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Figured I'd post a topic both for my own reference and maybe to get a bit of feedback. Theme 2: Bones This is pretty mediocre. I was kind of lacking in inspiration for this one. It was initially submitted without a title. "High Noon" High noon. Lovely time to take a stroll through a desert valley in the middle of the summer, no? (The answer, by the way, is yes. As in “yes, it’s not.”) Either way, though, that’s what I was doing. Huh? You want to know why I was doing something like that? Eh, well, fair question, I guess. Long story short, I was leading an archaeological team out here. We’d finally found something, our first lead in weeks, and – me being me – I wasn’t much in a mood to wait a minute longer than I had to to see this place for myself. And so here I was, gulping down my twentieth bottle of water in as many minutes as I scanned the landscape, my carefully trained eyes searching for anything significant they could find. The problem, though, is that careful training of the eyes doesn’t give you much of an advantage when there’s nothing to see but bones. Well, I guess there’s the sand, too, but I guess that’s not really important. Anyway, back to the bones. They were everywhere, layered thickly across the sand all the way to the canyon walls. Human remains crunched beneath my feet as I walked, bleached and brittle after centuries of baking in the desert sun. What is this place? I wondered, popping the cap off another water bottle as the contents of the previous one flooded out of my skin. Or what was it, rather? I came to a halt, glancing around again and still finding nothing of interest. A place of death, obviously. A place of a lot of death. But did the owners of these bones die here, or were they placed here? If the latter, then why? And either way, what killed them? I guess that’s one of the most thrilling parts my job – answering those questions. Figuring out the who, the what, the why and when and how. Taking whatever evidence we can collect and piecing it together, figuring out what makes sense, what doesn’t. A bit like breathing a faint breath into some of these bones and watching them grow back together, come back to life. The problem with that, though, is that to piece evidence together you have to have evidence in the first place. And instead of evidence, what we’ve got is an army of skeletons. I twisted open another water bottle, pouring a drop of it onto the ground. Within seconds it had vanished without a trace. It was gonna be a long day… ----- Theme 4: Character Story I think it was raining the night I wrote this and I wanted to write about a thunderstorm? I don't really remember. I could've made this one a lot longer - I think it originally came out to almost 900 words, and that was already cutting out a lot of stuff I'd planned to include. I think it came out pretty well, though. "Oranges in a Thunderstorm" I was… oh, I don’t know, eight years old, maybe, kind of a weird kid, didn’t have many friends. It was midway through summer; the few kids my age I got along with were out of town. I was bored, really bored – couldn’t think of anything worth doing inside, and it was way too hot to do anything out in the sun. I figured I might as well head into the woods behind my house, see if I could find anything interesting, a deer, maybe, or a creek or a pond I didn’t know about. The woods went back quite a ways, see; you could spend every afternoon out there for a decade and still find new stuff each day. I grabbed a couple granola bars and a bottle of water and walked off, wandering aimlessly until I found a neat little waterfall sort of thing. I sat there for a while, watching it, and eventually decided to follow it upstream for a while. Somehow, I made it to a road cutting through the trees. The road was narrow, but it was paved, paved with cobblestones, anyway. I started down the it, curious to see where it would lead, and I glanced up at the sky as I did so. It was darkening; storm clouds were gathering above. It would be raining before too long. I’d been on the road a while, never seeing anything but trees and the same cobblestone path, when I realized how hungry I was. I’d finished off my last granola bar a good hour ago already, and trekking through the woods was taking up a lot of energy. What with the rain and the hunger, I was just thinking it would be a good idea to turn around and head back when a dark building loomed into view, a house that was really more a mansion than a simple house. It was on a cliff, and behind it, I could see the ocean churning in the building storm. I walked forward, a bit apprehensively, I guess, but my eight-year-old mind was more concerned with getting indoors before the rain began in earnest (and maybe getting some food in the process) than the potential danger. It wasn’t until I’d banged the wolf-head-shaped knocker against the door a couple times that I remembered the stories the other kids told about the house at