The Original Works of Casey Jewels - Lucky

I have a thread for RP Shorts and for Fanfics, but none for my original works. As such, I’m creating one now. These first few I’ve transferred from my RP Shorts thread, for they fit here better as they are my own characters in their own respective universes, instead of being based on actual RPs and their plots.

So, read on, if you wish to read some of my original works.

Here's Number 1 in the 100 Themes Challenge. This piece has to do with one of my villains, who made an appearance in the Hell Angels and The Will RPs, but has been in existence much longer than that.





The three-year-old's wide grey eyes took in everything around him--the large desk with the computer on it, the papers of battle plans and such taped up on the walls, the blood red carpet that had a trail of dried mud draped across it, the piles of papers and books on the desk--and then settled on the man behind the desk.

His name was Commander Lamuel Hastings. He was getting on in his years--a fact that was made obvious by his graying hair and crinkled eyes--but that did nothing to diminish his abilities as a commander of the Intergalactic Army, or IA. In fact, it was his years of experience that had kept the fight going on this planet for so long. His crisp, stormy grey uniform was decked in all sorts of medals--proof of his abilities. Most of those medals were from before this war, and one or two were from battles fought on this very planet. But yet, the young boy had seen this man make mistakes before, so he knew that those medals meant nothing.

At the moment, Commander Hastings was deeply absorbed in what one of his scouts was telling him, with his head resting on his clasped hands. The boy, whom was known as Ken to those in the base, was interested as well, but he didn't show it at all. He just quietly sat in the corner, sucking his thumb and driving a toy hovercraft around.

The scout, a young man by some unimportant name, wore his camo uniform proudly, even though it was tattered and covered in dust and grime. This had been his first mission and, even though he brought bad news, it had been a success. The dry mud trail led to his boots.

The Commander's stern blue eyes were focused on the scout, and nothing more, just as the scout was focused on nothing more but the Commander and his report. Ken might as well have not existed, for all the attention they paid him. But the young boy didn't mind, not really.

He was an observer, a creature of the shadows, a darke mage. He enjoyed skulking about, learning things that he wasn't meant to know. And he found it very entertaining to see exactly what he could do with that information. Sometimes it was things mischievous in nature, while other times it was things that were downright evil. And that was the very reason the young boy was here, for this was the best place in the base to learn information at the moment.

"The army numbers one thousand," the scout was saying, summing up his report. "Their mission is suicidal. They're going to attack here in three days, at dawn." With this, he fell silent, his report finished.

The Commander nodded, but didn't say a word.

Ken made the hovercraft do a flip and then had it dive towards the ground. The people in the car were screaming in terror, but their screams did nothing but excite him. They were growing close to breaking. But, even as he played his little game, his mind was soaking in everything the two men said. The enemy was sending one thousand troops to their death. There had to be a reason; there was always a reason.

"What do you think we should do, Commander?" the scout asked, breaking the silence. But still the Commander said nothing, deep in thought as he stared at the wall.

Ken pulled the car up a split-second before it hit the carpet and then gently dropped it to the ground. This time the prisoners in the car didn't cry out, for they were all too scared to make even the smallest noise.

The solution was an easy one. The troops were obviously testing the strength of this base. So, it was best to cut the forces here in half, maybe even more. Then, when the troop of a thousand attacked, the IA would have a narrow victory. That would boost the enemy's confidence, thus leading them to be less careful with the second attack--the real attack. Plus, they would bring in a large army, a larger one than they would need. He had studied the ongoing war before, so he knew exactly what to expect from the enemy. The dictator, Jex Tybalt, enjoyed crushing others into oblivion. So that would be what Tybalt would try to do here--create a massacre.

But it wouldn't be a massacre, because the rest of the IA troops would show back up as soon as the attack started. Then the IA would crush them, instead of the other way around.

"Ken."

The young boy looked up at the Commander, slightly surprised that he had been noticed. But the surprise couldn't be seen on the outside, for an emotionless mask covered his young face.

"Go find Annabelle for me."

Ken scooped up his hovercraft toy, shoved it in his pocket, and then calmly walked out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with Lieutenant Annabelle. He slipped into the room behind her, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The boy genius wanted to hear what the three adults came up with; he wanted to see if they were smart enough to come up with the same plan as he had.

But then, as he glanced at the Commander, he realized that the man already had a plan in mind. That thought was confirmed when the older man spoke.

"Lieutenant Annabelle, I want you to alert every able body in this base to be ready to fight in three days time. But tell them to be inconspicuous about it. I don't want the enemy chickening out before they get close enough to kill."

Ken let out a small sigh at this piece of news and slipped back out of the room with his thumb in his mouth once more. He had learned all he needed to know. In less than a week's time, this base would belong to Jex Tybalt. And Ken was never wrong when it came to things like this--never.

---

This story is actually a rather interesting one, if you know the story behind it. I was trying to figure Ken out, and make him into an amazing villain (because I stink with villains), but I couldn't get into his head. So I decided to write a story dealing with his childhood, thus this story was born. But then, in the course of writing this story, I discovered that the IA base had to fall, which completely rewrote the history of the war. So..., this story actually complicated things, instead of simplifying them. But it did help me to get inside his head, so I guess that it did serve its purpose.

Here’s Number Four in the 100 Themes challenge. This one has to do with Siv and Zaroff, who made an appearance in the A Pirate’s Life for Me RP, though they have both been around longer than that.

Siv was inspired by this picture:
http://flowerlarkstudios.com/
(^Click for link to awesome site of artist)



Zaroff first became aware of her existence when he arrived at the seaport early that morning. The small crowd gathered near one of the docks warned him that there was something out of the ordinary to see, but he didn’t give it much though. He was a busy man—one with a full schedule and no time to spare.

He needed transport for his traveling troupe, and he needed it now. They had made poor time coming here, and were now in danger of missing their next performance. And Zaroff was never a man to disappoint.

The finely dressed man made his way towards one of the finer looking vessels, deciding to start at the top and work his way down. He met the captain at the bottom of the boarding plank, and the two of them began to talk. After he was done there, he moved on to the next ship, and the next. But each captain had the same two things to say. Each mentioned the amazing little child that the crowd was gathered around. And each would inform him that they weren’t leaving soon enough, or their ship was full, or they weren’t headed in the right direction.

Finally, annoyed at all of the talk about the little girl, Zaroff decided to go pay her a visit. His brown boots made hardly a sound as they hit the ground, and his dark blue cape, which was spotted with bright yellow stars, swirled about him. The magician slipped through the small crowd, and then stopped short.

She was young—younger than he had expected. And she wasn’t human. Not human… Zaroff’s brown eyes swept over her lithe body, catching every difference between her and a normal child. Her ears, which poked out of her flowing dark blue hair, were like a canine’s. Her teeth seemed sharper, and her canines were fangs. Her skin was a light brown, and seemed almost… fuzzy in appearance. And her eyes… They were violet, but the unusual color wasn’t what concerned him—it was the feral look hidden within them, underneath the joy, and the intelligence.

