another short

Alright, this week was so much more busy than I expected. I didn't get more than a page written in the Rebellious Spy. My apologies, but it happens. In it's place I present the other short I wrote for my creative writing class. Not going to lie, it's depressing, but I was practicing one character in one place. This is about emotions that whip through us and how often we make mistakes about the sitituation. I'm not going to ask you to enjoy this. Just read and ponder. What will you get out of this story?
*******
Casualties of War

Kevin woke up slowly; he noticed few things as he finally came around. He was laying on something hard, but not ground hard. A cot? And the air was cool. His thoughts felt thick in his head and slow to move. He tried to remember what had happen. A memory flashed behind his closed eyes. He was standing on a stone battlement, watching as an army threw themselves at the outer wall of the fort they were sent to defend.

“That’s right, I was fighting.” The enemy had climbed the wall with ladders; there had been too many of them to stop completely. The memory was broken as he remembered the fight begin. He could see dead men’s faces as he sliced through them with his ax. Then he saw another face, one important to him. His brother had fallen, his leg shot and blood was spraying from his thigh where the arrow jutted out. Kevin remembered as he fought his way to Jason’s side. Just as he had reached him, something hit him from behind and then blackness.

Finally, Kevin opened his eyes. He saw a ceiling above him, though the room seemed dimly lit. “Where am I?” Grimacing, he sat up cautiously and looked around the bare room. Except for his cot, the small room was deprived of anything else, even a chamber pot. There was, however, a door.

Kevin stared at the door. That was where the light was coming from; from the crack at the floor. It flickered, an even flicker of someone walking. There were people on the other side.

“Then why am I not hearing them?” Kevin frowned and slid his feet onto the cold stone floor. He supposed it was because of the blow to the head. He had heard old soldiers talk about ringing or deafness after such a hit.

Testing his legs as he stood, he found he could support his weight, though he did have to throw his arms out to balance himself. Once he was sure he would not fall, he went for the door. For some reason he could not explain, he was afraid of what could be behind that door. Telling himself he was being a fool he took the five steps to it, grasped the handle, and started to turn it.

It stopped.

Kevin froze as the chill went through his body, his mind racing. He tired again to turn the handle but it refused to move pass that one spot. “No,” he whispered, shameful tears streaming from his eyes He rattled the unmovable handle. “No.” Sobbing, he thudded his head on the door. He knew what a locked door meant. No ally would do this to him. He was a prisoner of war.

“Think!” he demanded of himself. “You’re still alive; they must want something from you.” It could be ransom. He was, after all, the second son of High Councilor Rod Koon, head advisor to the king. It had been a year since he last spoke with his father, but he was still important enough for a ransom. And unlike his older brother, he was easy to spot even in the heat of battle. He was the one with the orange hair.

“They must have Jason too,” Kevin realized. It was no secret the two brothers had joined the army together when war was declared against the invading nation and stayed by each other’s side. “That’s it. They’re holding us for ransom.” He couldn’t stand much longer with the nerves though. Shaking as if the cold had taken him, he returned to the cot and sat. He slouched and rubbed his face, resigning himself to wait. Sooner or later, they would come tell him of their plans for him.

The buzzing began in his ears. “At least I’ll be able to hear again.” It was a strange thought. He was being held against his will and he was glad he would hear again? Kevin almost smiled; he certainly had his priorities set strait.

After the buzzing faded, another noise replaced it: screaming. He couldn’t tell how many voices cried out in pain. He flinched at the sound of agony, wishing momentarily he had lost his hearing. He tried to ignore it; he almost succeeded until he heard a scream he recognized. A scream he usually heard in the heat of battle, not with that sound of pain.

“Jason,” he whispered, his eyes wide with shock. They were torturing him! His brother, a man more important than he was. He wanted to beat against the door, yell for his brother, but the sounds of Jason’s pain chained him to the spot with fear.

Then suddenly his brother’s screams stopped. There was silence for a minute until the screaming of other men began again. But Kevin couldn’t hear them, neither did he care. He sat there, stunned, one thought running over and over in his mind. “They killed him. THEY KILLED MY BROTHER!” He knew then, he would not be kept alive. They would kill him; they had no intentions of letting either of them live.