the edge of the sea, the house where the witch lived. The witch who cast magic with some weird rock and— The door creaked open, and, well, not that I knew much about witches, but the woman who stood there didn’t seem much like one. I don’t really remember much of what she looked like – she was young, I guess, and pretty. She did have a rock in her hand, I noticed, but it didn’t look very magic to me – just an ordinary chunk of granite. She smiled down at me, somewhat amused. “How’d you get all the way out here, huh?” “I, uh— I walked,” I stammered, more confused than anything. She wanted to know how I’d gotten here, but not my name? “Walked, huh.” She laughed softly, though I wasn’t sure what was so funny. She shook her head. “Never mind. You probably want to get out of the rain, yeah? It’s not looking pretty out there.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, chased a half-second later by an angry roar of thunder. I didn’t need much more invitation than that. “Hungry, too, I bet? Uh, here. Have one of these.” She grabbed an orange out of a bowl resting on a shelf just inside the house and tossed it to me. She turned and walked off, a bit of a weird thing to do when you’ve got a guest, but I didn’t think much of it. I followed, peeling the orange as I did so. Suddenly I stopped – the fruit’s flesh was a deep, dark red. She turned, seeing my surprise, and laughed again. “What are they saying about me these days – the oranges are red from the blood of my victims or something?” I blinked. Actually, I had heard that. “It’s their natural color,” she continued, “and a rather nice color, at that. A genetic mutation.” I cautiously popped a wedge of the orange in my mouth. Tasted fine. The rest of the fruit was gone in seconds. She smiled, pointing a thumb at another bowl of the oranges. “Help yourself.” I did so. ----- Theme 6: The Mask No periods in this one. Also pretty much the only reason it's fictional is because it involves an Iron Man costume. "Halloween" Halloween, fifteen years old Sitting on my bed, staring at the plastic mask in my hand, picked it up from the dollar a few hours ago Trying to decide, you know, whether I’m too old for this Trick-or-treating and all I mean, I’m fifteen years old Too much, right Well maybe, not like there’s any set rules for this or anything Flip the mask over, rub my thumb on one of the creases It’s Iron Man BecauseThe truth is I am Iron Man Haha that line is so great Tony Stark is best Avenger Haha Look over at the rest of my stuff Dark red shirt and pants, got ‘em cheap Bottle of gold paint, for if I decide to do this, actually And some light blue, too Obviously Look at the mask again I mean most people I know are just staying home Passing out candy Some are going out, sure But they’re all going with a bunch of people Friends All planned out and everything No one invited me to do anything SoI guess I’ll just Stay here but Like It doesn’t seem right Somehow I’ve been doing this Trick-or-treating, I mean As long as I’ve been alive So to just Stop Is Weird, I guess Knock on my door It’s my mom “Are you going” “Dunno yet” “You should decide soon” Yeah, I know Look back down Iron Man’s eye sockets stare back Empty Soulless Well no duh He’s a mask So should I go or Hm Think of last year and the few before that House on the end of the street gives out full-size Snickers And I mean Usually there’s plenty of Crunch bars to go around Things are amazing You like, can’t get those anywhere anymore Except that one drugstore I never go to But Still Another knock Little sister “You going” Look at Iron Man again “Dunno” “Please” Back to Iron Man Tip the mask a little He smiles a little Sort of, if you squint “Yeah whatever” Screw it, I’m going And by God I’m gonna have fun with it ----- Theme 8: Glass I was severely lacking in inspiration for this one. Nuile gave me the theme "Windows to the Soul," and this was the first thing that came to mind. "Windows to the Soul" They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. How do I know that? Um, because it was in an old book of Foxtrot comics I have laying around somewhere. Jason and Marcus are building a giant T-Rex or something and they need to study Paige’s eyes to figure out how to make it look evil. Kinda funny how things like that stick with you, huh? But yeah, that’s what I was thinking about now, for some reason, as I sit here, bored, a bit apprehensive, too, for some reason. Idly I pick up my pencil and flip it around between my thumb and forefinger; its ends fly back and forth like a seesaw on stimulants. I barely notice the action, barely notice anything, really, as I just sit here in class, waiting for something to happen. Well, okay, there’s something I notice, namely the girl sitting one row right, one seat forward. Hard not to notice her, really, at any given time. For a second my gaze lingers on the back of her head before flitting over to the window. Not much to see outside. A tree. Must be a bit of a breeze ‘cause the leaves are