows at the countryside she saw there, surprised at the clarity of the images she saw. Gardens of a rainbow of colorful flowers, and shrubbery decorated and plain, dotted with vistors, beyond it and a short series of heavily guarded walls endless grasslands, which she watched sway as if touched by the lightest breeze. She assumed there must be a town somewhere to match this castle, full of people looking just like the maid she’d met in her room. Elves. Even in her dreams…was it really possible?
She got her answer as she rounded her first corner, slamming blindly into someone and collapsing to the floor.
“I’m sorry!!!” She stammered. The words falling out of her mouth, something she said each time she made a mistake, so common and yet still with feeling.
“Sorry? The Princess Larina? I think this may be the first time in your life you have apologized and been sincere.” She pulled herself from the hall rug, staring straight into the face of another Elf.
The moving window holds with remouse that which always has been displaced with dignity. The ideal memory whispers to the smaller town whose buildings did not tower and lean over their residents as if trees who would forever knip at the ankles of the future as if asking the past to remember. When the wind blows and wraps in its embrace those welcome to its arms there are few who would not call such a place home.
Afternoons in suburban Virginia usually quiet, hidden from the world’s turmoil in areas where the sun’s rays still steeped untainted through open windows. At times they were quite boring, unless—of course—you have somewhere to go. Keith Tucker was going home.
The tall, young wiry-limbed teenager had decided to walk home today. Sweat poured down his limbs in sheets. His body ached and his mind drifted off to desinations far from his home and the safety and shelter of suburban life. He stepped to the door and reached into his pocket for a key to allow him to step inside. The wind blew and he paused, key pressed within the rigid lock, letting the air flow about him as the warm light shone upon him. When the wind died he pulled the key from the lock and replaced it to his pocket.
He swung the door wide and called inside, “Mom! I’m home!”
“Alright Ricky.” She called back. From the living-room, he could hear the smile in her voice. He smiled to himself, rolling his eyes and shooting up the stairs as soon as the door was closed. Everybody’s a critic.
His feet padded heavily on his carpet as he made his way across the room toward his connection to people outside his world. When he pressed the power button he stepped back and watched the moniter for the words Windows XP to read across the screen before turning away and moving to change from his sweat-ridden clothes. When he came back his computer was exactly how he liked it, all three big messangers up so he could see who was on and who wasn’t. His eyes scanned the buddy list, everything seemed in order. Except…where was Tira?
Something hadn’t felt right since this morning, yet he’d never been able to put a finger on exactly what was wrong—he’d woken up from a sound sleep with a knot in his stomach that just wouldn’t go away. He’d been questioning going to the soccer game, but his team needed him—he was sure of that, so he’d gone…and everything had worked out alright.
Yesterday his girlfriend had given him a gift for their six month ‘anniversary’, under the pretense that since their relationship had lasted so long she wanted to get him a present—he hadn’t remembered the date, yet he had played the part of the happy boyfriend that she had bought him the present at all.
He’d taken it from his backpack the day before and sat it, still wrapped, on his dresser—where it proceeded to stare him down until he turned to glance at it with the thought in his mind that he should open it, for her sake. She’d given him one clue as to what the large, obviously heavy object might be—she’d bought it from a pawn shop.
He remembered his hands resting against the heavy red paper, fingers running over the white polka-dot form of the faded paper. He had sat it in his computer chair yesterday and finally today picked it up and sat it in his lap, letting it rest until he found the time to open the parcel. He felt a warmth quickly form at his legs just below the book, consistant as that of a laptop; he looked down at it, eyes locked at its center…feeling his mind drift away, the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears.
Ping!
The noise startled him back; he gasped and jumped from his chair—the book tumbling from his lap and slamming with a thud on the floor. He heard the voice, loud and sounding slightly paniced, “Keith? Are you alright!?”
“Mom, I’m fine!” He called back. The voice didn’t come again. He looked down at the book for a minute, heard another ping and turned his eyes to the computer screen. The message box asked if he would like to accept an instant message with an unknown by the name of ‘dl227091’. He had heard the ‘ping’ of two IM’s, and it was rare that a computer sent more than one—he paused for a moment, eyes locked on the name, and then he accepted.
dl227091: do you know tira kline?
dl227091: do you know tira kline?
KDTucker: Why?
dl227091: do you know tira kline?
KDTucker: Yes, why? Who are you???
dl227091: where is tira?
KDTucker: Is something wrong? Is Tira okay???
dl227091: where is tira?
KDTucker: I don’t know! Is Tira okay?!
dl227091 has signed off
The proverbial knife jutted into Keith’s chest; he could feel the aching tightening from this morning return and the thrum as his heart beat faster. He saw Tira’s face in his mind, closed his eyes against the seeds of darkness. He turned his glance to the starch white ceiling—he could feel the ache in his chest tighten and gasped for breath again. Not only had Tira not been online—she was always online—but she was being asked about by someone who asked questions and gave no answers.
He thought of what she’d been through in the past six months—her life had most litterally been turned upside down, uprooted from her home and everything she knew; Tira went from a small town area not far from Detroit, Michigan to a small town big money area just outside of Louisville, Kentucky. Her mother had out of the blue decided that she wanted the family to start over somewhere new and fresh, and that both daughter was young enough—though Tira was 17 and her son was already studying at the University of Michigan—for it not to effect her immensely. And so they moved away from everything they knew, and Tira hadn’t been the same since.