“I will not die at their hands like this!” Kevin popped the top button off of his coat and broke it open. His father had called it insurance when he gave it to his sons, in case they were ever caught. Kevin rolled the death pill between his fingers. His father did not want his sons to die in painful ways; this was a quick end. Jason had gotten rid of his, joking that he would never be caught. Kevin had pretended to follow his brother’s example, but he kept it. He didn’t want to die by torture. Steeling himself, he threw the white pill into his mouth and clamped his own jaw shut. He forced himself to swallow it. He felt it as it went down his throat. Breathing deeply, he waited for the end.

Kevin didn’t feel the seizure as it took him. He didn’t feel the floor as he threw himself from the cot. His head banged against the stone floor, a constant repeating of pain damaging his brain. His heartbeat doubled, sending fresh pain through his shuttering body. Kevin could vaguely hear a cry from the door. It had opened. He could not see the person who grabbed his head, trying to keep him still. Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes staring towards the final freedom.
************
Jason cradled the head of his dead brother, weeping over the body twisted by the seizure. The doctor who had admitted him into Kevin’s room stood by the door, watching the scene. He too was bent with sorrow.

“I am sorry,” the doctor said, finally walking to his side. He pried Jason from his brother’s body and helped him into a wheeled chair. Jason turned his head away from Kevin and the stump that was now his leg. He had blacked out when they had amputated his leg. He just regained consciousness and wished to see his brother.

“Now he’s dead.” Jason remembered the battle they had won. He had received the fatal wound in his leg when his brother came to protect him. Kevin had been hit across the head by an enemy, but the reinforcements came before they could be taken captive.

Jason remembered the conversation he had with the doctors before they took him into the operating room. They had advised putting Kevin into this room for him to recover from the blow. They had also locked the door so no one would accidentally stuff dead bodies and disregarded limbs in with him. Jason had agreed; the rooms were filling at a disturbingly fast rate.

“How?” he demanded of the doctor. He wanted to stand and tower over the man, but that advantage was lost to him. “How did he die? He was just fine when he was put in here.”

“My guess,” the doctor said, kneeling down and checking Kevin’s dead eyes, “is that the blow affected his head. It happens sometimes. A strong enough blow can make people have seizures. And sometimes, those seizures are the killing type. There was nothing we could have done.”

Jason gaze returned to his brother’s body, his orange hair sticking out like it always did. “You’re wrong,” he whispered to himself. There was something they could have done. Turning his chair from the doctor, Jason rolled himself out of the room.

There was only one thing he could do: take revenge. Jason wheeled himself down the hall; his tears had dried and his expression hardened. He would make the enemy bleed for their crimes. They would know his pain of his loss before he was done with them.
******
This is not a story to enjoy but to make you think. Tell me, what were your reaction to this short? I'm curious. Well, I will try to get more written in the Rebellious Spy, but no promises. Time to go enjoy the rest of Sunday.

How about a short?

Back when I introduced the Dawmeria Soul, I said something of the effect that during the editing process I'd often look back and think to myself: "What was I thinking when I wrote that?" Well, I looked at the next eight pages of Dawmeria and thought the same thing, despite the fact I've already edited it. Sigh. I guess editing is never done. But I promised to post something today. I can't take time to edit either Rynna's or Martin's stories, so... How about a short instead?

I wrote this a couple of years ago in an Appreciation of Literature class. We were told to pick a random poem and write a short one act play. Here's the poem:

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes
By Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When the love is gone.

Well, I didn't completely agree with the poem. I'd explain, but it's in the play. You'll laugh! You'll cry! You're heart will be warmed! On with the play!

Thousand Stars of Love

Dramatis Personae
Mandy Holly

[On a porch in the dim light of evening, a young woman sits. She sways gently in the hanging chair and stares off into the darkening sky. She is unaware of her surroundings; the cool night air, the potted plants hanging from the roof, the crickets’ chirping, and the sound of distant traffic are all lost to her. Dressed in just a t-shirt and jeans, she is a rather attractive young woman, but her face is streaked with tears. In her hands, she holds a stack of letters, and often she glances down at them. A loud sound from inside the white-washed house does not even make her jump. A voice of another woman calls from the house]

Holly: Mandy? [Inside the home, there is the sound of banging. Holly groans and fumbles with the door knob. Finally she opens the door and steps out onto the porch. Holly is the same age as Mandy, but her attire is that of a business woman. She is rubbing her leg, her face grimaced in pain. She glares at Mandy.] Gosh, Mandy, couldn’t you turn a light on? Your house is a maze in the best of light.