shaking a bit. The glass could probably use some cleaning. My glasses could do with cleaning themselves, now that I think of it. I slide them off, turn up the corner of my shirt, wipe off the dust. Glance down at my paper as I do so; everything looks right. Except for number 6, which could really be one of two answers, and whichever I pick’ll undoubtedly be the wrong one. Oh well. I fish a sheet of paper out of my backpack; might as well get some writing done. Writing about, um, um… Yeah I don’t know. Maybe I’ll draw something. Predictably, a couple seconds later, “something” has amounted to a few random lines. I slide the paper beneath my book. Back to pencil-flipping. My forefinger slips and the pencil falls next to her desk. Wordlessly she reaches down, grabs it, hands it to me. For the briefest of moments I can see her eyes. Windows to the soul. Then I blink and take the pencil. “Thanks.” She turns back around. “You’re welcome.” I slide the paper back out and try again to think of something to write. Still nothing, surprise surprise. But for some reason that’s not quite as annoying as it was a few minutes ago. ----- Theme 10: The Forest I put a lot of effort into this one, it being the last theme and all. Apparently it paid off, since it won its category and tied for first overall in OTC. "The Forest" A dense fog shrouded the Forest, clinging to my skin and soaking into my clothing. The branches of the gargantuan trees were slippery beneath my feet; even after years of travelling this way, it was still a challenge to find my footing in these conditions. It was difficult too to find my way forward – not only did the weather severely limit my vision, but I hadn’t come this way in… how long? Months, at least. Why I chose to travel here, I can’t quite say. Maybe I just wanted a change of scenery. Perhaps I was guided by my subconscious or some other force beyond my comprehension. Whatever prompted my journey, though, one thing was certain – I was really starting to regret it. Wandering aimlessly through the Forest in a fog such as that one is rarely a wise idea. I suppose I should introduce myself: I am the Man. Once, perhaps, I was called something else, but whatever that name may have been, it means nothing now. The inhabitants of this place know me as the Man, and there is no one to call me anything else. They refer to me as such because I am the only human being to live here, on this planet known to us as the Forest. Perhaps, in the distant reaches of space, there are those who refer to it in another way, but none here could fathom what that might be, nor do we care to. Of course, “we” is a relative term. There are several species in the Forest that whose intelligence equals mine, certainly: the apes, the wolves, the cats. The birds, too – some of them, at least. And, of course, surpassing us all is the Lord of the Forest himself. But none of these associate with me, nor I with them. Occasionally we make contact, interact in some way, sometimes as friends, others as enemies. But rarely is it long before we part ways. My foot slipped on a knot in the branch that I hadn’t seen; I lost my balance despite a quick attempt to right myself. My fingers caught a groove in the bark and for a moment I hung there, suspended in fog. Then they slipped out. Time slowed as I fell. It was surreal – all around me there was gray, gray, nothing but cold gray fog. It was impossible to tell which way was up, which was down; I has no reference point of any kind. And then I felt hard wood beneath me as I collided with another massive tree branch, this one even wider than the first. With some difficulty, I pushed myself to my feet and glanced around. Surprisingly enough, I could actually see something – off to my right, the colorless fog transitioned seamlessly to a dull reddish glow. Intrigued, I stepped forward, though I did so tentatively. I wasn’t sure how badly I’d been hurt in the fall, and on top of that, well, the Forest holds many dangers. I’d never seen glowing red fog before, but it could easily be one of them. Within moments the source of the light came into view: in the branches of the tree was nestled a nest, a nest so massive that it looked to be constructed of saplings rather than twigs. And within the nest lay three eggs, nearly identical, their coloration a beautifully marbled red-orange-purple. From each egg radiated a dull light, illuminating the nest and refracting through the fog that surrounded them. I stared at the sight before me in awe. Only one creature in the Forest could have produced such a marvel. A faint rustle of leaves reached my ears, and I slowly turned. Staring out of the fog was a single massive eye, a vibrant orange ring surrounding a pupil bigger than my head and darker than a starless night. Immediately I dropped to one knee and bowed my head. The eye blinked and moved in closer, bringing with it a beak that looked sharp enough to slice me in half with the barest scratch. Fortunately, though, the Lord of the Forest didn’t seem to be in a slicing mood. Instead, he clucked softly, offering a greeting and not a threat. I rose. “It is an honor, my Lord.” Only thrice before had I ever laid eyes on the great bird, and never had I seen him so close. He clucked again. I nodded silently and turned back into the fog. Within moments I could see nothing but gray. ----- THE END. Feedback is appreciated.
