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SHort writing submission ??
The night was a suffocating blanket heavy on her shoulders as she ran. Footsteps slapping against the pavement in an uneven rhythm. Rain pelted her face and body, stinging where it met bare skin, but she was determined - no, desperate was a more accurate depiction of her current situation. Remember, she was running, fleeing from whatever haunted her with nothing but a black backpack squirming behind her. On her face was a terrified cry for help frozen into a painful grimace. Blue eyes, darkened by the lack of sufficient light around her, searched chaotically around for a different route. Somewhere else she could run towards. Anywhere else at this point, for behind her she heard the steady roar of her demons. They called for her blood to stain the earth. They screamed out for her painful death to hasten, their calls a bloodcurdling sensation that caused the hairs on her body to rise. A primitive function awakened by her instinctual fear of what chased her.
At this point, the raven-haired girl could run no more, but she pushed her malnourished body far past it's limits. With a strangled cry her legs gave out, the bare skin of her knees splitting as they met the unforgiving asphalt. Her palms were next, striking against the ground with enough force to reverberate through her body. For a moment she lay there, contemplating giving up and submitting to those who hunted her.
It would be so much easier. Sure, she would die a slow and agonizing death, but that had to be better than the alternative. Constantly looking over her shoulder, never being able to put down roots. And forget starting a family. How could she even think about bringing a small, innocent life into this kind of place?
For she lived in a place where good and evil clashed for decades, always locked in battle - fingers always on the trigger. A mythical world that happened just outside your front door, and yet 82% of Earth's population had absolutely no clue. Of the 18% who did know, she was apart of a much smaller percentage, so small it was obsolete to try and put a number to it. But that tiny group fought for the even tinier belief in the Grey Matter. That little segment between white and black that told you that there wasn't always a yes or no answer. Just like their wasn't always just good and evil. Life just wasn't that definitive. But, like all good wars, they fought mainly for power. Who would have complete and utter control over everyone else? Both sides had their reasons: self-righteous Good wanted everyone to live in harmony, whereas the ever chaotic Evil wanted to do away with any sort of structure - Let everyone do whatever it was that they wanted to do.
And, as if Mother Nature could sense the otherworldly war, she made this night as hellish as possible for Anastasia. At her she threw rain like little knives, so sharp they seemed to cut her. The pure water lashing against her skin. It hurt so much, far worse than it would for any mortal. But she was something else. She was the grey matter. Her mom, an evil Succubus fell in love with her father, a declared Angel protectorate and together they made her - a glorified crossbreed.
With renewed vigor, or anger more likely, the Angel and Demon hybrid sprung to her feet, ignoring the blood that mingle with the rain water on her skin. She would heal herself later. Once she reached
In reality, the demons that haunted her and chased her down this lonely road were her memories. Memories of constantly not being good enough for either side. She wasn't good enough. She wasn't evil enough. Memories that she was now desperate to keep that way. Let the events of this new world stop repeating themselves and banish them to the past. Let them live as just that.. Memories. Good or bad, you decide.
SOO I feel like it doesn't really fit into the theme, a harvest of memories, buuut here goes nothing!
Okay so it's basically the first chapter for a book that just seems to be falling into place. Anyways, I feel like everyone is so fascinated with the right and wrong aspect of the world and how you just have to fall in one of those catagories. So I wanted to explore that idea and also kind of explore the life of a teenager who constantly pulled in every direction except the one she chooses for herself. Whether it be because of peer pressure or, in this case, impending doom. Ana is determined to stop history from repeating itself.
So yep! I hope everyone who reads it really likes it! I'll probably make a few edits between now and the end of the month because I'm always changing the wording of things and I love to add other descriptions of senses. Feel like it really makes you feel like you're there with Anastasia.
It was 1895. Summer was coming to a close, and the first barn swallows of the season were making their appearances, swooping and swirling and flitting frivolously over shivering expanses of wheat. A fatigued and elderly farmer rested his tired limbs as he sat slouched in his padded chair upon the porch, overlooking a day's hard work in the field as the sun sank steadily lower in the late afternoon sky.
