[Story] NightDreamer09's 100 Themes

[NightDreamer09]

100 Themes Challenge Prompts completed: 28 / 100 (+5) My own take on the 100 Theme Challenge, with the objective to write some free form material when "I want to write but I have nothing to write about". Some pieces might be loosely connected together while others might be completely self standing. Some pieces come with a few explanatory words. Comments and critiques at discretion of the readers.   1. Introduction 2. Love 3. Light 4. Dark 5. Seeking Solace 6. Break Away 7. Heaven 8. Innocence 9. Drive 10. Breathe Again 11. Memory 12. Insanity 13. Misfortune 14. Smile 15. Silence 16. Questioning 17. Blood 18. Rainbow 19. Gray 20. Fortitude 21. Vacation 22. Mother Nature 23. Cat 24. No Time 25. Trouble Lurking 26. Tears 27. Foreign 28. Sorrow 29. Happiness 30. Under the Rain 31. Flowers 32. Night 33. Expectations 34. Stars 35. Hold My Hand 36. Precious Treasure 37. Eyes 38. Abandoned 39. Dreams 40. Rated 41. Teamwork 42. Standing Still 43. Dying 44. Two Roads 45. Illusion 46. Family 47. Creation 48. Childhood 49. Stripes 50. Breaking the Rules 51. Sport 52. Deep in Thought 53. Keeping a Secret 54. Tower 55. Waiting 56. Danger Ahead 57. Sacrifice 58. Kick in the Head 59. No Way Out 60. Rejection 61. Fairy Tale 62. Magic 63. Do Not Disturb 64. Multitasking 65. Horror 66. Traps 67. Playing the Melody 68. Hero 69. Annoyance 70. 67% 71. Obsession 72. Mischief Managed 73. I Can't 74. Are You Challenging Me? 75. Mirror 76. Broken Pieces 77. Test 78. Drink 79. Starvation 80. Words 81. Pen and Paper 82. Can You Hear Me? 83. Heal 84. Out Cold 85. Spiral 86. Seeing Red 87. Food 88. Pain 89. Through the Fire 90. Triangle 91. Drowning 92. All That I Have 93. Give Up 94. Last Hope 95. Advertisement 96. In the Storm 97. Safety First 98. Puzzle 99. Solitude 100. Relaxation 101. Duty 102. Medal Ceremony 103. Haiku 104. Free Agent 105. Planetary Colony 106. Summer afternoon

[NightDreamer09]

1. Introduction

 

No need for Introduction Speckles of gold into the darkness of black. Smooth saxophone jazz played softly in the background. The city glittered outside the floor to ceiling window but inside, no noise arrived, only the smooth, low sound of saxophone jazz. Everything was black with speckles of gold. Black was the sky outside, black was the marbled floor, black were the walls with highlights of a bright sun, black was the ceiling with lightly shining dots making up constellations of unknown galaxies, black was the small, rounded and polished table with inlays of golden rays, black was the armchair with a low back. Low was the light, just few discrete rays reflecting and rebouncing on the speckles of gold, flowing in the finger of alcoholic drink resting in the pristine octagonal crystal glass. Smooth saxophone jazz played softly in the background. He sat in the black armchair, right beside the round table with the glass resting on the polished surface. He did not need introduction. He did not need to speak about himself. He was already speaking, without speaking. Black were the smooth, sharply ironed jacket and trousers, only the cuff links shined at the end of the sharp sleeves like dots in the darkness, coupled with a single pin on the sharp collar of the jacket; three silent dots in a velvety darkness. He sat straight, no slouching. Back as straight as a mathematical line. The body had no visible tension, yet it was perfect in the sitting pose, much like the old Emperors and rulers sitting in their thrones made of stone. He was sitting in an armchair, with a low back, and black. Black with rare speckles of gold. The brimmed cap shadowed his features, a shadow that not even the discreet lightning seemed to penetrate. Smooth saxophone Jazz played in the background. He did not speak, but he did not need introductions, he just needed to be. Introductions were for the ones without presence. He had all the presence he needed. A left, neatly manicured, hand raised the glass, the hat tipping, casting shadows into the crystalline glass. The movement was smooth, as smooth as falling water, not wasting a single joule of energy for more than exactly what was necessary. No more, no less. The crystal glass reflected and sparkled in the low light as it was raised, the sloshing of the alcoholic drink barely audible. When it sat back on the polished, so polished you could reflect the ceiling, table, empty it was. Smooth saxophone Jazz played in the background. He rose from the chair. Without effort. Without speaking. An introduction. Not needed when you Are. Yes, you… Are. He turned and walked out. Presence was already the introduction. Smooth saxophone Jazz played in the background.

[NightDreamer09]

54. Tower

 

The Tower Wind whipped her white hairs back as she inhaled. The hair smelled of the salty sea as the wide ever spanning ocean breathed toward the land. Waves crashed down below at the base of the tower. The tower. Lonely it stood, on the edge between sea and land. Lonely but straight, it cleaves the waves, a bulwark of the land in the growing sea. The thick stone walls hold strong against the moody sea, something kissing like a lover, sometimes hitting like a vicious fighter. She smiled as her gaze turned from the dark blue with white stripes of the sea to the green and brown tones of the land. The land smelled differently when it breathed back toward the sea. She could see little moving dots far away at the edge of the lands. She was sitting atop her tower, where two worlds met and clashed. Alone but yet never alone, she could not be alone where two worlds met. From the top of her tower, she listened to the endless talks of the two worlds touching in that strip that was of both and of neither. She listened to the wind howling, to the waves rumbling and the water bubbling, the earth murring and the trees bristling. She listened to the wood creaking and the old stones stony silence. The tower was the end and the start of the world. The only stable point in the nature surrounding her. The tower, standing high and proud. Stony, in the middle of two worlds. Not to fall to either, till the end of times. The tower. Her world. Her home and her prison. Hel blindfold and her point of view. The tower that stood proud and silent between two worlds with its lonely soul as a dweller. Wind whipped her hairs back as she inhaled again. She had the tower, the tower that wouldn’t fall till the end of times. Nothing else was needed. Nothing else mattered.

[NightDreamer09]

12. Insanity

 