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Figured I'd post a topic both for my own reference and maybe to get a bit of feedback. Theme 1: A Dark Hunt This was not inspired in any way by Person of Interest; I have no idea what you're talking about. Originally this didn't have a title. "Phase Two" The Toa’s body crumpled to the ground as I withdrew my blade from his back – the hunt, at last, was over. It had been a particularly challenging one – yes, that’s right, challenging, even for me. Hunting down someone who’s gotten his hands on an Olmak is no easy task. My partner would never admit to finding any assignment the slightest bit difficult, but I understood the value in recognizing my weaknesses. If I could understand them, I could conquer them, learn to succeed in spite of them. It was why I would be alive far longer than he would. Well, actually, that’s not the real reason, I guess. See, this mission had two parts. I knelt down beside the fallen Toa and wrenched the Olmak from his face; that, naturally, was our primary objective. The mask housed considerable power, power the Shadowed One wanted to ensure was in… competent hands. Phase two, well… “Excellent work,” came my partner’s voice from behind me.I turned, rising and giving a nod of appreciation. “Likewise,” I replied. He had concealed himself in the underbrush, using the powers typical of his species to cast an illusion over the clearing, distracting our quarry while I finished the job. “Lemme see that,” he said, gesturing to the mask. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.” We had planned on using the Olmak to quickly return to Odina – my partner could access the mask’s power; I could not. I tossed the mask in his direction. The moment he reached out to catch it, I lunged forward, my blade stopping an inch from his throat. To my surprise, he barely reacted, only raising an eyebrow in surprise. “What’s this?” he asked. “Treason?” “Hardly,” I said. “I’m told you’ve been compromised, that it’s my job to retire you. Personally, I’m not too thrilled about it, but you should’ve considered the consequences before you betrayed us, yeah?” Suddenly he—Laughed? “Something funny?” I demanded.He shook his head slowly, still grinning. “They told me the same thing about you.”I barely had a half-second to process the information before the Olmak in his hand exploded, a fireball large enough to engulf the entire island. ----- Theme 3: The Chronicler I think I could've done better with this one, but I like it well enough. "Preserving the Past" Hey, uh. I don’t have much time to talk, so I guess I’d better make the most of it. Oh, yeah. Guess I’d better introduce myself, sorry. Name’s Greil. Not a Toa, no – I look like one, yeah, but I come from a species native to the Southern Islands. Which isn’t really that important, I guess. What matters more is what I do; I’m a… historian, I guess you’d say. The Matoran call me a Chronicler, or at least most of them do. I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things. All of it’s recorded in that book over there, or at least the parts that aren’t in that one. Or any of those in that stack. Or… yeah, you get the idea. That’s not really what I’m trying to tell you about, though. Yeah, adventures are cool. Watching history unfold before your eyes is something that never gets. But, see, it’s all there. All in those books. Feel free to read about any of it, if you like. Just bear with me for a few minutes here, all right? See, as you can probably tell, I’ve got a thing for the past. Recording it, documenting it. Crafting a chronicle of our existence so the deeds we do won’t be forgotten. Like, uh… hang on a second, let me just… Yeah, here it is. Volume Six, chapter forty-three – “The Deeds of Toa Hydrac.” His exploits were the stuff of legends while he was alive. Now, though? You ask the people of his village about him, and all they have is vague recollections of a Bo-Toa who protected the island a while back, “or something like that.” A piece of the past lost. Events that may as well not have happened for all the thought they’re given. See how fragile the past is? The mere passage of time destroys it, melts it from our memory. So yeah. That’s what I do. Preserve the past. Guard it, protect it. If I don’t, it’ll just vanish, and we’ll never recover it. Wait, wait, I’m not done. ‘Cause, see, that’s not all there is to the past. Tell me – what’s the point of preserving it, huh? Why do we try to remember everything that happened before now? To honor the heroic deeds of those who came before us? Just for completeness, to have a full