Despite getting on in years, the man was still as fit and spry as anyone his age could hope to be, yet age was making its appearance all the same. His once-lush and tangled coal-black hair had thinned and receded and been claimed by snow and smoke, and his sharp-featured face had become craggy and hollow, lined by years of life and perpetual scowls. His previously proud and muscular frame had been eaten away by time's relentless ticking, his straight posture stooping under the endlessly increasing weight of the world gone by, and his hands which had been so quick and skilled were now cracked and seized like rusted hinges. Half a lifetime in the city hadn't helped halt the marching of time across his features one bit, nor the heavy loss of his wife's tragic passing in those early days before all of that.
As his gaze roamed across the swaying land like a gull skimming the surface of a slumbering sea, he saw her then. In the shimmering golden wheat he beheld her tumbling hair; in the crystalline blue sky, her vibrant eyes; in the whisper of the wind through the dancing stalks he heard her laugh, and on that same breeze was brought to him her sweet summer scent like a lullaby.
He found himself thinking back to the glorious years which they had shared together, sinking into blessed dreamlike memory and allowing the scenes and sounds and scents to wash over him in a reassuring blanket of better days. He remembered how they would spend those summer evenings sat upon the porch as he was now, speaking stories of their future as though they had already lived them, fantasizing over the places they would go, the things they would do, the wonders they would witness. She had wanted to travel the world and, once they had seen as much as anyone could hope to see, she had held the deepest desire to return to the farm and live out their final days in the peace and quiet and comfort of the countryside. She had made him promise that they would do that- 'promise me, Iggy, promise that we will we do this and be happy together until the sun goes out'- and he had. And here he was, despite the sun herself having left so long ago.
He remembered how, the day before every harvest, she would pack them a lunch and they would lose themselves in the rolling fields. How they would sit out there from morn till dusk, watching the day roll by and appreciating the beauty of it all. Then, just before retiring for the night for a simple dinner, they would spend the last hour or so simply sitting there. Just sitting, and watching the light of day bleed from the sky in a flourish of colour like the flush of her pastel cheeks as she would turn to him and smile- and that smile would coax the stars themselves from sleep and rival the beauty of sun and moon and everything in between.
Lifting his weary head from his chest and blinking open somber grey eyes- for he must have fallen asleep during his reminiscences, a habit which was becoming all too common in recent years- he witnessed an expressionless silhouette standing before him. Their features had been stolen by the light of the sun to their back, which encompassed them in a radiant glow yet blinded the old man to everything but their wavering figure which swam in the glare like an illusion. Yet, somehow, despite the visitor's eternal anonymity, he felt he knew them. He dipped his head in polite greeting. Glinting in the harvester's scythe, he saw her face in the light of the waning sun- a promise and a memory.
And he smiled- an expression which had been lost to him for years beyond count, smothered by loss, diminished by dread and darker days since the light of his life had been snuffed like a feeble candle flame by unknown hands. He smiled, and he remembered.
He let this be his final harvest.
OK, so I've never entered any competitions like this before and I honestly don't know why I decided that I would now, but I came across the thread and the prompt got me thinking about one of my characters which I created and have been developing for only a year, and I realised I had been focused so much on his past and present that I neglected to think about his future.
He's lived a pretty lonely life, and there are so many ways that I could see his life going- and this is only one possible outcome for him out of so many choices- but I would like just once to think that the grumpy guy might end up happy in the end, for one last time.
Pale-skinned and weary-eyed, the young woman sat there, a blank stare to her eyes as they bore into the space below her. She was kneeling on the ground, her arms dangling haplessly by her sides like she had no motivation, no ability or wanting to move them. Her slender, skeletal fingers were slightly curled, as though they had grasped onto something not visible to the naked eye, but the palms were faced behind her. Black-stained lips were partially agape, impeccably white teeth just barely peeking through the plumpness of her upper and bottom lips. Raven-feathered hair cascaded around sleek shoulders, reaching down past her thighs and spilling onto the grassy floor beneath her in a pool of darkness. Rufescent eyes glittered in the darkness of her hair, a hollowness evident in her pupils in such a way that denoted the absence of her mind. Not a single movement rippled over her body, not a twitch of a muscle or quiver of a finger, almost akin to her being a statue.