Insanity is a family thing. "Insanity? What’s that? That’s for the plebs, I’m not insane." That’s what the seventh Count of Shemmelmoore stated without matter of doubts. The facts might have said different, facts that the Count dismissed time and time again as “gossips of the plebs”… and of his political enemies, of course; “a conspiracy to destroy him and his long standing family!“ It was said he shouted in the main hall of Manor Werleigh during a bout of rage. The Count, seventh of the Werleigh family to carry the title of Count Shemmelmoore, showed that “he wasn’t in the right state of mind”, as it was said, long before he got the title from his father, the sixth Count of Shemmelmoore. It was said it once painted the room at the Royal Collage of Saint Patrick, where the cream of the cream of society went to be prepared for a life of politics (and excesses), in various shades of orange. When he was asked the reason, it seemed he replied with something on the line of “The white was doing too much light!”. But if we go on order, it seems insanity had already surfaced with the third Count of Shemmelmoore, Sir Owen Werleigh, who, tales says, attempted to have many acres of the property around what was becoming Manor Werleigh be excavated and covered with sand as “there were things coming up in the ground and smelling bad.” He was stopped after an acre of so… the attempt was made harder by the fact that he wanted only real sea sand… which was at many hundreds of kilometres. If the third Count wanted to cover his property with sand, the fourth didn’t touch the land, but he did touch some of the rooms of the growing manor. Contemporaries annotated how some rooms had been painted in an… unbecoming manner. Demons and spirits, naked women and phallic objects, that’s was what seemed to be the subjects of the murals… in many and variegated colors. Impressionism at his best? Maybe, for sure the impression he did on his contemporaries was very impressive. Not to say, the fourth Count made sure to give a triple hand of paint to said rooms. The fourth Count seemed mostly normal. Mostly. Aside from wanting the plates and objects on his table organized following hexagon patterns. And not just plates, people waiting for admittance to his office had to follow a hexagon pattern too. The fifth, ah the fifth Count, Sir Lachlan Werleigh, was the one that at some point, not long before he was “gently” substituted by the Sixth Count, was seen running naked and screaming at the air. He was chasing some kind of ghostly enemy he only could see. A pity that he did so in the King’s capital and a Lord of his Majesty should keep certain… “behaviours” behind closed doors. But the cause of his ultimate demise came after the naked run. He was caught throwing poop from his city residence third floor windows. The only problem of such a gesture was that said poop landed on some not very playful beings which went complaining with some very powerful beings which, in turn, suggested it might be a good idea for the fifth Count to retire to private life. Tales say he was seen throwing poop from the Manor’s window too later on, but it was in his property, not a problem of the Crown anymore after all. The sixth Count behaved rather normally, aside from trying to collect mosquitos, live mosquitos, in little cages and complaining when they flew away. And thus, we are back at the seventh Count of Shemmelmoore. The one that painted his room orange and that forbade the entrance to his manor to people with a certain shade of skin, shade he only seemed to see. Insanity is a family thing, isn’t it?

[NightDreamer09]

97. Safety First

 

The idea is that at each step you take deeper into the building you see for a moment an image of what it was back in the day, when the production was alive, while the next moment, at the next step, you see an image of the present, the decaying, abandoned present.

Safety First “Safety First” The sign, in once bright colors and now smattered with dirt, was bolted on the concrete above the entrance to the industrial building now slowly being overgrown by nature. Part of a larger industrial compound, at its peak a few decades before, it was now a testament to an era slowly fading into the flow of history. Inside… Voices and machines. Voices of machines. Voices of industry. The production was in full swing and the building resonated with the voices, the shouts and echoes of the workers, as well as the sounds and breaths of the machinery. Silence had no space in there, only the voice of industry had. … the silence. Silence coating, filling, the decaying building; only a smatter of sounds came from the outside: some birds and insects rustling in the bushes that were overgrowing the expanses of concrete and asphalt. Inside… Metal was the dominant material. Metal on metal. Towering machines built with metal to produce the products of industry. It didn’t gleam; it was coated in the dust of productions, in the lubricants of smoothness, in the materials coming in only to come out transformed, in the sweat of the workers that poured endless hours of hard work in there. … rust. Rust was dominating. Rust clinging to the support beams holding the roof, clinging to the machinery that won’t speak again. Speckles of rust flecking down at the touch of a gloved hand. Lubricants had dried out, sweat had too and only the residuals of productions remained as the bastard child of productions, not wanted and forgotten. Inside… Safety was a tenet to hold to. Safety avoided the production to stop, avoided the workers to get hurt. Usually. Not always. People wore gloves, helmets and masks. But not everyone. Old timers and cocky workers often didn’t follow safety rules. It was part of the game. It was part of work. Enough skills to be safe nonetheless, they said. … it was not safe anymore. Parts of the machineries had been stripped and salvaged: their guts strewn on the dirty concrete floors. Jaws of darkness opened when whole machineries had been completely removed or where some of them had collapsed under their own weight, like old people under the weight of their lives. Inside… The smell of production: the smell of each step that transformed raw materials into refined products. The smell of the chemicals used to smooth and fasten the production. The smell of the sweat of workers. The smell of industry. … the smell of dust. The smell of rust. The smell of decay, thick and lingering. The smell of the nature slowly reclaiming what was once hers. The smell of what is now becoming a distant memory. The smell of something that won’t be again. Inside… The Past. Bright. Glorious. Productive. … the present. Decaying.

[NightDreamer09]

100. Relaxation

 

A bit of a “tip of a hat” to a very sweet piece I did quite some years ago about these two characters. Many stuff happened with them and not all of it was pleasing, quite the opposite, but, as I’m slowly getting past it all, they still feel kind of sweet and fitting for a relaxation morning.

Relaxation Day The sun licked at that exposed thigh as it sneaked through the shutters. It was the morning sun. But not the sun of a working day. It was the sun of a relaxation day. If the sun of a working day was glaring and piercing, the sun of a relaxation day was, instead, a soft, warming touch. She stirred and came resting on her back. “Mmm…” The sun caressed up: on her hip and up to the chest hidden under the sleeping t-shirt. It licked up to her chin, brushing her cheeks before it reached up to kiss her eyes. “Mmmm…!” She stirred again but the sun was relentless in its soft touch. Her green eyes flickered open and got blinded by the sun’s smile, a soft groan escaping her lips as she turned to bury her face into the pillow. It always feels too early, didn’t it? “Someone is awake.” The voice was soft, full of care… full of love. And the voice was followed by a change of weights in the bed, as a new person joined in. Soft lips came brushing on the cheeks the sun had warmed up already, blonde hairs tickled at the ear poking out in between brightly colored hairs. “Mmmm…” A soft giggled could be heard as that soft lips went on brushing on that poking out ear. The stirring girl turned her head up and the green eyes flickered open, just in time to see looming lips come down to kiss her softly. That was the kind of kiss only happened on days off. Soft. Slow. Like there was no rush in the world. Because that’s the way relaxation days should be taken. Slow and without rush. The start was promising. “Morning~” the awakening up girl smiled to the love of her life. “Well awaken baby.” The lover said as she softly brushed a strand of green hairs from that tanned forehead. By now the first girl was fully awaken and bathed in the sun and in the warm presence her love gave out. “Slept well?” “Yes, I did.” “Good.” The stutters rose and the sunbathed them in all their glory. The day outside was one that would be called perfect: a few stray clouds walked the otherwise blue sky, a soft wind moved the palms as the sun smiled upon it all. They took their time, just chilling there, relaxing with each other as they watched the wide blue sky. That was how relaxation days should start. Breakfast came and the tray landed on the bed for them to enjoy: fresh fruits, cereals, milkshakes and fruit juices were arranged for a fresh and light breakfast. A little bit there, a little bite here. A sip of a juice and a sip of the milkshakes. A smile and a giggle. A few words and some silence. Relaxation days’ breakfasts should be like that. By the time they were done, the day was in full swing but they weren’t worried. They were not there to rush like the rushed on their usual days. The girl with colored hairs stretched as she finally got up from the bed “Time to do something, isn’t it?” “Maybe!~” giggled the other “More relax I’d say!~”

[NightDreamer09]

30. Under the rain

 

Advised music to accompany the read: Perturbator (feat Greta Link) - Desire

I advise caution as the implicit happening might not be for everyone.