He stared at her for several moments, his carefully composed face hiding his true thoughts and feelings. She wasn’t human. Sure, he knew that there were other kinds of intelligent races out there, but they weren’t a threat. This girl… Her bare feet went this way and that in a wild dance. A tambourine shook about and banged against her body, adding to the magic of her dance. Her oversized blue shirt fell clear down to the ground, but it didn’t trip her up at all. Her movements were graceful beyond belief; she was floating on air. He had never seen anything like her before.

Then her dance ended, and she gave a small curtsy when the crowd applauded for her. A few threw her a coin or two, which she eagerly gathered up and then placed in a small pouch behind her, but most of the crowd wandered off as they suddenly recalled the reason that they were at the port. Zaroff stayed for a moment longer, staring down at the strange child. She turned then, and her eyes met his. They stared at each other for a moment, curiosity shining in their eyes, and then the lupine child tore her gaze away, and started up her next dance.

Zaroff walked away from her then, but he knew that that would not be the last he saw of her, nor the last she saw of him. He had seen something in her that most people wouldn’t bat an eye about—potential. She was something different, something special, and that was what attracted him to her. She would make an excellent addition to his troupe…

Zaroff tore himself from his thoughts as he came upon an old weathered captain. The captain was coming down off of his ship, two pistols at his side. Zaroff waited patiently, his keen eyes studying the bearded sailor. The old man limped as he walked and his face was strewn with lines, but Zaroff knew that this was a man that could be counted on. This captain had been through much, and had gained much knowledge because of it.

“You needin’ a ride?” the captain asked in his quiet, but authority-filled voice.

Zaroff nodded. “Yes, sir. I have a traveling troupe of fifteen, including myself.” His gaze drifted back towards where the… lupine child was dancing. “Make that sixteen,” he said as he turned back to face the captain.

“Yar goin’ take the little tyke?” the Captain asked. He tried to seem uninterested in the answer, but curiosity lingered in his eyes.

“I need to be at the Emden Port by tomorrow afternoon, preferably tomorrow morning. Can you get my troupe there by then?”

The Captain chuckled and shook his head. “I won’t be ‘eady to take off until tonight, except there’s a storm brewin’ ‘or this e’ening. Nobody’s foolish enough to go venturin’ out in that. I’m takin’ off at dawn to’orrow. We’ll be at Emden in time ‘or supper. Will that suit ya, Mister…?

“Zaroff,” the troupe master said with a slight bow. “Yes, it will have to do. And you…?”

“Captain Tuiloch. Me crew and I are leavin’ at dawn, with or without ya. I’m behind schedule, so I don’t ‘ave time to waste waitin’.”

Zaroff nodded. “That makes two of us. My troupe and I will be here, and we’ll be ready. Now, about the price…”

And the two of them proceeded to haggle.

Zaroff made his way towards the lupine child, chuckling to himself about the price of their voyage. The Captain was an excellent haggler, and the two of them had gone at it for quite some time before they had changed to a bet instead. The child was the key to it all.

She was dancing again, with the crowd clapping a beat for her. The crowd had grown a little larger as the port became busier, but still he had no problem working his way through it and to the front. And there she was, performing just as good as the first time he had seen her. Her eyes flickered onto Zaroff’s face, and then back up at the sky. He smiled and walked away. As he walked he felt little eyes on him. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and then the expression faded away as quickly as it had come. The child’s curiosity would be her own undoing.

---------------

The sun was just beginning to set as Zaroff made his way towards the ship. His troupe was already inside, ready to roll come morning. He would be with them too, but he still had one last piece of business to take care of.

And, right on cue, there she was. The little lupine child was following him, her feet making almost no sound as she moved. He continued walking, seemingly unaware of her. He would let her make the first move, for anything else would just scare her away.

The ship was in sight when he felt a slight tug on his arm. Zaroff turned and looked down at the child, false surprise flashing across his face.

“Yes?” he asked her when she didn’t speak.

Her wide violet eyes, which had been staring up at him in curiosity, fell down to the ground. She chewed on her lip, and then looked back up at him. “I… You… you watch I… all day, and…” She pulled out five copper coins and showed them to him. “I no can live off this, no much longer,” she told him, speaking slowly. “And you…, you no never…”

Zaroff held up a finger and touched her lips with it, quieting her before she could start sobbing. “I gave you nothing for a reason. Now tell me, what is your name?”

She stared up at him in bewilderment for a moment, and then shrugged.

He nodded and straightened back up. Then he walked away from her, towards the ship his troupe was waiting in. “Dance for me, Siv. Dance for me, and you will never be without a home again.”

The little lupine child nodded, and eagerly raced after him.

And Zaroff knew then that he had won.

---

So what do you think? Zaroff’s head was kind of hard to get into, because I’ve written hardly anything with him, and never anything in his POV, but I don’t think that it turned out too badly…

This is, hands down, the most gruesome thing I have ever written in my life. Just as a warning.

And it deals with Kami. Some of you might remember her from one of my other stories. She’s in The City in the Skies RP, but has been around longer than that.



Screams echoed all about the beast, but they did nothing but excite it further. The beast danced back and forth in front of the terrified child, blocking her every move. The child’s parents stood at the other side of the room, defenseless to do anything to save their child. Every time they moved, the beast simply took one step closer to the child.

“You have wronged me,” the beast sang sweetly to those in the room. Her mouth twisted up in a cruel smile, exposing her sharp canine teeth. Her silver eyes danced with merriment as she regarded the cowering child, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips. “Now you shall pay.”

The beast threw back her head and let out a howl of triumph and revenge. That’s when the man decided to make his move. He rushed towards her unprotected back, a broken shovel in his hands.

The beast laughed as she spun around to meet him. The half-human, half-wolf sound echoed eerily about the room, and the young child let out another terrified shriek. The beast jumped back from the shovel as it came crashing down to the floor. She crouched down low, and then lunged for the man’s throat.

The man smashed the flat of the shovel against the beast’s face, knocking her to the side. The beast hit the wooden floor with a snarl, and spun around to face the man. Blood dripped down the left side of her face, and poured out her ear, but she paid it no mind.

The beast rose onto her two bare feet, but she stayed hunched over—ready to drop down onto all fours at a moment’s notice. Several strands of mangy dark hair slid down over her face, giving her a more feral look. She inched closer towards the man, and then danced back. She repeated this maneuver twice more, chuckling as the man responded each time by raising his shovel back up. The man’s eyes were wild with fear, and his body was drenched in sweat. He reeked of fear.

“Be gone, demon!” he shouted at her, and took a step towards her.

She grinned at him, and then rushed forward. Both hands and feet hit the ground as she ran, and her mouth watered for the taste of blood. She pushed up off of the ground, and slammed into the man. The two of them hit the floor, and skidded to a halt. Before the man could even begin to defend himself, the beast had sunk her teeth into his neck. Hot blood seeped into her mouth, fueling her on. She moved to rip the man’s throat out, but instead found a weight pressing down on top of her, and two fingers pinching her nose tightly shut.

The beast released the man’s neck and raised up her head. Blood dripped down her face as she greedily gulped in air. But the weight on top of her had other plans besides just letting her recover.

She let out a yelp as she was yanked off of the man and thrown into the closest wall. She slid down to the ground with a grunt, and then turned her silver eyes onto the threat.