Mandy: Oh [Sighing] sorry. I didn’t know you were coming.

[Holly snorts and walks over to sit next to Mandy.]

Holly: You should know me better. I came just as soon as I heard the news. [Sits.] And that wasn’t easy, you know. My boss is going to be hysteric tomorrow when he learns I left the office early.

Mandy: You didn’t have to come. [Mandy glances down at her letter again and a sob escapes from her lips.] I’m sorry. I’ve just had a hard day. [Mandy begins to cry and holds the letters close to her chest. Holly’s face softens and she puts her arm around her friend.]

Holly: There, there. I’m so sorry to hear about Mike. I know how much you were looking forward to marrying him. [When Mandy doesn’t answer, Holly frowns as she tries a different way to comfort her grieving friend. Her eyes are drawn towards the letters Mandy is clutching.] Are those from Mike?

Mandy: [She nods]. Yes. He wrote them when he was in Iraq. He said it was more romantic to send a letter than an e-mail. [She pauses to give a short bitter laugh] It’s ironic, you know. He survived the dangers of war only to die on the interstate at home.

Holly: He shouldn’t have bought that motorcycle.

[They become silent and listen to the sounds of evening. Holly looks up into the night sky.]

Holly: The stars are coming out.

Mandy: So? Without Mike… [She sobs again then takes in a deep breath before going on.] You wouldn’t understand.

Holly: Mandy [her tone slightly annoyed]. We’ve known each other for years now. I’d think I’d understand.

Mandy: [Shaking her head] No, I don’t think you do. You’ve never loved anyone before.

Holly: [Frowning] Have too. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you.

Mandy: But it’s not the same kind of love. [Her face becomes thoughtful. When she speaks, her words come slowly] I read a poem once, by Bourdillon, I think. It compared the stars to the mind and the sun to love and how the light of day is gone with the setting of the sun. Then it says that the light of life dies when the love is gone… Admit it, Holly, you’re the thinker, you’re always coming up with solutions to problems… But love… It’s so immense and beautiful and life encompassing, that when it’s gone… there’s not much reason left to live.

Holly: [Holly’s eyes go wide and she sits up tall. Her tone is firm.] Don’t you start talking about suicide. One tragedy is enough.

Mandy: There’s nothing left for me, Holly. [She begins to sob.] And you can’t fix this for me. Like the stars in the sky, you see solutions to every problem but love. It’s like the sun. You can’t replace it.

[Holly frowns and leans back against the swaying chair. She thoughtfully regards the night sky. She realizes her friend is seriously thinking of killing herself and she is determined to talk her out of it]

Holly: I think you might be wrong about that. About replacing the sun.

Mandy: How so? I’ve just lost Mike, Holly. The sun of my world is gone, and I only see darkness. There is nothing left.

Holly: Look up there. [She points up to the now dark sky where the stars are glittering.] Our sun is just like those stars up there. They all provide light. I don’t think that love is just so much as our sun as it is one of those stars.

Mandy: I don’t follow you… What are you trying to say?

Holly: Love is like the stars. There are thousand of things we can love, our homes, our careers, our families…. But we only focus on a few. And sometimes, we focus so much on just the one star, it does become our sun. So when the star that was your sun is gone, you really fail to see all the other stars of love.

[Mandy stares at her friend, her mouth slightly open. Holly stands up and walks down the steps down to the grass. She turns to look at her stunned friend. She swings her arm above her head.]

Holly: You have thousands of stars to love, Mandy. I can name mine. [She begins to point to different stars.] I call that star my love of the flowers in the spring. That star is for color of leaves in the fall. [Mandy stands up, starts down the steps and stands next to Holly] There’s the star for the smell of rain after a storm. The star for fresh fallen snow is right next to it. There I can see my love for music. And that star, right there, is for my pillow! [They both laugh. Finally, Holly slowly moves her arm and points to a star just above Mandy’s home.] And that star is you.