Under the Rain The falling sun disappeared behind thick and dark clouds. The golden light faded and darkness moved predatory forward. Rain smattered on the floor to ceiling windows. Clouds came low and dark and the dark shrouded the never sleeping city. Neon lights pierced like swords and daggers the falling rain and growing darkness. A hand reached to touch the cool glass. A puff of breath clouded the transparent glass, hazing the lights outside. Speeders sped past the windows. The Japanese woman smiled from one of the skyscraper on the other side of the chasm. Perfect almond eyes, perfect red lips and the whitest of complexions. She spoke, but the floor to ceiling window only carried a vague vibration. It fizzled out as the product and brand it was presenting boldly appeared back. Advertisements, fuelling the economy. Another puff of breath clouded the transparent glass. If above the dark clouds rained down their tears, below the endless looking chasm gaped open to drink them. A chasm with neon pinpoints breaking its darkness, ending up on garbage littered streets with the tarmac and concrete slowly cracking open under the acid tears. A single tear fell on the moquette laden floor. The hand slipped down on the cool glass, leaving a fading imprint. The city kept on living, unfazed by the little stories of its inhabitants. The city didn’t care either about the acid tears washing down on its steel, glass and concrete body. Drops dripping down on the facades, pooling in the streets, flowing down the manholes and the drains. Another puff of breath clouded the transparent glass. Soft steps moved away from the floor to ceiling window. A door swiftly slid open and light illumined the otherwise dark apartment. But it was a brief moment before the flickering neons took back the stage, in the shrouding darkness. The acid drops felt cool on the heated and yet bare skin. The sounds of the never sleeping city, the fizzing sound of electronics, the booming sound of advertisements, the humming sound of speeders, the dripping and splashing of the rain. It all filled the ears of the listeners. Eyes looked up, to the dark clouds clouding the sky, taking away the stars, the moon but lightly reflecting the neons from below. Feet took steps in the puddles gathering on the concrete; dark pools barely reflecting objects and lights while breaking them in a million pieces, much like the single drops of rain did as they hurtled down from the sky. Eyes moved from the clouds to the chasm. The gaping chasm. It felt even deeper from there, even darker, even more… hungry. Hungry for the acid tears from above, for the neon lights that tried to escape the same way light tries to escape a black hole. Hunger… Hunger… The chasm came closer, its maws of darkness arose. Hunger… A single tear, breaking up into a million pieces. A million pieces reflected into the falling rain as it hurtled down into the hungry chasm.

[NightDreamer09]

23. Cat

 

I just thought about describing a cat that might be more than a cat in a fantasy setting.

Cat The cat yawned as it sat high on the ledge of the roof. It was a black cat, its hide black as the moonless night, soft as velvet if anyone could have touched it. Its eyes were bright, yellow greenish in color and with a light of intelligent in them. Its little fangs were white as bone as it yawned. The slender tail swinged lazily. Cats were part of the town. Some were pets of humans, or maybe it should be said that some humans were servant of said cats. Some were familiar spirits, evocated by mages and witches and taking a cat’s appearance. Some were stray ones, living in the muddy streets, scrapping for food in what the humans left behind and what they could catch, such as the rats that infested the lower levels. Some like it, were cats of a higher intelligence, without the limits of normal cats nor the bonds and laws of familiar spirits. It yawned again as it stretched, pushing forward with the front paws and pulling back with its rear. It was time to take a look around. Its eyes surveyed the muddy road below, a carriage pulled by a donkey was getting through, loaded with empty chests of vegetables: a farmer that came in the morning to sell his products and now he was on his way home, as the sun had started its daily descent. People came and went, some carrying bags and baskets, some carrying weapons, some simply hurrying around. Just by looking at them, you could see such a variety of people: the rich and the poor, the lazy and the hard working, the threatening ones and the ones to be threatened. Variety. The cat looked around, where would the unseen path take it today? The roofs of the city were made of wood, straw, clay and stone, chimneys jutted here and there, some smoking and some not. There were paths up there, much like the streets below where paths on the ground, paths that let the cat move as it pleased throughout the city. It made its way up on the roof; this one was made mostly of wood and it was easy with its little claws to keep the grip. It went down the other side, and moved up on the next one. She followed a side alley for a bit before it gracefully jumped across the gap, landing on the clay tiles. Below it, people hurried along, the sound of a few workshops came up, together with the sound of steps in the mud, of words spoken or shouted. It glanced down briefly but nothing of real interest was there. A few more roofs went by, up and down on the various materials before it was time to go back down at the ground level. It far preferred the high ground, the ground of the roofs, no humans there to run around, mindlessly risking tramping it, or worse to purse and hunt for it. However, there was business to be done at the ground level. It made use of a tiled, sloping roof to lower itself down, letting itself fall, elastically flattening on the roofs to take in the falls before she took another jump down. Another thing it did not like of the ground level: the mud. It stuck to its paws and it was not something it appreciated. But business was business. It meowed as it reached for a specific wooden door: a dark brown fading into a weathered lighter brow, it was scratched and marked by use. Above it, a sign hanged from a black iron support: the wooden sign was a bit less weathered, with a bit of color hanging on the carved wood, it read “The Half Bended Spoon”. It did not took long for the door to swing open and something nice was presented to the cat: stew! How nice! It meowed and got on eating, there was time for thank you in a bit. Food was more important yes. “What a good kitty.” A voice from above the cat cooed softly, it was the voice of the hand that left the plate full of leftover food to ground for the cat to feast on. It was a bit of a strange relationship, the one between the human and the cat. They met by chance, the cat was walking the night as it often did when it had stopped by, or better landed on the windowsill the girl was looking through. A long look had been exchanged between the two: yellow greenish ones on one side and grey blue ones on the other. The girl had slowly approached, and the cat sat there, watching her movements, daring her to come closer as a bit of bone white fangs showed on the darker than night fur. But the girl had kept moving closer till it had sat in front of it, not making a move to touch her but instead starting talking. She had asked it about how it was doing, what it did during its day and other things before she had talked a bit about her and her life. On its side, the cat had leaned forward on the windowsill, not always looking at her directly but with an ear that was always pointed in her direction. From that moment onward, the cat had started visiting her from time to time and the girl started to bring it food. It was a perfect match: the cat was a silent but yet listening companion, while the girl provided the food and the occasional patting. Once the food had been done and only then, the black cat sat: the silent sign the girl could pet it. The hand came stroking its fur, slowly but caring, but careful not to upset the feline. She spoke a few soft words before a shout from the inside took her away, rushing on the inside. Ah, humans… and their busy lives. The business on the ground was done, it was time to move back up, in its true territory. If the descent was easy, the ascent was a little more difficult and required a bit more work. It charged its jump, pointing at a wooden barrel on which, with a whiff of air, its claws gripped on the wood, the first step up. The top of a windows’ lintel was the next step, followed by a windowsill. It wasn’t the best of path as it required hanging on thin ledges but being out of way made it worth. The windowsill was followed by the top of wooden shutter and a balcony. From there already, it could look down at the muddy alley below. The sun shone on the balcony and it warmed the bricks making up the small balcony. It could be time for a short nap. It stretched and yawned, the bone white fangs lightly gleaming as the sun shone on them; it sprawled on the warm bricks, letting the warm from below and above nurse it into a nap. Ahh… the pleasure of the high grounds. The sun slowly crawled in the sky, following its endless path, while below, the humans came and go, who faster, who slower, but still there hardly was quietness. Above, however, the cat lay undisturbed till it deemed time to move. And indeed time to move it was, the air had been getting chiller and the sun was on its path downward as the cat resumed its ascent. The black steel rail of the balcony was the next step and from there, another balcony before it was finally time to have its paws grip the roof. Ah the roofs… it sat, observing its surroundings as it took a moment to clean itself. It wet its paws as it stroked its fur. A true cat was never dirt. It was part of its being. Only when it was done and the sun really was falling, the cat moved again. With yellow greenish eyes turning alight, tail swinging, it started on a new path through the roofs, because the roof were its true territory, its black hide soon fading in the growing shadows…

[NightDreamer09]

67 Playing the melody

 

A bit of an experiment; it is a 80s vibe piece inspired by the 80s music, like Madonna and Bee Gees, fashion and makeup like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, films like Working Girl, and the tales of my mother of the era. The song that will guide you through this piece is Madonna – Into the Groove.