He was a young man, with travel worn clothing, and a mop of brown hair covering his head. He stood at ease, with a couldn’t-care-less expression on his face. But none of that was what had caught her attention—no, it was his scent. Perfume clung to him, disguising it, but it was still there. He was the same as her—a beast, a monster.

“This ends now, pup,” he stated calmly, but she was too far gone to make sense of the words.

The beast simply snarled in response and fell forward onto all fours. She regarded her foe for a moment longer, and then lunged for the throat. He stood his ground as she sailed through the air. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached out, grabbed a hold of the front of her ragged shirt, and sent her flying back into the wall. Then, before she had a chance to recover, he rushed over to her, yanked her upright, and landed a solid punch on her jaw.

The beast let out a yelp of pain, and swiped at her foe. But he was faster than her, and had a hold of her wrist before her claws could scratch his face. He brought his face closer to hers, and let out a low snarl in warning. She chuckled at his threat, daring him to kill her. He responded by bashing her head against the wall—a procedure he repeated twice more when she continued to resist.

Pain exploded in her skull each time her head connected with the wall, leaving her dazed. Her struggles weakened, and her bloodshot eyes slowly slid shut. But then her body began to heal itself, and the haze fled her mind. She launched herself at the enemy before her, certain this time that victory was hers. But then she found herself lying flat on her back, staring up into his face.

He gave her a sad smile, and then placed a bare foot on her neck. The beast lay still, knowing full well that he would snap her neck if she tried anything.

“Hmm. There’s some hope for you yet. The question is, will you listen?”

She knew that what he was saying was important, but her mind was too far gone to understand. The thirst for blood clouded her mind, stopping her from thinking clearly. Only survival instinct kept her trembling body on the ground, unmoving.

He pressed down harder on her neck, and she let out a sharp gasp as her air supply was cut off.

“I’m sorry, pup,” he told her. “But this is the only way.”

Spots danced before the beast’s eyes, and she struggled wildly in an attempt to replenish her air supply. But he was too strong for her, and just continued to add more weight.

Memories surfaced then, flashing before her eyes like the preview to an old movie she had forgotten about. The day she had asked her mother about why she didn’t have a daddy like everyone else. The day the beast had come to her home. The pain of the first transformation, and the crushing defeat of her mind against the Wolf’s. Her mother’s blood, and the hot taste of it in her mouth.

The memories had been buried deep inside of her, and hadn’t bothered her for years. But now here they were, trigged by a complete stranger. Pain flared up inside of her—the pain of the guilty. A pain that she had locked away long ago when she stopped caring.

But then the memories faded away, as did everything else.

---------------

The girl woke up tied to a tree. She was groggy when she came to, and it took her a moment to realize that she couldn’t move. Once that fact registered in her mind, she went absolutely nuts. But her struggling did her no good; the rope held firm.

“I see that you have decided to join the world of the living once more.”

She looked up to see the young man from before. He looked different than he had when bloodlust had been driving her on. But she had been seeing through the Wolf’s eyes then.

“You going to act civil?” he asked her, as he regarded her with his shrewd brown eyes.

She ignored his words, and instead took a deep whiff of the air. Her nose was flooded with hundreds of different scents, but she was easily able to sort through them for the ones that she wanted.

He was a Wolf, but she already knew that, so she quickly moved on to the next part of his unique scent. Raspberry perfume was the next part she picked up on, but, after a moment’s consideration, recognized it for what it was. The perfume wasn’t a part of the make-up of his scent, but something that he used frequently. He smelled of blood as well, but it was the same blood from the man that she had bitten, so she knew that he hadn’t actually feasted on anyone. After that came the scent of a forest, after it had rained. Mixed in with that was the faint smell of vanilla. If it wasn’t for the Wolf smell tainting him, she didn’t think that she could have resisted sinking her teeth into him. His scent was strangely tantalizing, and she could only have imagined what his blood would have tasted like had he still been human.

“You look like you’re inspecting a meal,” the man before her commented as he took a step towards her. He then kneeled down, so that they were face-to-face. “And you’re even the one in control.” He regarded her for a moment more, with sadness in his eyes.

“You no longer care about anything, or anyone, do you? You’ve locked your emotions and memories away, so that they can no longer hurt you. And, in that process…, you’ve lost your humanity.”

The last few words were spoken too lightly to be heard by a human pair of ears, but the girl had no problem catching them. She let out a low snarl and her struggles started up once more. What right did he have to judge her? What right did he have to try and control her? She was a loner, her own Alpha.

She told him all this in her snarls. At first, he didn’t seem to have heard her. But then he reached up, grabbed a fistful of her long dark hair, and slammed her head into the tree. He then brought his face closer to hers, so close that their noses were touching. A murderous expression had set across his face, and he let out a low growl.

The meaning of his growl was very clear. If she didn’t start acting civil, he was going to have to end her.

The girl turned her head away, and her eyes slid shut—a sign that she wasn’t listening, nor did she care what he had to say. With a sigh, he straightened back up, and turned away from her. He then walked away, muttering a single phrase.

“We have a long way to go.”

------------------

Two Weeks Later

Twin silver orbs stared up, at the top of the cliff, and at the fight. Those orbs filled up with tears as she saw Javy fall. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but yet lightning fast. One second he was fighting off the last two Hunters, the next he was clutching at his side as he fell to the ground. Kami could do nothing to stop it.

The retort of the gun echoed throughout the forest, and then there was silence. Kami stayed hidden in the forest below, unable to go to her Alpha’s aid because of the command he had given her.

The Hunters both turned their guns on Javy as he struggled to his feet, and fired several more shots into his wounded body. He staggered, and fell, and moved no more.

“Javy!”

Kami silently screamed out his name as tears trickled down her face. He was… They had… The Hunters… A soft sob escaped her throat, and her trembling legs gave out. She landed on her hands and knees, with eyes wide in horror.

He had saved her…

And she had killed him…

Her already damaged heart shattered once again, breaking into so many pieces that she wasn’t sure that she could ever love again.

She had thought she had been unbreakable.

But he had made her vulnerable.

And now she was broken once again.

---

I apologize for lack of info and description on the Hunters, but this story wasn’t meant to focus on them, and I couldn’t seem to fit the information on them in without ruining the mood I was trying to create. But yes, the Hunters are werewolf Hunters. And no, they’re not human.

Anyways, what do you think?

This theme deals with my favorite character, Casey Jewels. She's appeared in an RP or two on ASN, as has Tala and Will.

---

She gasped and clutched at her chest with trembling hands. Fire raced through her airway, originating from her lungs. Tears formed in her eyes and dripped down her face, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was for this pain to stop.

The world around her was dimming, becoming less and less important, less and less defined. All she could see was a pile of darkness directly in front of her. Then the crumpled pile mixed with the darkness of her vision and she could see no more.

For a moment, there was nothing—nothing but the burning pain and the heavy darkness. Then a voice tore through the darkness, leaving behind a jagged hole.

“Casey.”

The young teen lifted up her head, her violet eyes searching frantically for the owner of that voice. “Mother,” she cried out, her voice feeble and lanced with pain. “Mother!”

“Not yet, my child.”