record? Both of those have some merit, yeah. That’s what I had in mind when I set out on this quest, this endless, lifelong journey to record what’s happened in this world we call our home. But see, there’s something else that I realized. Ultimately, the past is gone. I mean, think about that, really think about it for a minute. The past means a lot of things to a lot of people. Some recall the deeds of their heroes, wishing they could someday mirror such feats. But the thing is, you’ve got your own life to live – you can’t live it if you focus on the past. Many live in regret of the decisions they’ve made, wishing they had done things differently. Wishing things had turned out better. But the things you’ve done – they’re gone! Because they’re in the past. When it comes down to it, living in regret doesn’t really make sense at all, does it? ‘Cause really, since you can’t change the choices you’ve made, what’s left to do but go out there and make better ones, yeah? I guess what I’m trying to say is this: It’s good to remember the past, but don’t let it distract you from the present. Well, uh. Looks like that’s all the time I’ve got. Like I said, feel free to check out those books. Or maybe you could go out there and live your life. I don’t really mind either way; I’ve got some things to take care of… It’s up to you. ----- Theme 5: Find the Power I didn't think this one was anything special when I wrote it, but it wound up winning its category. Go figure. "Power Source" Onua rose slowly, feeling the power of his mask flood his limbs as he pushed himself upright. The Pakari had always granted him strength far beyond the normal limits of any being, and even now it continued to do so. In fact, rather than being damaged in any way by… by whatever had just happened, it seemed to have grown in power, if that were possible – he felt as though he could lift the island itself as easily as any of the others could a pebble. He called upon the power of the Miru— He cleared his throat. The power of the Miru— Nothing. So their little bath had destroyed his other masks? Quickly he reached out for his Akaku – nothing. Hau – nope. Kakama – still no. Kaukau? There wasn’t any way to test it here, but he expected the result would be the same. He glanced down at himself for the first time. His form was bulkier, stronger, more powerful even than it had been before, which was certainly saying something. Sleek silver armor covered his body, accentuating every rippling muscle. He tapped the plating on his forearm softly – he doubted anything would be getting through that within the next millennium or three. He examined the hand he’d just used. Minutes ago, powerful claws would have erupted from his fingers at a thought, but this, too, had changed. Simply a hand, he thought, flexing his fingers. How could he protect his koro without— Slowly, instinctively, his hands drifted to his back and were greeted by cold, hard metal. He withdrew the weapons, examining them. Some kind of complex machinery – a long shaft fitted with a belt and dozens of sharp metal blades. Maybe he could… The weapons roared to life, the blades dissolving into a blur and reappearing moments later as he mentally shut them off. Certainly these would be far more efficient at tunneling through the earth than his claws had been. And with practice, they would be deadly in combat. He finally looked up, taking in the dark cavern. His fellow Toa were, like him, mesmerized by their new forms. Tahu had gotten his hands on some new blades, blades which were now engulfed in fire and whirling about in a flurry of flashy maneuvers. Pohatu was repeatedly vanishing and reappearing in another corner of the cavern before Onua could register he’d moved at all. Lewa, like Tahu, had been engrossed by his new weapons, a pair of swords that he was clearly more than eager to learn to use. Kopaka was simply leaning against a wall, looking on in disapproval – typical. Gali had focused her attention on something else. She stood at the center of the cavern, gazing at an object that seemed to hover in the air. It was a cube, a cube carved with odd symbols and glowing with blue light. Onua made his way toward it cautiously, both apprehensive about the object before him and worried that Pohatu might not be watching where he was going and run him over. Within a few moments the rest of the Toa had gathered. Lewa was the first to speak. “So, uh… what’s the deal with the glow-bright cube-thing?” No one had an answer. They stood in silence for a few moments before Kopaka extended his arm. “Wait,” Tahu interjected. “We have no idea what—” The Ice Toa silenced their leader with a glare as cold as his homeland and snapped his arm forward, his hand tapping the cube and then retreating to its place at his side. A brilliant flash of light flooded the cavern and the Toa backed up as one, Lewa aiming his new blades at the cube. Tahu angled his for Kopaka, a curse on his lips. Ah, priorities. A moment later the light had cleared, and, oddly, the