Playing the melody The city was walking, running, stopping and starting again all around her. She was standing against a stoplight pole, watching the cars stop at the red light only to speed past when it turned green. People crossed the street on the greying zebras and walked on the concrete sidewalks, who fast, who slow, who with and who without a purpose. And you can dance For inspiration Come on I'm waiting Get into the groove She licked her lips before she popped the pink chewing gum she was munching absently on; the music flowed in her ears, trying to top the noises of the city all around her. Her thoughts were drifting away from the crossing ahead of her… trying to get into the groove… trying to get on some inspiration to put into perspective what had happened in the last few weeks. She shook her head, letting her golden earrings wriggle, letting a strand of blonde, permed hairs out of the black scrunchy holding them back into a ponytail. It all started when she had split from her last boyfriend, she did not really regret getting him out of her life. But then… then… he had appeared in her life, like a light, a light she was weary of. Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be? They had met at the club she usually hung out with her friends. She was sitting at one of the tables around the dance floor with two of her friends, sipping from the light green straw of her Coca Bacardi when he had walked up to them. He looked good… he looked hell good: white jacket over a pastel blue shirt, matching white linen pants, those dark Ray-Ban glasses hanging from the neck of his shirt. His hairs were black, pulled back and lightly shining under the rainbow lights. And he was confident, they all could feel how confident he was. He knew he was good stuff. He invited her to dance, not Sofia, not Martha, her. The DJ changed the tunes and the floor started to heath up, as more couples and groups got on the polished parquet. She let him hang for a moment as she decided if he was worth the hassle but maybe… just maybe the music could help? She grinned and got up, leaving her friends cheer up from the sidelines as she let him guide on the floor, the Bee Gees shouting in the background as they started dancing. Music can be such a revelation Dancing around, you feel the sweet sensation We might be lovers if the rhythm's right I hope this feeling never ends tonight She let the music carry her, wave after wave of sound, hyphening her sensations and feelings. Her azure eyes, pools of summer seas, were locked into his brown ones, like two pools of spinning chocolate, as they danced. She let the rhythm carry them closer and further away. Their bodies touched and brushed as the music kept on blaring. She wondered if it could be love… if their rhythm was matching out of love. It felt different, oh so different. She had wondered if she was still sleeping and the evening could never end. Only when I'm dancing can I feel this free At night, I lock the doors, where no one else can see I'm tired of dancing here all by myself Tonight, I wanna dance with someone else She remembered when she had broken up with her last boyfriend. She did not feel appreciated enough. He spoke about how much he loved her and all, but she felt he did not care enough about where she wanted to go. She wasn’t content with serving at the diner down the street, she wanted more but it often felt he didn’t really listen to her. Things were getting strained before she caught him flirting with another girl and well, she did not like that, not at all. She left him right there and there hadn’t been space for discussion, she was done with him. She had locked all her doors for him. Get into the groove Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be? Now with this new him, she wasn’t going to be easy; if he wanted her, he would need to prove he loved her and he was up to her level. She had enough of empty promises. For sure, the start was good: his rhythm matched hers, his step fell with hers like they had been dancing for much longer than the two songs they had. She willed herself to awake but yet, the music kept on raging, the steps kept on following one after the other and he kept filling her vision. Gonna get to know you in a special way This doesn't happen to me every day Don't try to hide it, love wears no disguise I see the fire burning in your eyes She felt he was different. She wondered if he might be the one. She wasn’t one to fall for every guy crossing her path and more than one had tried their luck with her in the past few weeks only to end up rejected with no hope of repechage. She felt she wanted to know him more, to see if those fire she was seeing was the fire of love, or just the fire of a fleeting passion. Their lips brushed as they exchanged the briefest of kisses. They said love wore no disguise but she was a bit distrustful of men wearing their love on their sleeve. Only when I'm dancing can I feel this free At night, I lock the doors, where no one else can see I'm tired of dancing here all by myself Tonight, I wanna dance with someone else Back when she split from her previous relationship, she took a week of complete social retirement as she nursed herself, before she had started going out on the Saturday nights again; however, as the weeks passed, she had started getting tired of dancing alone. Dancing was nice and she felt free with it, letting the music carry her around, but alone was tiring. Her two best friends did their best to help but she was getting bored of the situation, she wanted to dance with someone again… did her wishes came through in the shape of him? She had wondered that as she watched him came for her. Get into the groove Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be? Yeah For sure he hardly missed a beat, on the dance floor and outside the dance floor. If it was for her, she would dance till the end of times, but she knew when it was time to take a break. From dancing classics, the DJ changed the tunes and she took the cue to retreat from the dance floor. He flawlessly fell in step with her, resting a polite hand on her elbow, like to gently guide her through the crowd, not that she needed any kind of guiding but she appreciated the thinking behind it. There was much to say and do to see if those eyes were really eyes of love and if he really was the one. Live out your fantasy here with me Just let the music set you free Touch my body, and move in time Now I know you're mine (you've got to) The fantasy was a too real fantasy to be a fantasy anymore, if so could be said. If this wasn’t love, she wondered what it might be as she laid there, in the near darkness only broken only the soft light of the nocturnal illumination of the streets outside. Her breath was soundless in the silence only broken by the occasional car through the street outside and bleeding into her room. It was just too perfect not to be love. Get into the groove Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be? She popped another bubble of pink chewing gum as she watched another sprint of the cars in front of her. From a certain point of view, he had taken her by surprise, he had swept her up and carried her in a direction that looked too good to be true. The smell of combustion, of people, of smoke, of the city as a whole lightly stung at her nose but her thoughts were far away, alternating between the present and the past, flying on wings made of notes and verses. Only when I'm dancing can I feel this free At night, I lock the doors, where no one else can see I'm tired of dancing here all by myself Tonight, I wanna dance with someone else The door had clicked shut behind her, she had wriggled out of her black leather jacket and hung it beside the door. Her booted foot had led her to the couch where she plunged dead on, her eyes drifted up to the fan without truly seeing it. She had licked her lips and her mind couldn’t but jump back to him, again and again. To his hands. To his smell. To his eyes behind those Ray-Bans he liked so much. To the feeling of his jackets and shirts under her fingers. To his hairs always neatly combed back. Live out your fantasy here with me Just let the music set you free Touch my body, and move in time Now I know you're mine, now I know you're mine Now I know you're mine, Now I know you're mine Now I know you're mine You've got to She hadn’t felt as alive in a long time. He had slipped into her life without too much clamor: he followed every step of hers, never missing a beat, never missing a clue, never missing a chance to touch her and move with her. She looked at the polaroid picture that depicted her and him, on a pier looking out in the ocean, with the sun warming them up. He did everything right, he was doing everything right. She could feel he was hers, the same way she felt she was becoming his. Get into the groove Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be? One more pink bubble popped and she sucked it in before her lips turned and stirred into a smile. He was going to prove himself again and again, but she felt he knew it and was good with it, in fact, she believed he liked the challenge. She propped herself from the stoplight pole and stood on the edge of the sidewalk, raising and waiving a hand to call one of the taxi that promptly screeched to an halt in front of her. She got on and quickly told the driver her destination. As she leaned back on the used seats, her eyes drifted to the outside, to the city with its towering buildings, with the people hurrying through it and its flow of cars much like water in a river, flowing around rocks. The smile that had lingered on her lips broadened as the sun breached the clouds hanging above and shone down on her. She believed her life was rolling toward a brighter future. And she wasn’t dancing alone anymore, oh no~ Get into the groove Boy, you've got to prove Your love to me, yeah Get up on your feet, yeah Step to the beat Boy, what will it be?