Casey ignored the message and instead forced herself to her feet in that inky darkness. Then she stumbled forward a few steps, heading for the distant light of her mother. “Mother!” The teen held a hand out in front of her, reaching for the figure. “I want…”

Another spasm of pain raced through her body, stopping her in her tracks.

“… to be with you.”

“Not yet…”

---

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Will told her as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Just stay with me, okay?”

The young woman gazed up at her husband with violet eyes. “I don’t know if I can…” she said, her words coming out in a ragged whisper. Her grip on his hand tightened as her body tensed up and her nails dug into his skin.

“Stay with me,” Will growled as he placed his other hand on top of hers. “I’m not going to lose you!”

She was too far gone to make sense of his words, but his voice offered her comfort as she combated the pain. She had known that bearing children was risky with her wound, but she never would have thought that it would take away her life.

Already, she found herself back in the land of darkness.

Again, she found herself calling out to her mother.

Once more, she was told to go back.

“Don’t leave me!” Casey shouted to the disappearing light of her mother.

Another voice shouted out those same words and from far away she could hear a baby crying. More voices could be heard, whispering in concern over her condition. Finally, as she stood lost in the darkness, she understood that the baby’s cry came from her own child.

She knew that she couldn’t leave yet.

Casey’s eyes opened to see a doctor holding a set of twins in his arms.

“I want…” The young woman tried to lift her arms, but found that they wouldn’t respond. Her eyes desperately stared at her two daughters, as if she could will them into her arms. “… to be with them.”

The doctor’s words echoed her mother’s.

“Not yet.”

---

The hand squeezed hers tightly.

“Tell Dad that I love him,” Tala said as she stared into the violet eyes of the old woman. “And that I miss him.”

Casey squeezed her daughter’s hand back, to show that she had heard and understood the words. Her eyes slid shut and the familiar inky darkness came back. This time, however, she could see a paved path underneath her feet, showing her the way.

She walked forward, the years fading away with each step she took, until she was a young woman once more. In the distance, she could see a golden gateway with green grass spilling out of it. Four figures stood directly underneath the arch, welcoming her home.

Casey broke into a run and then buried herself in her mother’s arms as the gateway was reached. No words were spoken, as none were needed between this reunion of mother and daughter. Happiness flowed all around them, between them, and through them. It was as if they had never been separated in the first place.

A hand touched her shoulder and she turned her head to see Will smiling down at her, looking as he had during the early days of their marriage. “Welcome home,” he told her. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”

As Casey looked about her, she could see that he was right.

Her friends were all around her, welcoming her back.

After a lifetime of searching for a place where she belonged, she was home.

The old woman’s eyes closed and her hand slid out of Tala’s grasp. A tear trickled down the young woman’s cheek, but as she looked at the happy expression on her mother’s face, she couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I want… to be with you,” she said as she started to sob.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Not yet.”

---

And I still haven’t really figured out how she dies… I went with a peaceful death for this piece, but I don’t know if that’s how she actually goes.

I was cleaning my room when I found this poem. It deals with werewolves.

On a whim I wrote this up the other night. It's a short piece on my character Casey, set during the fourth book of the series she appears in. I left things rather vague in this story, because I'm very protective of her and anything to do with this particular series when posting stuff online.

Oh, and if anybody can give me a better title, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Casey's Drabble

Her violet eyes gazed down at the frozen land below her, seeing all but noticing nothing. The falls still rumbled beside her, creating a mist that had helped to keep her and her people safe. Through the mist ran a river, with its surface covered in a thick layer of ice. Snow covered both the ice of the river and the forest land that lay around the water. Nothing moved, aside from the half-frozen water cascading down the falls. No sound was heard, but the thundering of the water.

She stared down below for a moment longer and then turned her eyes to the dark gray sky, where tiny flakes of snow were falling, the messengers of death drifting down to the ground in silence. She shivered at the sight, but didn’t look away. Turning a blind eye didn’t make the problems go away.

“Casey.”

She turned at the sound of her name, seeing the dwarf standing there for the first time, half-buried in the snow. He held a letter in his bare hands and he was staring up at her, his eyes questioning what she was doing up here. She didn’t look into his eyes, but rather stared at the letter, as if she could make it disappear right then and there.

“Casey,” he repeated again, when she didn’t say anything.

She turned away from him and then drew in a deep breath of the icy air, wincing as she did so. “For so long, I thought that I could do this… I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought; I was wrong.” She stared down at her bandaged feet as silence descended upon the two of them, each trying to figure out what to say.

There was nothing really to say and they both knew it. They had given it their all, but it hadn’t been good enough. Everything that had been done for the past two thousand years, all of the sacrifices made and the lives lost, it had all been for nothing. No comforting words could be spoken between the two of them, as the words would just be lies that would do nothing more than drag them further into despair.

The dwarf quietly withdrew, but Casey stayed frozen in place, just like the river was now and the falls were soon to be. The snowflakes continued to fall all around her and a light breeze tugged at her ragged clothing, but still she didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound.

Her violet eyes simply stared down at the frozen land below, seeing nothing but noticing all.

I wrote this piece back in 2006 for an exercise. The criteria was to have a confrontation between two people, and for that confrontation to be interrupted by a third person. Siv is the character I used for this, as well as her Master Zaroff. While I don't mention the third person's name in the actual story, it is my cop Will. Don't ask me why this takes place in an airport when Siv's setting is back in the past.





Azarath pulled her cowboy hat down lower as people pushed past her. Everyone was in such a hurry to get to his or her next destination. Humans were always in a hurry to do this or do that. Frankly, she didn’t really understand all of the rushing about.

“Where have you been?”

She started at the familiar voice. She hadn’t expected him to be here. A hand grabbed her arm with an iron grip. He spun her around to face him. Her dark blue eyes instantly dropped their gaze to the floor.

“You don’t belong here,” the man said softly.

Her eyes flickered up at his face, catching his brown ones. “Zaroff… I…” She drifted off as he tightened his grip on her arm.

“You belong to me, Siv!” he hissed in her vulpine ear.

“No! I don’t! My name is Azarath, not Siv! Never has my name been Siv. Not ever!” She tried to break away, but he just pulled her closer.

“Don’t forget who granted you life, dog. You would have been killed if it weren’t for me. You owe me, Siv. You owe me.”

“Last call, Flight 27. Last call, Flight 27,” the intercom blared out.

Azarath looked towards the loading dock. “I gotta go,” she whispered.

“So you think that running away will solve all your problems?” He grabbed the plane ticket in her hand and glanced at it. “It doesn’t matter where you go, Siv. It doesn’t matter. People will always hate you and fear you. Somebody worse than me will come along and take control of you. You’re not a human and you will never be able to fit in with humans. Give it up.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffled softly. “I don’t wanna dance anymore,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me dance anymore.”

“Dancing is the only thing you can do right. You were born to dance.”

“I may of been born to dance, but I wasn’t born to be your slave. Azarath is free. Siv is not. I am Azarath. The Siv you once knew is now gone. And Siv will never come back.”

“We will see about that.” Zaroff lead her to the entrance of the airport. Azarath glanced to her right as he pushed open the door. A police officer was engaged in a conversation with a large woman that held a suitcase in each hand. Azarath made a split second decision.

“Help! Police! Someone! Help!”