Paralyzed was the easiest conclusion someone could come to upon happening across this statuesque woman on the ground. Yet, she was not paralyzed at all, she could freely move whenever she wished, but she was dazed and could not move for just this moment. It was not by choice that she became as she was now, but a consequence of an action that she had taken just mere seconds ago. An action that she was not able to avoid with the sequence of events that had taken place but just a few minutes prior to this setting. In a way, she was not her own person, but a puppet of a mistress who was hidden in the shadows, unable to show Her face. She was a devotee of this silent mistress, walking the bindings of the Earth where her Goddess was not allowed to step foot. The incarnate of a woman who had fallen from the sight of God and conquered nearly all, but still sought out power.
Though walking this Earth and living what her Goddess could not, she was neither breathing nor inanimate, however a mix of both. Risen from the ashes of her grave, she was given a second chance, given life to live once more in the world she had come to know. Under a single condition, for all that, that she must walk this Earth as the incarnate of her Goddess and give thanks in the only way possible: death. And so, here she knelt now, a husk of who she had once been, bowed before the essence she had taken in order to grow her mistress's army. As consequence of any necromancer, of any person given vitality by Mivana, she was not a harbor of a single soul, but the souls of those she slaughtered. Thousands of anima created a medley of animus inside of her, and with it came all of the memories that each entity had connected to them. She no longer lived a single life upon this Earth, but the lives of all those who had fallen to the hands of the pale-skinned woman.
So, she knelt here in paralysis, praying that the memories that flooded her from the lifeblood she had just taken would quickly end. They were memories she wished not to bear, memories that were heart-wrenching, beautiful, and hateful all at once. Memories from when the person had been very young to the present day where their death replayed over and over in their head as the light faded from their eyes. Haunting visions of a life that she would now feel she had lived herself, eerie whispers of the man's essence as he swam around in her head with the rest of them. She wasn't just one person, she wasn't just herself like she wanted to be; she was thousands of people she had mercilessly killed. This last person she had slaughtered in the name of her Goddess had her to her knees in a silent scream, a wordless prayer to make it all end. Marceline did not want to live as a cultivator of souls; she wanted to live as she had once done before her very own death.
It was horrifying seeing the collection of memories flood her mind in a whirlwind of colors and sounds she was not familiar with. The horrific scenes of family and bonding, of love and hard work were memories she could not bear to keep of her victims. Memories that would haunt her for the rest of her eternity and cause her shame for ever having laid a wrong hand upon them. Nor were these memories limited, resurfacing to her mind each and everyday for every soul that wanted to torment her for their passing. They caused tears to trail down her cheeks, screams to rip from her throat, curses to her Goddess that were never heard. She was forced into a life of slavery, forced into a life where she was not bound to live the paths she wanted to take, but the ones her mistress wished to. Marcy was not her own person, but she fought every single day of her unlife to get what she wanted out of her second chance.
This though. . . this that laid before her, the bloodied and lifeless body of a man that had worked all his life and loved with all his heart. . . These were the killings that she could not bear to hold within her, but new she had to collect the souls for her Goddess as tribute. She, no matter the heart in her chest, if it pumped blood through her body or not, did not have the choice to stop what she was doing in the world. Mivana had a set goal in her mind and with this new incarnate in her hands, she could achieve the goals she had set before herself. A cruel Goddess with good intentions, Mivana had given her a second chance at living and with it, the consequences that would come. But Marceline could not help feeling in the slow-flowing liquidation of time of memories that flooded her that she did not want to kill anymore. She did not want to live as the incarnate of a bloodthirsty Goddess and did not want to live as a Harvester of Memories.