[NightDreamer09]

76. Broken pieces

 

It's quite a dark piece to me so I advise the reader's caution. I did however, tried to use the formatting to distinguish parts of the writing.

Broken pieces She felt she was falling. An endless fall. The darkness enveloped her but for those few broken glass pieces hanging in front of her. Like shards of glass, they were not just glass but more like windows on moments that had been. They were the broken pieces of a broken life. The sun was very warm but the soft wind offset some of the hotness. It was summer, the kind of summer where you hang under the rustling trees watching the clouds coming and going. She smiled, laying on the grass, a book beside her, a bottle on the other side. Limited worries, the freedom plenty of a carefree summer. Each piece a memory that had happened at a certain point of space and time but which will never be again. The rain lightly bumped on the glass and dripped on the windows, inside the fluorescent lights made all bright and the contrast stark. Someone was talking at some point in the room… or maybe droning was more apt. It was boring, she just could not keep the attention up; she had made the wrong choice letting others talk her into it. It just wasn’t her kind of stuff. She should have chosen different. She should had… The fall was a windless fall, she felt like falling but the tears that had started swelling up were not snatched away by the wind of a true fall. Words had been shouted, fuelled by anger and disappointment, fuelled by an inability to understand; a similar concoction had shot back, adding the stinging nor holding back as it tried to hurt as much as possible. She lay on her back in silence, staring at the ceiling; music played loudly into her ears to try blanket the sounds of the outside as much as the sounds of her thoughts and emotions in the inside. Nothing was working, nothing was going to work. Her tears grew as she couldn’t resist the powerful emotions she was reviving as she hopped from a single broken piece to another. Leaving. There had been no other way. She could not see any other way. The door had shut behind her, the silence had blanketed and let the shutting resonate into the silent house. A silence of solitude. A silence of no understanding. There was nothing left for her there but solitude, disappointment, anger. She had stepped outside; like in a haze, she had started walking without a destination. She would go somewhere. Somewhere. She had not been able to hold herself up. She had not been able to face the problems and everything that had came her way. She had failed. Such broken pieces were a testament of her failure. The fall was the outcome. “Will she wake up?” “We don’t know. It is possible and we can expect it will happen, but there is not… a date by which she will wake up. It is possible that she won’t awake too.” “I see. Thank you.” “The only thing we can do is to keep her up and hope for the best; hold her hand, hopefully she will feel the pull to come back to us, in this beautiful world.” A soft squeeze of a shoulder, trying to convey some empathy, some warm followed the words before the door of the hospital’s room opened and closed, the medic gone. She sat beside the bed, a hand reaching to push a stray of dark hairs back behind the ear. It looked so much like she was just sleeping and she could wake up at any moment; only the constant beeping of the monitors and the tubes hooking her up betrayed what looked idyllic, idyllic was not. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to that hand that felt so lifeless by holding it. “Please, wake up.”

[NightDreamer09]

19. Gray

 

Now, about this piece. It all started with the first part: triggered by an outfit I saw, I describe a "morning dressing". However, I was sad no 100's themes keyword would fit it so I wondered if I couldn't... expand on it and have it be part of the 100's themes: the gray one was the choosen keyword as such colors appears a few times through it.

I know it's longer than my usual writing. The first part is slower while then it gets a bit faster but it's something I searched for.

For the curious, these characters might appear again, yes. Continuing made me feel like I was going to strain too far away from the keyword Gray so I decided to stop there, at the name of the airship.