Zaroff instantly spun around and clamped a hand across her mouth, but it was too late. The police officer jogged over to them. Zaroff pulled his hand away from her mouth hastily.

“What is going on here?” the officer asked, his brown eyes studying the two of them intently.

“My daughter just got a little upset,” Zaroff said. “She’s a little…” He pointed at his head and twirled his finger around.

“I am not loopy!” Azarath shouted. “And he’s not my father!”

“Calm down,” the man said. “Just calm down.”

“She’ll calm down once she is in the car. Siv doesn’t like crowds. I don’t know why she ran away to here.”

“My name is Azarath, not Siv. He treats me like I’m a mangy dog. That’s why I ran away.”

“Both of you be quiet. Azarath, come with me. I know a nice home you can stay at until we find you a permanent place. Zaroff, say one more word and I will arrest you.”

Zaroff gaped at the officer in stunned silence. Azarath squealed in joy as she wrapped her hands around the officer’s middle.

“Thank you!”

It's no secret that my cousin and I are fighting right now. She forced me to go out with her and be social Saturday evening. While out and about, she told me that she wanted me to be more like her. This free verse poem is a result of that comment.

Blech...

This is not autobiographically. I just really hate child abuse and writing is a way for me to strike out against it.



I’m there, even when you don’t want me to be. I’m the quiet kid, who wears clothing that covers my skin. I’m the trouble child, who is always beating up those that are weaker than me. I’m the kid that lies, that trips and falls, that misses days of school at a time. You don’t know the truth behind the lies, the façade. No—you don’t want to know. Knowing would mean that you would have to acknowledge that bad things happen in this world. Knowing would mean that you have to act on your knowledge. Instead, you simply pretend as if there is nothing wrong, as if I am not hurting both inside and out.

I lied to you again today, when you pretended to be concerned over my black eye. ‘Just a fall’, I told you, but it was more like a punch. You simply nodded your head and walked back to the front of the class, to continue your lesson. Everyone knew, but everyone pretended as if my words were truth. I was too afraid to speak out, to beg for help. I thought that I deserved it. You didn’t tell me otherwise.

Tonight is another nightmare. He came home drunk again. You could hear him across the street, screaming and cussing me out again. You pretended that you couldn’t hear; you turned up the volume on your radio, on your TV. More bruises are formed on my skin. ‘Another fall’, I would claim. You would pretend that it was the truth, even though this is my fourteenth fall this month. In my eyes, I’m pleading for your help, but you simply turn away.

Red and blue lights are flashing now, but it’s too late. You look on, pretending that you knew nothing, but inside it’s eating you up. You pretended as if everything was fine, but your pretending just made my reality worse. They bring me out of the house and you see my bruises for the first time. There is no pretending anymore.

You attend my funeral with everyone else, talking about how you wish that you had known. Like me, you lie and everyone pretends to believe you. They all know the truth because they are lying too.

I’m there, even when you don’t want me to be. I’m the quiet kid, the tough kid, the sick kid. You pretend not to know the truth behind the lies because you don’t want to acknowledge that anything is wrong. I’m here, silently pleading for your help. I’m here, hurting more and more every day. I’m here, waiting on you to help. I’m here.

Here's Theme 10! The character is Safe. She's someone I haven't written much with, but her and her story has been in my head for years.


The front door closed behind Safe. She paused for a moment, hugging her textbooks close to her body. Blue eyes flickered about the living room that the small entryway led into and then to the beginning of the dining room past that. Nothing—it was safe.

The young teenager made her way through the living room and then, after a quick glance around the dining room, hurried across it as well.

The kitchen was empty, to which she responded with a sigh of relief. Her stomach grumbled softly at the various smells of food, but, instead of focusing on that, she reached up and opened one of the cupboards. Four shelves full of food stared back at her. Most of it was junk food such as cookies and chips, but the bottom shelf held a half-used loaf of bread. It was the bread that she grabbed and then pulled out two slices from. After another quick glance around her, she moved to the small refrigerator and opened up the door, careful to make as little noise as possible. She then bent down low, her one good eye searching for the jelly.

“Home from school, now are we?”

Safe froze at the drunken voice. His words weren’t slurred, which meant that he hadn’t had much, but if he was still angry from this morning… Slowly, she turned to face him with her mismatched eyes. Her left eye, a dark blue like the ocean deep, was focused on the older man before her, while her right eye, a blue the color of ice in paintings, saw nothing.

“Father,” she whispered with trembling legs. She didn’t dare take a step back, knowing that movement would set him off.

He took a swig from the beer bottle in his right hand and then brought it back down to his side, the liquid sloshing loudly around inside. His dark eyes remained focused on her and his mouth was drawn down in a frown. Disheveled and stained clothing covered his body—the same from yesterday.

Had he called in sick today?

“Skipping class?” he asked as he took a step towards her. His movement was awkward, like he didn’t know quite how to transfer his weight as he walked.

“It’s 3:30,” she whispered, even though she knew that her words would mean nothing to him. Her hand curled tightly around the door of the fridge, but still she didn’t move. What she did, didn’t matter; she couldn’t escape what was to come.

He took another step towards her and she shrank back, now regretting the decision she had made to come home alone. Her worn backpack knocked against the shelves in the fridge and she froze. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He struck at her, the back of his hand connecting with her cheek. Her head turned to the side and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, ignoring the stinging pain. Her books fell from her hands and hit the ground below. She hurriedly bent down low to pick them up, but then she felt him grab onto her hair, onto her blonde ponytail. She froze, but it didn’t stop him from yanking her to the right.

She hit the cold floor without a sound and slowly rolled onto her side, to see her father advancing towards her. She cowered, holding her hands out in front of her face, but she didn’t try to run; she didn’t try to hide.

He stopped just before her, the bottle still in his hand. “Look at me, brat,” he growled at her. Slowly she lowered her hands, biting her lip as she stared up at him with her blue eyes. She could only see him with her left, as she was blind in her right, but she wished then that she could see nothing at all.

His eyes were so cold, staring down at her as if she was the cause of all of his troubles. She knew what the look meant, but she was unable to turn away or even close her eyes. He held her captivated with fear.

He pulled the bottle up and took another swish of the dark liquid before slamming it down onto the ground in-between the two of them. The glass shattered and the remainder of the beer splattered all around them. Safe moved her arms in front of her face, wincing as some of the glass shards cut through her worn clothing and into her skin.

“Clean this mess up,” he told her. His booted foot met her stomach and she curled into a ball at the pain. Without another word, he was gone from the room.

After several seconds had passed, Safe slowly lifted up her head. Her blue eyes were still wide with fright and her body was shaking terribly, but she was grateful that he hadn’t done more to her.

She picked herself up, sliding her backpack off as she did so. Her stomach was still slightly nauseous, but she ignored it. She brushed off herself, wincing as bits of glass fell to the ground. She then turned to go get the broom, only to see Kern standing there.

The older teenager was leaning against the counter, the broom in his hands. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold, were full of suppressed anger.

“Safe,” he said to her through clenched teeth. He pushed himself away from the counter and walked over to her. As she bowed her head, he placed a warm hand on her red cheek, as if he could will the injury away. “I don’t know why you let him do this to you.”