Tira was without difficulty able to get into the Musical Theatre Magnet Program at the local magnet high school as a way to keep herself busy for the sake of her sanity. From the moment they had first moved in, and begun unpacking boxes full of things that seemed to belong no other place than the home Tira had taken her first steps in she had thrown herself into her work. When she was not studying or doing homework she was online. He hadn’t heard of once beyond school related activities that she’d been out of the house—he assumed there were times when her mother forced her to, but it was rare. Tira had talked to him about how her mom was never home anymore, and her older brother hadn’t contacted the family much since the move—she despised it and talked to Keith about wanting to go home.
He remembered the time she had called him after her boyfriend of two and a half years had broken up with her. The sound of her voice rang in his ears when he felt sad, reminding him to push it away. From the day they broke up onward Keith was always worrying about Tira—her life had fallen apart, he considered. There had not been a day Keith knew her that since the move she had not been online, even with an away message. She wanted everyone to know she was okay, or to think it, even if she wasn’t.
Yet there had never been much he could do…they were only online friends. He’d decided that put limits on what kind of relationship they could have. He had a phone number, but he wasn’t sure if he could call it. She told him she didn’t have a cell phone, but he knew she was lying. There was something about the story that didn’t add up—but he didn’t question her. He looked down—the book was still in its place on the floor but the knife was gone. There was nothing he could do.
Although, he needed a distraction—he was sure he was overreacting and a distraction would pass enough time so that he could wait until Tira would come online and would show him that this was all for nothing. He looked up at the IM again, ‘dl227091 has signed off’, and he wondered who this person was—and what exactly did they want with Tira Kline?
His eyes fell to the polka-dot paper and the book—it prauded his ankles, nipping at his toes…begging him to pick it up. He stooped to the floor and clamped his fingers about its sides, turning it over in his hands as he returned to his seat, pulling open the paper in one shredding streak across the tape that ran through its center. When he pulled it off to the side, it tumbled to the floor, and he turned the item around, staring at it again. The leather text item within his hands, the anniversary gift, had been a book. Old leather, faded in only certain spots where it was to be held. At its center a metal clasp rung, with a symbol of the trinity enclosed—bearing the colors of a glassy yellow, blue, and green. He raised a hand to the trinity, eyes still held upon it, pulling on it to break it from the rest of the leather strap about the book. The clasp didn’t lift. He tugged again, and nothing. He turned the book over, looking for a key hole, perhaps a key, to unlock the book—again, nothing.
Keith stooped to pick up the wrapper, looking inside to see a small dark substance inside. He reached in and pulled it out, finding in his hands a key—but then, where was the key hole??? When he turned the large text over again he saw it…in the center of the trinity…a key hole. Keith pressed the key between his fingers, and pushed it into the lock. As he began to turn it a bright blast of light errupted from the upper most triangle of the trinity, the yellow triangle. Keith gasped, but his hand kept turning the key—as the sound of the key clicking in the lock reached his ears the light was gone as if it had never come.
He blinked, looking at the lock, watching it tip and fall open. A thin sheet of clean parchment paper stared back at him. He lifted a hand to it, raised it and turned it slowly. The next page was empty as the first. He waited, confused, but nothing came. After a moment Keith lifted his hand again and turned another sheet of parchment paper. He turned again, and stopped, his breathing becoming labored…nothing, again.
“Why is there nothing?! This can’t just be a ******** diary!” He asked outloud, his voice sharp, twisted with anger.
And then, as he asked, the words began to materalize before him…and a voice whispered in his ear…a voice he did not recognize… “As I stand, the Scions of Earth have begun to seal the evil we have fought so long to destroy. Before me, the King and his only surviving child watch in awe. Behind me, the remaining seventy-three citizens of the Elven Kingdom watch and wait for their lives to begin to return to the normality we all crave so desperately. They cling to the hope, for we have little left to cling to. Their fine silks and mail have been reduced to naught but tenuous rags, grasping their sweat soaked bodies in a tight and almost caring embrace…”
He breathed heavily, and the words began to spill upon the pages as a hand would spell them, “On their knees around me a small sea of people has begun to pray with the Scions. They have spoken their final words to one another, and begun the spell. An encircled Trinity surrounds the three and bands of light have begun to shoot from the triangular symbol that rests between the them. Their lips move but the voice that emerges is not their own. I will record these words as I hear them.
‘Flesh of man, body of Mer, reform in the Kingdom of the Sea. Take your Castle. Rebuild your Kingdom. Take this punishment we feel fit to bestow upon your kind eternally in retribution for the rebirth of your people. The Demonic creatures with whom you destroyed all of Man will rest within your Waters. Your Waters will reawaken. You will reawaken and take the burden. I call upon thee. AWAKEN.’
The water glows.”
Keith’s eyebrows turned downward, he asked again out loud, “What?!”
The words spilled forward again, “ ‘Creatures of Land, Man and Elf, your burden will be a obstinate one as well. You will be the Protectors and the Guides of the Scions. The Order of Druid will come forth once again. The Philosophers and Scions will be the only reach to the Goddess. For the first hundred years of your existence, newly reborn Man will take adamant determination to survive. If your Race dies, the Goddess will not revive it. You will reawaken and take the burden. I call upon thee. AWAKEN.’
The light begins to envelope the Scions as they speak their last spell in a language I do not understand. A warmth and brightness erupts from the Trinity.
They are gone.”
“WHO!?”
After a long pause the last words scrolled at the edge of a last page… “--Scribe Romayne of the reign of King Jaxon II” The voice faded into the background, and a warm yellowish light clouded the words on the pages of the scripture Keith held. He watched them dissapear and in their place a single declaration in a script he could hardly understand appeared before him.
Enter
He read the word, mesmerized by its appearance.
“Enter…”
And he did.
 animepurinsesu · Thu Apr 19, 2007 @ 09:29pm · 6 Comments |