Word Count: 1,057
I'm hoping that this submission still hits spot on with the current theme, but I sort of took it a different route compared to the rest of those that had entered their submissions. It seems everyone's going a more Autumn-themed path, which makes sense with the title of the prompt, though at the same time, it could have several different meanings behind it. So, with that being said, I decided to take a more foreboding road, one that takes my long-beloved character into the depths of her actions and how that makes her who she is. In a way, it brings her past and mixes it in with those that she had encountered through various means, but all of which have a common ending when coming across her. I do hope that this isn't triggering in any way, shape, or form, and do so apologize if it triggers anyone who reads it; however, do note that you are not required to read it. I hope it's okay that it's just a little bit over 1,000 words.
thats cute. Nice job
Track. This seems fun! I've never done one of these before!
Tracking + possibly entering!
Memories are like a werewolf. On one side they constantly tear away at you, ripping off chunks of flesh slowly, as to torture you. You scream and yell, you cry, you get mad and hurt and you fight back.... but it doesn't make a difference. You know, deep inside you, that that wolf will eventually kill you. You think about ending it then and there, think about giving into the wolf and letting him eat you til' there is nothing left of you in the world, but somehow you still fight. You know what you're fighting for? You fight for the good memories, that appear when the moon is done and the boy returns. That feeling of being wanted and cared for, and the feeling joy.... oh how you missed that feeling. You miss the good memories, but despise the bad ones.... and the boy helps you with the bad ones. He makes things light again, takes away the pain. However, sometimes we search for the boy, and he's not there. All we find is the wolf that's slowly consuming us.... and we fight, oh how how we fight for the boy, but he seems way too far away for our reach.... We got to just keep reaching, find our boy behind the wolf that kills..... And maybe, just maybe, then we'll get back those happy memories of old... Maybe, just maybe, then things will make sense.... and then we defeat the wolf.
Track ~ Might be entering!
We didn't meet as friends, I don't know why but my brain must have been on ultra alert mode, guard up and ready for any blow. That must have been the reason my brain tricked its self into thinking that this new girl to our neighborhood was the one person who hated me. I hated her right back, it was mutual. You know the type of person that just thinks that she is better then everyone? The girl I didn't like was one of those people, she thought that she was better at everything. My brain was nuts to confuse the new girl, Violet, with the other girl, Reilly, who thought she was better. The two girls were nothing alike, Violet was kind and Reilly was mean, Violet had dark hair and purple eyes, Reilly was a blonde with evil brown eyes.
My first meeting with Violet was at my house, they had just moved in next door. We had invited them over for dinner, Violet had said that my house looked nice and I told her, politely, that my house wasn't all that great. Her parents called her away to leave with them and i was left wondering, why would she say that to me? She hates me. That was the first encounter I had with Violet, who at the time I had thought was Reilly, but wasn't the last.
The next time I had talked to Violet she was with a friend, Reilly's younger sister, Margaret. When I saw them I screamed that I hated them and ran off, my brain was still thinking that Violet was Reilly. Over the time between
Violet's and I's first meeting and our next one the really Reilly had become a lot meaner.
At our third meeting, we were at a school field-trip, it was a three-day stay at Oakbin, a famous historic place. I had been walking with my only friends, we were a group of five. When I saw Violet and Margaret, I bolted away. When they made it up to me, my friends, Violet, and Margret, I was in an old ruin of an old watch tower. My friends tried to ask what was wrong, and one of my friends tried to shoo away Violet and Margret. I was left staring at Violet, I finally saw her not as Reilly but as Violet. I asked her what her name was and she answered, confused,' Violet Hemmway'. I did the same to Margaret, she answered as well, 'Margaret Willer'. I apologized to both of them, saying that I had mistaken them for someone else. Which I had, for the past year I had thought that Violet was Reilly. They told me that they had been looking for me, that they thought I was nice and wanted to be my friend. After that, we started hanging out, My friends and I and Violet and Margaret. We became fast friends, we'd hang out and do all sorts of things. We went to the same college, we both watched as the other got their dream job. And I watched as her life was taken by a car with a reckless driver.
Seriously, what the f*** Shinx?! GAH MEH BRAIN!