She didn’t answer, but instead turned her head away. After a moment of silence had passed between her and the stray, she brushed past him and pulled out a dishcloth from one of the drawers. When she turned back to him, he was sweeping the floor, his back to her. His body was tense and from the death grip he had on the broom, she could tell that he was still angry.

She walked back over to him and waited until he had swept up the glass in the dustpan before dropping the towel onto the floor. As he was turned away to dump it in the tall garbage can, he paused for a moment to stare at her. When she ignored him, instead placing her tennis shoe on the towel and wiping it around, he walked the few steps to the trash and let the glass fall into it.

The clinking of the shards sounded quite loud in the silence between them. From the living room they could hear the sound of the TV being turned on to a football game.

Kern closed the lid to the trash and then quietly placed the broom and its dustpan back in-between the refrigerator and the counter. She could feel his eyes on her back, but she ignored it as she pushed the cloth back and forth.

She knew what he was thinking, what he wanted to do. The first time he had seen it, he had fled from the city, barely able to contain his rage. Only when he had calmed down had he invaded her room during the night and demanded an explanation. Fearfully, she had given it to him; desperately, she had pled with him to tell no one.

“You better leave,” she said at last, still not turning around. “Charlie’s going to get home soon. You know what will happen, if they catch you here.”

He stepped up beside her, but didn’t touch her. She stopped her movement with the towel and instead bit her lip.

“Remember your promise,” he whispered, the anger gone from his voice.

“I’m going to do my best to make my life better,” she whispered back, her words much softer than his.

He gave a nod of his head and left then, just as suddenly and silently as he had come. She knew that he wouldn’t be far, for he would be watching over her.

Kern was what gave her hope, along with Jackie.

Someday, her life would be better.

But for now… Her eyes flickered in the direction of the living room and her father. For now, she had a floor to mop and then homework to do.

Safe bent down, and scooped the wet cloth off of the floor, and placed it on the counter. She grabbed a new one and soaked it with water before returning to the spill. She knelt down on her hands and knees and started to scrub the sticky floor.

As she scrubbed harder and harder, her determination grew stronger and stronger.

She would escape this cycle of hurt.

She would be better than her father and her older brother.

She would do her best to make her life better.

“Just wait and see,” she whispered to her father, even though she knew that he could not hear her. “Just wait and see.”

---

Kern is a werewolf. There's subtle clues when he's there, but nothing extremely obvious.

There were two song choices for Chapter 6 of the Drabble contest, so this is still Round 6, just with the other song. The characters are Razi and Samuel Cortz, who were first created for a collab between Shadow and I, but were also in the Into the Fire RP on ASN. This story starts a few days before the collab, so I stuck it with my original works, instead of the RP shorts.

Anything But Ordinary
Summary: An out-of-control teen, Razi, strikes out against her father once more, this time straying dangerously too close to going too far.
Rating: K+
Fiction used/Original: Original/Into the Fire
Ch. 6/CB Ch.: Chapter 6 (again)
Word Count: 689
Song choice: Anything But Ordinary – Avril Lavigne


Razi stared into the cracked mirror above the bathroom sink, her hazel eyes studying the mess that had been her hair. Pink? What had she been thinking? She ran her hand through the short, newly dyed hair and then let her hand fall back down to her side as she heard the door to their home opening up and then the heavy footsteps of her father. Her brow furrowed. That’s right; she remembered now.

The young teenager slipped out of the bathroom and silently made her way down the stairs. She paused on the last step, watching her father’s back as he stood in the kitchen. He wasn’t doing anything, but just standing there, a hand on the messy counter (that had been her again).

She cleared her throat to announce her presence, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge her in any way. Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. Well, two could play at this game. She turned away from him and then turned her head to the side, so that she could watch him out of the corner of her eyes.

“Razi,” he said at last, his tone not near as sharp as she had expected. But then he turned and she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Razi Cortz!”

She turned to face him, staring into his narrowed eyes with her own angry pair. “Yes?” she asked. Her voice was stiff and it was obvious that she was not at all sorry for what she had done.

“What did you do to your hair, young lady?” His fingers had curled into fists, but Razi wasn’t afraid. As much as the two of them fought, he had never once struck her. “Vacation is over in two weeks! What is St. Catherine’s Boarding School going to think of you?”

“Why should I care?” She moved down the last step and then walked past him, heading for the refrigerator. “I hate the place and they hate having me there. End of story. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

“I’m a very busy man, young lady. I don’t have time for this!” He pounded his fist on the counter, as if that could get her to listen and agree with him.

She opened up the frig, ignoring the cool blast of air. “You never have time. You know, sometimes I drive so fast, just to feel the danger. It gets the blood pumping, that’s for sure. And it’s so exhilarating. Makes me feel alive.”

“Razi!”

She smiled to herself and pulled the almost empty milk from the shelf. She turned, set it on the counter, and then grabbed a bowl and a spoon, all without looking at him. A slight bit of worry was beginning to gnaw at her now, as she wondered if she had pushed it too far. Even with her truck broken at the moment, he could still take away her keys and that wasn’t something that she could fix. Still, she was too stubborn and angry to back down now.

“Maybe you should pay more attention to what goes on in your own house,” she growled at him, her hazel eyes flashing as they met his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, you have a daughter. Just because Mom is dead doesn’t mean that I’ve disappeared as well, idiot!”

He raised a hand and, for a moment, she thought that he was actually going to hit her, but then he lowered it back down. “I am a busy man, Razi. I wouldn’t expect a child like you to understand.” His voice was cold—much colder than she would have expected from him.

Before she could retort, he had left the room and she flew a few moments later when she heard the sound of his office door slamming. Has she actually pushed him too far? Still, she couldn’t deny how alive she felt at the moment, even if it was tainted with the anger of her heart.

A tight smile spread across her face and she spoke, not caring that he couldn’t hear her.

“I rather be anything but ordinary, please.”

This is a scene from a strange dream I had 2-3-10. A lot happened before it that I can’t remember, and I don’t remember the dream going past where this stops. I wrote this up at least a day after having the dream, after I was starting to forget, but the thing that I remember most was the horror of it all. I’m not a horror writer, so I’m not sure how much of that feeling made it through, but it was kind of a creepy dream…


It all happened so fast. One moment, we were standing there, talking, and the next… The next moment a body was flying through the air.

We were up on the third floor of a college building, waiting for class to start. The entire west wall was a giant window, from which the parking lot could be seen below. The three of us were standing about ten feet from the window, but none of us were paying a great deal of attention to what was going on out there. We were too busy talking amongst ourselves. There had been four of us, but the last member of our group had left a few minutes before, for some reason that I no longer can recall.

The parking lot was pretty crowded with college kids, rushing to get to their classes or to head home for the day. Everything was normal. I had glanced towards the window just as she had climbed into her blue car (it’s funny how we remember the small stuff) and backed out. I looked away, back at my other friends, only to hear screaming all around me. I turned my head back to the window, only to have my hazel eyes widen and the breath stop in my throat.