Mandy: Me? [She considers the star, her face showing surprise.] A star… just for me?

Holly: Of course. [She smiles and hugs her friend tightly.] No matter what happens or where we are, I’ll always have a star for you. [Mandy smiles slightly and gaze at the star again. Tears glisten in her eyes again, but this time, the tears are of joy.]

Mandy: And the star right next to it is Mike. I miss him, but now [Hesitates then slowly continues.] I have a star for him. I’d think he’d like that. [With tears glistening in her eyes, Holly wraps her arm around Mandy’s shoulder. They both gaze at the two stars.]

Holly: I think he will too.

Curtain.

Starting out

Welcome!
For those of you who don't know, the only reason I'm starting this blog is so that I show those who are interested the things I have written. This last year, I participated in the event NaNoWriMo, or known as National Novel Writing Month. It was a challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. And I'm proud to say that I finished (though, not the story itself. I just said I got to 50,000 words, not the end). After telling some people about my success, they said they wanted to read what I have written. Now I had a problem.

First was that I wasn't sure if I wanted anyone to read my first draft (the point of NaNoWriMo was to get some writing down, not to have something ready for print). I warned people that it was a rough draft and that there were things that really needed to be fixed. They said they didn't mind. By this point, I had reached my second problem. There were too many people who wanted to read it. I didn't know how to get it out to everyone. Some people suggested that I just do a large email, or post it on Facebook. Seemed like too much hassle for me, so I decided that I would start a blog instead to showcase my accomplishment.

I've finally gotten around to having a minute to start this, so let me explain how I'm going to work this. I'll try to post something every week (we'll see how far that gets, now won't we?). The posts won't be more than ten pages (maybe longer if it works to stop farther along in the story). The reason I'm not posting it all at once is because I know how busy life can get and I don't want anyone to get wrapped up in it all (it's also an excellent excuse to do some revising and more writing). Also, it might not always be from my NaNowriMo book. I actually have about five different story ideas I'm working on, three of which that have made it to my computer. So, if I'm working non-stop on something else (like school work...) I'll just post something from these other stories. Besides, a little variety never hurts, right? :P

My first post will be a short story I wrote for my creative writing class from last semester. It's my character's debut to the real world. I wanted to see if he could make it outside my imagination. Thankfully, he did. For a disclaimer on future posts, this is a short story and I had to write it so it would be short (the teacher stopped grading at page nine), so his background is different in the actual book than in this short, but the characters are the same.

I hope you enjoy the journey! The floor is yours, Martin!

The Meaning of Success

Martin moved in the shadows cast by the large shipping crates, careful to make sure he wasn’t seen. Glancing up, he saw no one up in the dark rafters of the seaside warehouse, or in the manager’s office built up there. Being seen meant a beating at the hands of enraged thieves. They could kill him. Those angry thugs would reason that no one would miss a stray orphan. Martin narrowed his eyes at the thought.

It had been the same attitude of the rough street gangs of Nacre, the capital of Aeterna. He had been at the bottom of the Street Order. There was no one to stand up for him, no one to vouch for him, a street urchin who couldn’t even remember his parents’ faces or the fire that took their lives. The gangs always thought of him as a possible traitor, someone whose wavering loyalties could be sold for food. Being seen meant a beating to ensure he wouldn’t talk. At times, they almost killed him, but they didn’t care. No one would miss a stray orphan.

And that’s what the spy masters thought when they took him off the streets and into the Aeternan Spy Network. Martin was perfect for the job. He was plain looking enough to pass as most anyone. There was nothing that could tie him to any one place or person. He was also adventurous and feared very little; he had to be to survive. The attitude he had when he was ten had allured the spies enough to take him away. And after five years of harsh training and finally considered old enough to work, he was given his first mission.