Gray The bed creaked lightly as she shifted, moving the long, white legs out with the feet landing on the spotless cold parquet as she sat on the edge of the bed. The feet dragged a bit back as she rose her arms up and stretched, letting out a soft yawn. The sun drifted inside in between the white curtains covering the floor to ceiling window. The white sheets and mattress that had warped till now went back flat, mostly flat as the sheets remained crumpled, as she got up. She softly sauntered to the window, gripping the white curtains and pulling, letting the sun flow inside freely. The warm touch elicited a little shiver in the fit body as her aquamarine eyes drifted on the outside greenery. The moment wasn’t long before she drifted away heading for the closet. The white closet’s door with gold accents silently swung open, reflecting her into the mirror inlaid on the inside and letting the light touch the clothes neatly stowed away. She surveyed her choices briefly before she reached down for a white bra with a soft lace work. She donned it, letting the cups softly and yet firmly enclose her breast, lightly pushing them up. What followed where the matching panties, as white as the bra, with the lace work softly caressing the shaped legs as they moved up till resting firmly on her shapes. She licked her lips and a finger rested on her lower lips in a thoughtful pose, if the underwear was ready, what about all the rest? A hand caressed the hanging dresses as she thought, such hard choices… a little smile bended her lips. As she reached a decision, she reached to grab a set of neatly folded silky thighs high: white as the underwear, they had a milky shine to them. So soft at the touch, they would be as soft enclosing her legs. She moved back to the bed and, once again, the mattress warped and the bed creaked lightly as she sat on the edge. She rose one leg and slowly started to pull one of the thighs high up: she felt it moving up like a second skin till she let it go and it snugly held up midway her thigh. One done, one to go. Smiling, she wriggled her toes and trailed a finger on the thigh high from the feet and up to the upper edge. She liked that pair, they always felt oh so nice. The second thigh high followed suit, till her legs were sheathed in milky silk. She got up again and dove in the closet to pull out a soft white blouse. She unbuttoned it and she donned it, letting the long puffing sleeves caress her arms before she started buttoning it back up, letting it cover her belly, her breast and up to close the last button just right on the neck. She wasn’t done yet, oh no. She once again reached in the closet and took a salopettes like gray dress. She slipped into it from below, letting it fall down onto her until the suspenders stop its fall as they reached her shoulders. She reached back to close the few buttons on the back before looking at herself in the mirror: on the lower part it was a gray skirt up to her just below her waist where a brown leather band tightly run and divided into two suspenders that reached up to her shoulders. Mmm… she still had some details to take care: the first was the ribbon, aquamarine in colour like her eyes, went around her neck. Then, her feet were still bare and she could not walk outside that way: soft leather boots, brown in colour, were picked up from the bottom level of the closet, with gold buckles sprinkling in the brown. They gave that bit of height more with their heels. Last but not least, her hairs and the make up! She moved from the closet to her vanity table which in style followed the closet: white with gold accents, the oval mirror mirroring her unmade hairs. As she sat on the soft white pillow of the chair, she grabbed a hairbrush and got on brushing. She took her time, smoothing her white blonde hairs till they did not look anymore unmade. She gathered them using another, matching ribbon to tie them up in a loose ponytail. With the hair now in proper shape, she went on to lightly highlight her eyes and eyelashes, followed by just a touch on her cheeks, nose and just a bit of lipstick. She did not like excessive makeup, just enough to highlight her beauty. She got back up and moved to the closet mirror, smoothing her gray skirt and checking her puffing sleeves. Et voilà. She twirled, letting the skirt raise just that tiny bit as she looked at herself into the mirror. Now, and only now she was ready to leave! She was excited as it was a voyage day: the destination was the sea town of Montauluire but she was going to board one of those huge airships called Zeppelins to get there! It was something she had wanted to do for such a long time but never had the chance to until now. With one last look at the mirror, she reached into the closet to pick a pair of gloves matching her outfit: gray like the dress, they had just a bit of white lace at the top to highlight where her skin ended and the soft gray fabric started. The closet closed behind her as her boots clicked on the polished parquet. There was just the time for a breath before her bedroom’s door swinged open. The light streamed in profusely from the floor to ceiling windows opening on the side of the tiled corridor. The tiles were an alternation of white and golden likes hues, referencing the same colours that were on the closet and the bedroom’s doors. She glanced to the garden outside the windows as she quickly walked the corridor; her steps were fast without looking too hurried, her excitement was not the easiest of things to keep under check but she still had a demeanour to keep. An atrium opened up on the other end of the corridor: round, this time the floor was tiled in darker tones. A pair of busts stared in silence from their recesses on the part of walls without doors. There had been time those busts made her feel like she was stared at with the most judgemental of stares, but such times were by now past. “Miss Hewes.” The butler, an aging man past the fifties with whitening hairs, in immaculate black and white attired bowed at her from his position close to one of the doors “Your luggage is waiting for you in the car.” “Thank you, Jordan~” She smiled brightly as she reached for him. She had known him for as long she had lived and there was a bit of a friendship between them, crossing the boundaries of class and employment status. “I see you’re excited, Miss.” He spoke with a light smile as he opened the door for her and walked with her toward the entrance to the Hewes estate. His black shoes steps were barely audible, opposed to her clicking boots. “I am, Jordan! You know how much I thought about being that high in the sky… seeing the world from such a different perspective.” She smiled brightly; he had known of many of her dreams much like most of the staff of the estate and the one about flying on a Zeppelin was one of them. He smiled and nodded as the last door opened and they were into the atrium opening up to the outside: rectangular in shape, slightly longer in depth than in width, it was the place where guests arrived and departed from the Hewes estate and, as such, it was a polite, never excessive, show of the achievements of the family. However, for her, it was just a room like many other, much more now that she saw the black car waiting for her on the road outside. The sun was much warmer outside than it was inside: she glanced above and the sky returned all it’s light blue glory with puffs of light as cotton clouds here and there. It looked like the best day to fly… “Have a good flight, Miss Hewes.” Jordan the butler smiled as he opened the car’s door for her to mount. “Thank you Jordan, I will!” she smiled as she got inside the shaded interior with dark brown padded seats. “I’ll tell you everything about it when I’ll be back.” She promised with a bright smile. “I’m sure you will.” He smiled before he closed the car’s door and signalled for the driver to go. ~ ~ < > ~ ~ The Zeppelin was hanging low, with its moorings holding it down close to the ground. The majestic airship was about two hundred meters in length, with the pearl gray shine of its outside lightly reflecting the sun warming it from above. The gondola hanging below the main body shined in gray metal with the portholes like dark dots all over it. She couldn’t but look outside the car’s window, much like a child, as the car brought her closer and closer to such a behemoth of the sky. People were so small below, coming and going from the gondola and the airstrip’s buildings. She too felt small as the airship loomed above her, shielding her from the sun as it dropped its rounded shadow on the ground. The driver opened her door and she took a slow step out, her eyes taken by the majesty and sheer sizes of the airship in front of her. The driver got her dark brown luggage and waited patiently for her to finish her amazed reverie before guiding her toward a knot of people, waiting in the shadow while the ground crews moved past them.. “Ah, Miss Hewes. A pleasure to see you in this fine day, a perfect day to fly if so I can say.” The man who greeted her in a jovial tone was a man a bit overweight with a beer belly making a show under his dark green waistcoat, a bit shorter than the others, with whitening sideburns and a jovial smile. “Hello, Mr. Leighlin, good morning to you too.” She made a small reverence to him as well to the other few men around him which she did not know; Mr. Leighlin was a business partner and friend of her father, Mr. Hewes. “Let me present you to the Captain of this beautiful airship, Captain Harbird.” The man in question was a lanky man with a salt and pepper beard, penetrating icy blue eyes and the attire of a ship captain: a dark blue trench coat that looked black with silvery gray highlights in the buttons, ranks and piping, matching dark trousers and black boots, a matching captain cap and a telescope at his hip. “Pleasure, Miss.” He said, simple, effective, not wasting more words that the right amount needed to convey what he needed to convey, no more no less. He gave her a little nod, his eyes gazing into hers, evaluating her. You did not become the captain of such a majestic ship without being able to evaluate many aspects of the world that surrounded you. “His second in command, First Officer Wythinghall.” The man was younger and much warmer than the Captain: with bright green eyes and a playful smiled, it bowed lightly back to her “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Hewes.” He spoke with a refined accent and his smile felt contagious, a smile she replied to with one of hers. He was dressed similarly to the Captain: dark blue trench coat, trousers, boots and cap but with different rank on his shoulders and chest than his superior. “Last but not least, Mr. Wardeby, he will be your assistant throughout the trip.” The man was in between the other twos: dark hairs neatly combed and brown eyes; instead of being dressed in navy gear, he was dressed in formal attire of black and white coloration “Pleasure to assist you Miss Hewes.” He bowed professionally, much like a trained butler and assistant would. “The Captain and his second in command will be your host and for the trip on such a majestic ship while Mr. Wardeby will try to help you with anything you might need.” Mr. Leighlin concluded the presentations with a big smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.” She smiled, bowing a second time “I am looking forward to the voyage.” “You won’t be disappointed by the Gray Ghost.” A thin smile spread the edge of Captain Harbird lips as he looked at his ship: the light of a true Captain was in those icy eyes, the one that said how much the ship meant to him, more than many other mere mortals. The Gray Ghost. The name made her shiver in excitement… so mysterious… The Gray Ghost.

[NightDreamer09]

59. No Way Out

 

For this prompt, I had a few and different ideas to play with.

I started by wroting a piece about something that happened to one of my characters in a game but I wasn’t sure if to post it or not; then I had an idea about an Old Republic’s squad being surrounded by Sith Empire’s overwhelming forces but it remained at the idea stage, inspired by one of the Star Wars: The Old Republic videogame trailers; then, I came up with a third idea, inspired by The Expanse, of a space/moon station where truly, there is no way out but it too remained at the idea stage; last but not least, I came up with this Sith vs Jedi idea, where I tried to look at the “No Way Out” from the perspective of the trapper instead of the trapped as the other pieces/ideas were.

In the end... I choose to post both because why not? I think I'm well past those events so why not making use of them for some writing exercise? And Star Wars... is Star Wars.


About the Wormhole edition: structured much like a news interviews, it recounts from a "autobiographical/Icily" perspective of events that had happened to the character.