The blue car hit another student, a young college girl. The girl was sent flying forward, twisting around in the air. She hit the ground and I flinched, imaging the sound that must have accompanied such a fall. The car stopped instantly, as unmoving as the body that now was sprawled across the ground, and we all could hear the squealing of tires, even with the closed window. All we could do was stare, too far away to see who had been hit, but close enough to know that the victim was most likely dead.

The driver door burst open and our friend rushed from the car and over to the body. We all could see her panic-stricken face. Without hesitating, she scooped the body up into her arms and then staggered forward. Tears streamed down her face and it looked as if she was calling out for help, or perhaps screaming. Maybe both. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was making her stop. I rushed forward, towards the window, but it was as if time had slowed down. There were too many people in the way. I wasn’t going to make it…

“Make her stop!” I screamed, shoving my way past everyone and everything. “Stop!” My panic was so strong that I could barely get the words out. Some students turned to stare at me, not understanding. I knew, though, that if her victim was still alive, he or she wouldn’t survive long being moved around like that. Had it been a young girl hit? Or an older man? No longer could I remember or tell, but it didn’t matter. If the victim wasn’t dead already, they would be soon.

“Don’t! No!” Still the words wouldn’t come out, and I was still so far away.

All I could see was my friend continuing to stagger with the body in her arms and all I could feel was blinding terror. Tears trickled down my face as I reached the window at long last and shoved it open with trembling hands.

“Stop!” I screamed out, but my throat was still closed over and she did not hear me. I leaned out the window, nearly falling out in my haste. “Make her stop! Put the body down! Stop it!” My voice made it through this time, but she was screaming even louder than I and did not hear.

“Make her stop!”

The crowd broke as several people rushed towards her, prying the limp body from her hands. The victim was set upon the ground. Without waiting to see anymore, I hurried from the room, flying down the stairs as fast as I could, my mind in such a state of panic as to not care about my own safety. I had to know if the person was still alive—I just had to.

Casey and Will, my favorite couple of mine. I was bored in class when I had this image of Will holding Casey close to him, when they were older, and thus came this story.


He was upstairs when he heard the crash. In an instant he was forcing his worn body through the house, hoping, praying that nothing had happened. His brown eyes strained in the direction of the kitchen, as if his fright could give him the ability to see through walls. He stumbled down the stairs, pausing for only a second to regain his breath before rushing towards the kitchen, his heart heavy.

"Casey?"

He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and his dimming eyes widened in alarm. "Casey!" he cried out and his expression twisted into that of anguish. He rushed to her side and slowly dropped down to his knees. Gently, he placed a withered hand on her shoulder and then let out a huge breath of relief. She was breathing. But just beyond her was a broken dish.

A tear hit the tile floor—his tear.

He carefully rolled the fallen form of his wife over, fighting back more tears. Her violet eyes met his brown, and he could see the fear in her eyes. He grasped onto her trembling hand and whispered to her that everything was going to be alright. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but no sound came out.

The old man bit his lip and slowly eased her head onto his knees, an arm holding her close. She was still trying to speak, a few meaningless sounds coming out, but he put a finger to her lips. "Take it easy. Please," he whispered to her. Before he had finished speaking, he had his large cell phone in his hands and was dialing.

Only a few minutes later the sound of a siren could be heard. He held her close that entire time, until the medics arrived, and she was placed on a stretcher. They asked questions, to which she could only shake or nod her head. He answered, but numbly, his mind not quite comprehending what was happening.

She was his life, his everything.

She was taken outside and placed in the ambulance. He stayed next to her, his worn hand holding onto hers. Her eyes were only focused on him, and his on her. He smiled, though it felt as if his heart was breaking.

She had been strong for him all these years. He would be strong for her.

I wrote this yesterday, in a response to what is happening on Facebook right now. For those of you who don't know, Facebook's goal is to have everyone change their profile picture to that of an old cartoon by Monday, for child abuse prevention. No editing has been done, as I don't have the time to do that right now.

What Are You Doing About It?

What have you done today for victim of abuse? Or for a survivor? You changed your profile picture to that of a childhood cartoon? Wow. That certainly changed somebody's life. Did you give it any thought when you made that change of pictures? I've seen through comments that some people did it just for fun.

I'm not here to bash on anybody who has done just this, or to offend anybody. I'm just here to speak my opinion, and isn't that one of our rights, living here in the United States of America? The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. But we aren't all free, here, and we aren't all brave.

How many of you actually know somebody that has been abused? How many of you are a victim or survivor yourself?

There are people around the world and in this very nation that see the signs, but don't do anything to stop it from happening. Where is our bravery? And for those children that are being abused, right now, where is their freedom?

I have never personally helped anyone who has been abused, and I only vaguely know others who have been abused in the past. But with each passing day, the need to help such people grows within me. I don't know how to fight right now, except with my words, but at least my words have to do with child abuse. I don't write a poem about daisies and then say that this is to remind everyone that there is child abuse out there.

I want to work with kids who have been abused. I want to get kids away from those that are abusing them. I want to adopt kids who have been abused, and give them a loving family to be a part of and a loving home to live in.

I can't do those things right now, but I can keep my ears and eyes open. I can be aware of others, and watch for the signs of child abuse. And I can keep writing about abuse, and open other people's eyes to the horror of it, so that they will not just brush it off as nothing, and so that those that have been abused or are being abused right now know that somebody cares, and so that those that would be potential abusers would realize what path they are going down before it is too late.

The question is, what are you doing?

Is child abuse something you only think about when others prompt you into thinking about it? Are you just pretending to care? Following the crowd?

Child abuse is so much bigger than changing a profile picture into an old cartoon character.

Again I ask, what are you doing?

That child down the street is still living in fear of the next time her older brother comes in.

What are you going to do about it?

It's been awhile since I've posted anything... Not that I haven't been writing anything, but I just have been lazy and haven't posted up what I have. XD

Anyways, I cried while writing this piece. It was written in a moment of emotion, and I haven't edited it at all.

Keke Luv, a DJ in my area, is fighting against child abuse for the fourth year, during April, which is Child Abuse Prevention/Awareness Month.

This year he's going 7 days without food, and is on air most of that time. Chat and live cam here.

What sparked this is a call from a girl, and what she said to Keke, about what she had gone through and what she had done because of that. And then I was listening to Face Down on repeat after that.


It’s not okay.

It’s never okay.

And it’s not your fault.

You cannot blame yourself for what others have done to you. You can’t blame yourself for their choices. They may have told you it was because you needed punished, because you were stupid, ugly, not as good as everyone else. But you are just as good.

Or maybe hurt is all you have ever known. Maybe you don’t know any better. It started out when you were so young and innocent. But you’re not innocent anymore.

You’ve been hurt, and you’ve hurt others. They didn’t believe you, and so you pushed them away. They deserved it, for ignoring your cries for help. They deserved it, because you deserved it too.

But they don’t, and you don’t.

No child deserves to go through what you have. No child should live a life of fear, of anger, of hatred, of loathing, of pain. It shouldn’t hurt to be a child, no matter what others tell you. It’s not right, for others to touch you, to hit you, to scream at you, to invade you. Nobody deserves that.

It’s those that have done this to you that are to blame. They knew better, but their minds are twisted, letting them justify what they have done to you, and what they are doing to you.

It’s not your fault.

It’s not okay.