Martin checked his surroundings again. He must not been seen by those thieves. The orders for his first mission were simple enough at first glance. Get in, steal back the box, and get out. He was told there would be a distraction large enough to create confusion. In the confusion, he was supposed to get the box; whatever it was. Martin had asked what was in it. The response was sharp. It was not to be left in their hands.

Once he was sure no one was in the rafters or with him among the darkened halls of crates, he crept toward to the dim light casting the shadows he used. Martin strained to hear something other than the sea outside the warehouse. He stopped when he heard the voices.

“The price is too low,” a man grunted. “After all that risk I took, I deserve more!”

“And you will have it,” said a soft voice. Martin shivered. Anyone who talked with that soft confidence was dangerous. “But first, I need to see it.”

Martin risked moving closer; stepping so the wood floor did not groan under his bare feet. He hid himself behind the closest crate before carefully looking around. The light came from a lone lantern hanging from the rafter shining down on the five men standing in a loose circle. The man whose back was to him held a thin box that was not even a foot long, opening just enough to peek inside it. He snapped it shut.

“Good,” the man said in the same soft tone. “Your money will be here once our ship arrives.”

“And when will that be?” the first man snapped. The second man chuckled.

“Soon enough,” he answered smugly, placing the thin box on the crate Martin was hiding behind. “Won’t be too long now.”

“Soon enough? How soon is that?” Martin scowled as he eased himself back into the shadows. He was promised that the distraction would happen before midnight. Now, he wasn’t sure if they were going to make it in time. The plan was in serious jeopardy if it didn’t come soon.

“Get in, steal back the box, and get out.” His orders still stood. That box was not to be left in their hands.

Martin looked around the storehouse again, this time searching for something to help him in this theft. He heard the clinking of bottles. Cautiously looking back out again, he saw the five men sharing a drink, none of them paying any attention to the box. He knew a chance when he saw it.

He moved gradually into the light, trying to keep one eye on the thieves and one eye on the box. He took slow breaths to calm himself just as he was taught. He had to avoid anything that might alert them to his presence. Cautiously, he reached out and grasped the box. His fingers were secure around its grainy texture as he brought it close to him. He flinched as one of the thieves laughed.

“Time to go,” he thought, stuffing it down his shirt. He turned to rejoin the shadows.

“Hey!”

The voice startled him. Looking back, Martin saw one of the thugs pointing at him. The others turned to where he was pointing, their faces contorted with rage.

“GET HIM!”

Martin didn’t waste his breath cursing. He ran. Behind him, the thugs were nosily giving chase, their hard soled boots getting closer. The window he had used to get in was getting close. He wanted to laugh when he saw the open window. A thief suddenly threw himself before him. Martin skidded to a stop, his heels burning.

“Nowhere to hide,” the man sneered, pulling a knife from inside his sleeve.

Martin frantically looked around for an escape. “There!” The stairs leading up to the office. Gritting his teeth, he ran for them and took the steps two at a time. He could hear the thieves yell at his sudden change of direction. He knew he didn’t have much time left before they caught him.

There was a door at the top. Yanking it open, he darted inside and locked the door. Turning around, he saw a window on the opposite side of the office. He dashed to it, ignoring the thieves as they banged on the door. Martin halted at the window. Below, the sea churned in an angry way. He took a step back. It wasn’t because he was afraid of the ocean. The drop to the sea, however, scared him. He never had liked heights.

Martin spun around when the thugs finally broke the door in. He watched warily as they formed a half circle to prevent his escape. The man with the soft voice, his face hidden by the light behind him, took a step forward.

“Be a smart boy,” he said in that calm, dangerous tone. “Give the box back and you won’t be hurt.” Martin hesitated; he had no desire to die.

“It is not to be left in their hands.” His orders still stood. He gritted his teeth again.

“I hate heights,” he muttered. Before he could give himself second thoughts, he jumped through the window, shattering the glass. The fall was as horrible as he knew it would be. He screamed, closing his eyes tight. His limbs waved around him, trying to find something solid but knowing there were none. Those few seconds in the air felt like an eternity.

His scream was cut off as he hit the freezing water, the air forced from his lungs. Martin was submerged for a moment before he broke the water’s surface. Coughing the water from his lungs, he barely heard the yells from the warehouse. He knew he had no time to waste. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the choppy surface again and swam towards land. There was a dock there; he could hide under it.