No Way Out - Wormhole Edition You know, you don’t understand the extent, the power, of the words “No way out” till you live it, till you feel it on your skin, till you feel it in your hearth. I did. But as you’re ready to object, I did find a way out too. But that came later. There are places and situations where you have no way out. Mentally and physically. But let’s start with order. In space there are these constructs called wormholes: they are holes in the fabric of space that lead you to other systems, both charted and uncharted ones. Wormholes are unstable and not very predictable. Like you can have an idea in which area of space they are leading, so you know that you will get in known space or, on the opposite, in unknown space, but past that, you can’t say exactly in which system you will end up in. Wormholes are not persistent, they are up for a certain amount of time in a specific point of space but then, when they die or collapse due to too many disturbances generated by passing ships, they will disappear and spawn somewhere else with a different end point. About these uncharted systems. They are collectively known as “wormhole space”: it’s a set of systems which are not part of known space, obviously, and which have no direct connection to known systems either. The only way to get in, or out, is through wormholes. No gates or mapped routes, just wormholes. As you will understand coming and going from wormhole space is not that easy. It’s not easy for you, but it’s not easy for random, either friendly or not friendly, pilots to stumble upon you too. And there are resources hidden in that pocket of stable space. There are planets, both habitable and not, and you can build in there. It just takes a lot more effort and organization. You will understand that living in a wormhole system has its upsides and downsides. It’s just a matter of balancing the two. And being very careful. Being careful is the first skill you need when living there. Being very, very careful. Think about it: it’s hard for randoms and enemies to stumble upon you, it’s hard for you to get to known space and back… but it’s hard for allies to come help you too. Now that we got the basics down… I was recruited into one of those crazy groups that live in wormhole space. You can say crazy: you need to be kind of crazy to want to live so isolated from the known world. They had colonized this little system with a blue star shedding light on a few planets in wormhole space. They built a few space stations to manage and control the system as planet side they started extracting the natural resources present down there. It was quite a small, yet thriving, operations, away from prying, hungry eyes. However, nothing can be secret forever, right? The day that hungry eyes saw our little operation came and with it, the downsides of living in such a recluse pocket of space crashed down on us. We came under siege. Due to some mistakes on our part and some sheer bad luck, we were sieged inside our very home. We had no way out. And our allies had no way in. Our stations came under 24-7 blockage. And we couldn’t do anything. At that moment, I fully understood what it means having “no way out”. We couldn’t leave, we could barely keep contact with the colonies we built planet-side. We didn’t have the numbers to fight back the invaders. We had the ships, but we did not have the crews to equip them with. We could only watch. It’s when you’re trapped like that, when you see all you have built at danger of being completely destroyed, when you know that if you want to come out alive, when you have to sacrifice everything you have spent all that time to build, that you understand. That’s when I fully understood the power, the weight, of “no way out”. But you made it out, right? I did, but the price we, I, paid was heavy. In that pocket of stable space, I left more than just ships and materials, I left hopes and dreams, I left connections and friendships. I think I left a bit of myself too. I never ever went back to wormhole space. I did not want to feel again such weight settling on my shoulders, settling in my hearth. The weight of “no way out”. The weight when the only way out is to die and hopefully resurrect outside, far away from it all. I see.

About the Star Wars Edition: Why Star Wars? I wanted to write something in a setting that had kept me company for a long long time and for “No Way Out” I felt a Sith vs Jedi thing at the time of the Sith Empire and the happenings of the Star Wars: The Old Republic videogame could be quite interesting. However, as I mentioned before, I tried to look more from the "trapper" side than the "trapped" side. Yes, I love Sith ladies, sorry not so sorry!

No Way Out - Star Wars Edition No way out. The greying man stumbled back from the darkened presence that step by step was pushing him backward, deeper into the temple. He hadn't been able to stop them from storming the place and pushing him back, room after room. And now... this deep... he knew he had no way out anymore. "There is always a way out!" he gasped as he leaned against the cold, dark stone in one of the deepest chambers. The dark figure that was filling the doorstep with malevolence laughed, the laugh echoing in the small, shadow infested, room. "Tell me, then. I don't see any, at the moment." her teasing was filled with dark humour and malevolence: it was clear how she was playing with her prey. How her questions were for the sake of her own amusement and his despair. "You Sith can't understand." the old man gritted his teeth and steeled himself; he pulled himself up, to his full height, and brought his sword back up, the fizzing light of the blue blade pushing the shadows just a step away; they amassed outside the range of the lightsaber, eager to take back what was theirs. "I don't? Well, that’s a pity." she was getting bored of her prey as well as of all the righteousness and ‘I know things you do not’ posing. She snapped her lightsaber awake and the bloody red blades fizzed to life, adding a red counterpoint to the blue of the Jedi Knight in front of her. If the Jedi's one was a single blade of blue white light, hers was the kind with two, oh so red, blades, extending toward opposing directions. "How is you're still here? No way out, dear?" she grinned, with dripping contempt just before she launched herself forward. Time to finish this. Her blade fizzed and swinged on one side before rotating and bringing the other from the opposite direction to bear, looking for blood. The Jedi parried the first swing but was too slow and without space to parr the second: he let out a scream of pain as the red blade kissed and caressed his undefended legs. He sagged as he tried to make use of the stone behind him for support; deep down, he knew there really was no way out and rescue would not be coming. She knew too, all too well, that was why she had played with him: she had wanted to taste his fear, to taste the feeling of a trapped prey, when the prey realized that there was no way out. Her blade swinged and the arm holding his blade went lip as he let out a pained scream. "Do you still believe there is a way out, you fool?" she hissed; she was looming over him, a presence of growing darkness, Grim Reaper incarnated, highlighted with red hues. The shadows piling up behind her, like eager beasts waiting for their chance at the defeated prey. "I... d-do." he groaned as he looked up, he wasn't going to shy away from death, he would become one of the Force and his sacrifice would not be vain. "JEDI FOOL!" she hissed loudly and the blade zapped down, eliciting one more scream before the Jedi sagged down, motionless. The silence was now broken only by the energy fizzing of her blades, but it did not last long: the dying blade let the silence fall back in the room and the hungry shadows took back the place that was theirs. She regarded him for a slow moment… the Jedis and their foolish clinging to useless tenants. She turned around and her steps were the last sound to be heard in that chamber. A body now lay on the cold stone, chilling in the darkness and overcome by the ravenous shadows. She licked her lips as she walked out of the chamber, her work there was done, at last, and their mission was complete. As her steps brought her toward the entrance, her thoughts swirled around: she had her own fun, she had to admit that, and the taste of the prey's emotions, of the moment they realized they had no way out... it was something she just couldn't do without. The two soldiers guarding the chamber's entrance barely needed a gesture to fall in steps with her, flanking her just a step behind. They had guarded her back as she had her fun, sometimes non-Force sensitive where useful after, wasn't it? And they performed always so perfectly, the way she liked, she had to give them that. By the time she reached the entrance of the temple, three more soldiers had joined her; once again clad in black armor, they sported different weaponry than the two that had followed her to the dark chamber. "We are done here." she grinned, letting the raising run pierce the darkness of her hood as she stepped outside. The warm kiss of the growing light elicited a shiver of pleasure: all in all, she was satisfied. One of the soldiers nodded with their helmet but there really wasn't anything to say and they simply followed her to the waiting ship. By the time the ship took flight, the sun was warming the temple and only the sun could see the temple that had house the Jedi and his acolytes go up in flame as explosions wrecked it out from the inside. Mission accomplished.