And it’s never okay.

This isn't my usual style at all, but I kind of like it. I recieved some not so great news yesterday and it caused me to realize that a great chapter in my life really had closed, and that I couldn't turn back time, no matter how much I wanted to. As a result, I wrote this piece.

An amazing discovery comes with a whole new world to explore. But then darkness falls, the torch goes out, and the tunnel just keeps going downwards.

A trip, a stumble, and then flat onto the face.

Get up. This journey isn’t over.

Another trip, another fall, and this one takes longer to stand up from, but standing up is possible. No bones are broken, only bruises form.

A wall meets searching hands, and only silence and darkness surrounds when the tears start to fall. Is it all over? Is this the end? Was pain and ruin the only reward?

It seems that way, curled up into the tightest little ball possible, but even that doesn’t stop the heart from breaking. There is no one to save this fragile soul. Fallen. Alone, in this darkness; so alone.

Get up. This journey isn’t over.

Somehow, another step is taken, and a new path is traveled. A hand grasps, giving warmth, guiding forward. But the path becomes broken, jagged, and the hand lets go.

Falling…

down.

Down.

DOWN.

Get up. This journey isn’t over.

Feet hit the ground; start moving again. There is only cold, and darkness, and silence, and loneliness. The heart is shattered again, and beats no more.

How could discovery have been a good thing? Pain was all that had come of it—pain, and fading memories of what once was, of innocence and joy and love.

The hands press against the broken heart.

No beat. No beat.

This is the end.

No beat. No beat.

The pieces lay where they have fallen.

No beat. No beat.

Get up.

Footsteps echo all around. Old path swallowed by the new. This time, upwards. The heart beats, slowly, tentatively, but it beats. It beats.

This journey isn’t over.

A great new entry, Casey! I rather liked it. Marvelous job, as always!

So my family went on a camping trip for a few days, but one of my brother's stayed behind because he had some other things going on. He joined us towards the end of the camping trip, and brought our house dog, Sadie, with him. She threw up some in the car, but that's not unusual for a dog in the car. He arrived after it had been dark for a few hours. When morning came, Sadie was dead.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

I knew that you were sick—we all did—but we didn’t know, in the dark, that it was blood. I was on the couch, reading, but you weren’t allowed inside, because this wasn’t our cabin. I thought that I would see you in the morning.

But when morning came, I was awakened by the talk of your death. I didn’t cry, but could only take the news in disbelief.

I just knew, when I went out to see you, that you would wake up, but you were buried before I got the chance.

I know that you were just left at home, and the next time I wake up in my bed, it will be because you jumped on me and are trying furiously to get under the covers. Your small body will be curled up next to mine, and we will both go back to sleep, warm.

But that isn’t going to happen. You’re not here anymore. And I wasn’t there, to see you one last time. You passed away in the dark of the night, with no one by your side, and I’m sorry for that. You were just a good dog.

You were always around, but rarely in the way, and you always knew when some food dropped onto the floor. And you always were so excited, whenever somebody spoke to you, and I remember the way that you would dance around, just waiting to be petted. It was even cuter, when your excited dance happened on the hard floor, because then your nails would make a soft clattering sound, along with your soft whine for attention.

It will be strange, without you here. I’m so used to seeing your reddish body lying next to me, or curled up in some other part of the living room. You were never a needy dog, but you loved any attention that you got. I’ll miss you.

Rest in peace, Sadie.

Aww. That's so sad. I'm sorry that happened to you, Casey. I hope Sadie rests in peace.

Thanks, and I'm sure that she will. She was buried in the woods, deep enough that she probably won't be dug up. It's a beautiful place, way better than ending up at the end of our field.

I was reading about the social problems that come from war, for one of my classes, and then I had to watch some videos about it (I got to pick which videos), and so I chose to watch one on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I knew about PTSD, but I didn't know what it really was.

As I watched the video about actual people and what had happened to them, I started to think of my character Casey. She experienced and did awful things as a teenager, because her people were at war. It was a righteous war, but it was still a war. While, in later years, it is hard to tell that she witnessed anything awful, I realized that she would be pretty messed up when peace came. And nobody there knows what PTSD is, and so she and others with it had nobody to help them.

Also, I was listening to Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace when I wrote this, and that is where the title comes from.


She wasn’t safe.

Everyone around her celebrated the end of the war, celebrated that she had lived, that she had saved them; and the fear she had seen from them towards her was gone. But she was afraid of them.

A warm breeze would blow across her exposed skin, playing with her loose, blonde hair, but yet she would shiver and pull her arms around her body. The movement of a simple shadow would cause her to jump, and the presence of any living creature filled her with unease. The crowds that were often seen around her didn’t help matters at all. No matter how she turned, how she angled herself, her back was always exposed to at least one of them.

Her body would shake, at the most random of times, and a whimper would occasionally make its way out of her mouth. Wide violet eyes flickered everywhere, searching for the danger she knew had to be there.

Once, she had even drawn her broadsword, had aimed it at the dwarf who had helped to raise her. She had avoided him after that, and it seemed as if he had begun to do so as well. Maybe he was planning something behind her back. She couldn’t trust him; she couldn’t trust anyone.

Sometimes, she thought that she saw the dead. They would be in the corner of her vision, in crowds, and in her dreams. After the first night of screams, she had silenced her room, so that none could hear them, so that none could see how she tore her bed apart every night, so that none could see how her pillow was soaked with tears.

They couldn’t know that she was slipping, that she was weak and venerable. They had driven her away the last time they had learned of this. But now that she was the last, they would kill her, and be done with her lot.

She would smile and nod and say all of the right words, but underneath her calm demeanor was that of a caged animal. There were others, she had noticed, who acted as she tried not to, and they were met with confusion and fear and anything but understanding. She couldn’t let anybody know that she was just like them, for her punishment would be worse.

Families were growing, starting anew, becoming happy and strong. But she could not look at them without seeing what she had lost, what she had done. The dead rose up worse when she was around them, and so she began to avoid families, and anyone who talked of them. When fathers spoke lovingly of their kids, she felt sick inside, and when mothers whispered with sweet tenderness to her offspring, she felt so hollow and empty. Children were no better, and she found that she could not bear their presence for very long, and had to excuse herself each time before she hurt one of them.

More and more she was slipping, and more and more she neglected her duties, to instead spend hours and hours of time in solitude. It was better there, where nobody could hurt her. But the more time she spent alone, the more she felt tormented on the inside, and the more she felt the dead were around her. The wind was their whispers, the flickering shadows their movement, the emptiness around her their home.

The more she tried to escape, the more they found her. Memories came to her, even in the waking hours and bright sunlight of the day, and they were memories of blood. Their blood and her blood and the blood of the enemy. But it was all enemy’s blood. There was nobody to trust, not even herself. No, especially not herself.

She wasn’t safe.

Wow. A really intense prompt, Casey! I like it! I do feel very sorry for Casey, though.

Yeppers. I love the pieces that come out of nowhere. Those are usually the best. And yeah, she does have a really tough life. Her and Kami. But my learning of this disorder has made Casey's already tough life worse... She thinks it's all over and bam! Suddenly everybody is out to get her and everything she lost and sacrificed has come back to haunt her.