His hands moved swiftly in the murky waters, fingers grasping at the cold liquid, searching for anything. The longer he swam, the more desperate he became. What if he had went in the wrong direction? Smack! His hand stung at impact but he didn’t care. Taking grasp of the pole, he used it as a guide to the surface above. He tried not to gasp as he found air again. Glancing up, Martin saw the dock he had been looking for. Unfortunately, the thieves were on the dock, cursing as they tried to look for him in the tossing sea.

“You there!” a gruff voice commanded. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s get out of here,” a thief said, his voice scared. The thugs began to run back to shore, the planks groaning under them.

“Stop!” the voice demanded. Several hard boots followed after the retreating thieves.

“There’s my distraction,” Martin muttered, resting his head on the post with a thud. Of course the police would have been tipped about the thieves. The police of Evan’s Stand were harsh when it came to smugglers; the sea port’s prison was full of them. They could deal with the thieves. He could only chuckle at that as he felt his chest for the box. He gasped when his fingers found nothing.

It was gone!

Martin desperately patted himself, shocked. Taking a deep breath, he went under again, despite the fact he could hardly see his hands in front of his face. He only came up when his lungs burned for air. It was hopeless, he knew as he stared out over the murky waters. It was lost to the sea forever. His feelings were worse than the jump and fall. Something he wished he would never have to admit to.

He had failed.

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

Martin sat by the side of the road outside of Evan’s Stand, waiting for a spy master to pick him up. He leaned against a tree, shading his eyes with a hand as he checked the sun’s position in the sky. It was almost noon; the spy should have been here already. He was sure it was some sort of punishment for him. He had lost the box. Some of the spy masters thought he was too young, this only proved their point. This was his first mission and he had failed. No doubt they would reduce him back to basic training.

“Well, aren’t you a sorry sight.”

Martin reluctantly sat back up, expecting a harsh lecture. He froze when he saw the man standing before him, his arms folded across his chest. He was an older man, with a short beard and hair graying with age. But Martin knew this man by reputation. He was Doug Suit, the Spy Master.

“Sir,” he said, scrambling to his feet and saluting. “It’s an honor.” He bowed his head in defeat. “I’m sorry.” He felt his stomach drop at what he had to tell the Spy Master. “I failed.”

Suit snorted. “Failed?”

“Yes.” Martin wished he could be anywhere but here admitting his failure. And to the Spy Master himself! “I lost the box.”

“No, Martin,” he said firmly. “You did not fail.”

He finally looked up, confused. “Sir?”

“Your orders were that it was not to be left in their hands,” Suit explained. “You did just that. It is lost, no one will use it. If I had my way, that’s what should have happened to it in the first place.”

Martin blinked in surprise. The Spy Master would not have a casual conversation with any fresh spy. Something else was going on here.

“Come,” Suit said, sharply turning away and walking down the road. Martin followed with a frown. What was happening?

“Where are we going, sir?” he finally managed to ask.

“To begin your training,” the older man said with a grin. “Oh, not the normal training. Something more. You’ve proven yourself here, Martin. You’re a quick thinker when the plan went wrong. You need something more to match your skills. From this day on, your training will be mine alone.”

Martin stopped in his tracks, stunned. No. More than stunned. Shocked. Suit’s grin only widened at the reaction.

“You’ve proven yourself,” he repeated. “Success does not mean just doing a job and giving up at the first signs of trouble, it means doing everything you can to do get the job done. You have great potential and I’m going to make sure you reach it. Come, you have a lot to learn before I’m done with you.”

Martin followed in a daze. He was the Spy Master’s apprentice! An honor most would give their lives for. The implications of it suddenly brightened Martin up. No one could consider him an unfortunate orphan again.

“Sir,” he ventured again, testing his new position. “What was in the box?”

The Spy Master chuckled. “You’re not old enough yet. I’ll tell you, though. Someday.”

“Someday,” Martin mused as he walked behind Suit. Already, he wondered how he could convince the Spy Master that “someday” was sooner than he thought.


(Surprisingly, no one in my class complained that they didn't know what was in the box.)