[NightDreamer09]

101. Duty

 

You indeed have read right, I put 101 instead of a number between 1 and 100. Why? I wrote this and another piece that will follow for a writing contest focused on a faction of a
game I play and since I consider them as nice pieces, I thought why not sharing them here? However, I couldn't find a prompt that fit and thus, I choose to add some more prompts numbered above 100 to be consistent in the 100 theme challenge but still being clearly "additional".

The contest had a 1000 words limit: the following piece is 810.

This first piece is about the duty of a citizen toward the country they belong to.

Call of the State “Captain.” The Lieutenant saluted as the older, greying man walked past him. He returned the salute but he kept walking past, he had been recalled for a mission of utmost importance. It had been years, long years, since his boots had stepped onto those metal floors, since he had saluted higher ranks and lower ranks had saluted him. So many memories… ~ He was sitting in the patio of his summer house, on Abagawa IV; the sun was peeking through the grey clouds and he was contemplating the world past his garden. He had spotted them right away, walking up the street toward him: some things never truly died, not even after years a military career has ended. He wasn’t wrong. The two military officials had stopped right in front of the opening to his garden. They did not have ranks on their uniforms but for sure, just by the way they walked, they showed off they were military… and not any military, they were the Navy. He had risen an eyebrow as he regarded them; he had closed with the Navy back in the day, he wasn’t going to be back any time soon, he had said and repeated that again and again. “Mr. Laakkonanen, we would like to have a talk with you.” He had shrugged, such invitations were one way invitations: there was only one answer, yes. No was not contemplated. He had gestured for them to come in and he had led them inside his house, where prying ears would not be able to ear. He liked his privacy and had made sure his house was private. ~ The door swung open in front of him, opening on a lecture room with bleachers raising for 180° degrees around the podium, much like an amphitheatre. His grey eyes inspected the people gathering there, recruits, newbies still going through the military school that still hadn’t seen the front line. A military aide approached him and saluted “Captain, the lecture will start in 10 minutes.” He nodded as he reached for the podium, inspecting the equipment there; it had changed since he had last walked these halls. He had the military aide walk him through the basics, preparing for the upcoming lecture. ~ They talked, made their proposal but he had resisted, he had made his point clear and they left. They came back a week later and they talked some more and once again he made his point, refusing to play their game. However, in the starry nights, he knew his resolution was eroding, the State needed him… how could he refuse to help it? They had come a third time, they talked and, in the end, he had agreed… at last. Agreements were made, plans were set in motions and just days later he had taken a shuttle up, to the sky, something he hadn’t done in a long long time and he hadn’t thought about doing again in his life. ~ The clock ticked and the latecomers hurried to the last few free spots in the amphitheater. One last check with the military aide and he stepped on the podium: silence fell, barely a movement as the lights lowered and only he remained clearly visible at the center. He breathed as he slowly surveyed rows after rows of young cadets; he had agreed to come back to help the State, to help the Navy, and return the help he had received when he was younger and he somewhat still did. He gripped the podium, many of them could be his grandchildren if the war hadn’t taken her away. He steeled himself, it wasn’t time to remember such happenings, it was the time to teach the new generations how to avoid the same mistakes, how to make the State stronger, how to uphold the values that had let the State push through the centuries and through its many enemies. “Cadets.” The word resounded in the silent amphitheater “I’m not here to tell you nice stories of war with heroes and damsels in distress. I’m here to teach you about the wars we fought, I fought… to defend the Caldari State. History to avoid doing the same mistakes. I will be gritty, I will be hard, but that’s what you will find out there, cadets. We will go through the actions that had made to the history books and holos as much as through the actions that did not. By the time you will be done, you will be able to understand how we did it and why we did it.” He had chosen to do what must be done: he was going to teach these recruits how they did it, to build the foundations of a brighter future for the Caldari State. The State needed its citizens and its citizens must answer the call. He had answered the call. At last.

[NightDreamer09]

102. Medal Ceremony

 

And here we go with the second piece as I said in the previous post. Length: 766 words.

This piece is about the proudness of a soldier as her duty to the country has been rewarded.

Medal Ceremony She stood at attention, straight as a steel bar, immaculate dark blue uniform, boots gleaming. The light was blinding and she hardly saw anything of the silent room past the stage she was standing on. She could hear the silence split by the booming voice of the speaker. The high ranking Navy official was speaking on a podium at the end of the row of military personnel. He spoke about the State… about how much they had achieved in so little time… he spoke about defending the values of the Caldari State… about the service all those who were in the Navy did in the defence of the State… about the dangers and enemies the Navy faced every day… about how proud the State should be of them, of the Navy, for their outstanding work. “These people fought for the State! They risked their life for the State! They put their hearts and minds toward the defence of our values, of our STATE!” the words boomed and the tail end was drown into the thunderous applause. “We are here today to reward some of those personnel, some of those people that had been doing their best out there, in space, for away from their homes but with the State in their heart.” “FOR THE STATE!” as on clue the few rows of Navy personnel boomed their salute and rose their hands to their eyebrow in unison, sharp and precise, because the Navy was one: it did not matter you were a Deteis, a Civire or an Achura, once you joined the Navy, you were the Navy. The salute was met with another round of thunderous applause and the high ranking official let it die before he stepped down from the podium. A military aide was right there, ready to trail him as he started on the row. The military aide carried a metal tray full of medals and followed the high ranking official just one step behind, never missing a step, never moving more than what was exactly needed. Each time the Navy official stepped in front of a Navy soldier, he would turn to pick up one of the medals and appoint it on their chest. A few words were whispered and the soldier would salute before the high ranking official moved on. She did not move an inch, she did not let the lights from above glare her to the point of wincing, she did not let the warmness make her sweat. This was one of those moment on which an entire career hinged, where months long efforts were rewarded. With the corner of her eye, she saw the high ranking official just one soldier before her and soon enough, he walked in front of her. Her eyes did not move away from the officer’s face, she only caught at the edges of her view the medal for her service moving, reaching her chest, being appointed, adding the smallest of weights to the left side of her chest. “A medal for your efforts in support of the Caldari State, soldier. The State thank you, be proud of what you’ve accomplished.” The high ranking official words were military perfect, with just a smile warming up the otherwise cold and calculating visage; you did not get in those position without growing cold and calculating. “Thank you, Sir!” she replied, sharp as metal as she saluted just as sharply. The high ranking official nodded approvingly and moved on to the next in row. She was having a hard time not beaming with proudness; just a few years ago she would not have even thought she was going to be standing there, being awarded a medal for her service to the Caldari Navy. However, a true soldier of the Caldari State would not let emotions get through until the ceremony was done. The medal award ceremony kept on going as she steeled herself and remained standing. Only when every single soldier standing on the stage had been decorated and the high ranking official had moved back to the podium, it continued. “Praise this people because they are the Navy and their efforts keep us all safe. FOR THE STATE!” the soldiers boomed in unison with the high ranking official on those last words “FOR THE STATE!”. What they did out there was for the State, to defend it and its values, as much as to defend their dear ones back home. They could accomplish things that many would have said to be impossible, but for them, they were not, because they were the Caldari Navy. “FOR THE STATE!”

[NightDreamer09]

25. Trouble Lurking

 

This piece is set in the Guild Wars 2 world of Tyria. For more information see the Guild Wars 2 wiki.

Trouble Lurking