cube seemed to be missing a side. A side, Onua realized suddenly, that Kopaka held in his hand. “What—” Pohatu began. Kopaka cut him off. “It’s cold,” he said, gazing at the square of stone. “Cold even to me. It houses power.” He looked up. “My power.” Immediately Tahu stepped forward, touching the cube and claiming a piece as his own. The remaining Toa followed suit, Onua stepping forward last. Reluctantly, he grabbed the only side left. What Kopaka said was true – he could feel his own power emanating from the symbol in his hands. Should something like this really be removed from its proper place? But he said nothing. ----- Theme 7: The Order This was fun to write. I probably could've gone for a bit more detail in the ending, but it was past midnight and for some reason I decided getting some sleep would be a good idea. "In Which Artakha Almost Gets Me Killed, Multiple Times" Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. Man, most of the people in this universe don’t even think he exists. Spirit knows how bad I wish they were right. Dude has an insane superiority complex; thinks he can boss us around, do whatever he wants, just because the Great Beings made him out to be some kind of god-figure. Which, by the way, he’s not. OOOOOOH, look at me, I’m Artakha! I can use telepathy that’s a little bit stronger than anybody else’s! I can teleport anywhere, not just to places I can see! Yeah, sure, he builds cool stuff. Seriously, though, who cares? Give me a mask that shows me exactly how to make whatever I want and I’ll do the same thing! So basically his powers are being a little bit better at reading minds and at getting places than most people are, and he can wear a mask. Amazing. Seriously, this guy is infuriating to work for. Like— Okay, I could rant on and on about this, but I’ll just give you an example: the crystal serpents. Ol’ Arty thinks he can make rahi all by himself. Guess what, he can’t. Creates these giant crystal snakes that kill anything that moves with some heat ray thing. But of course he’s too conceited to admit he failed and decides to – instead of killing ‘em off before they murder anyone else – release the things into the wild where they can laser anybody they like! And since he’s too busy designing (read: copying a design from his mask of) some upgraded kanohi thing, he tells me to take them out and set them free. And then, a couple centuries later, when he’s getting worried that “Northie” (as he calls the one that lives on the north coast of the island) is sick or something because there haven’t been any reports of laser-induced death from the north in a while, guess what he does? He figures that I should go check on him, since I was so good at not getting melted by heat rays the first time he had me deal with them. Yeah, so, after the thing ambushed me and lasered my left arm off is when I called it quits. Just triggered my Kualsi – what do you know, I can teleport too – and landed behind the thing and crushed its head in with my warhammer before it had any idea where I’d gone. Stole a boat, ditched the island, blah blah blah. Got the Ghosts to build me a new arm – those guys are so much better than Artakha, seriously, their craftsmanship is almost as good and they’re actually reasonable, imagine that. Settled down in the Southern Islands, found people there who actually appreciated my skills and whatnot. Started up a good business building stuff that a mask didn’t churn out the blueprints for. ‘Cept then yesterday some guy in a Sanok comes knocking on my door and tries to put a dagger through my heart. Artakha’s behind this somehow, that piraka. No way to prove it, of course, but… Spirit. Met up with one of my old contacts, a merchant with his ear to the ground. Says the guy after me’s with the Order. I know Arty had some dealings with them a while back, but why he wouldn’t have just gone with the Hunters if he wanted me gone is beyond me… Eh, it doesn’t matter. Either way I’m probably dead. Screw Artakha. I hate that guy. ----- Theme 9: Paradise This is probably my favorite of the Bionicle stories I wrote. I was still kind of surprised that it won its category, though. I also had "Paradise" by Coldplay stuck in my head for like four days. "Passing Through Paradise" The sun blazes down, scorching the back of my neck. The sand beneath me is blistering; I feel as though I’m walking barefoot on a frying pan. My mouth burns; my throat is dry as cotton – it’s been forty-eight hours since I poured the last drop of water in my canteen through my chapped lips. The pack on my back seems as heavy as an obese kikanalo; with every step I take it threatens to pull me to the ground. But I trudge on. Where I’m going is not important – all you must know is that this desert lies between me and my destination. I have lost count of the years I’ve spent out here, pushing ever onward towards my goal. Years? you question. Yes, I know. It amazes me as well, sometimes, when I pause to contemplate it. I am no Toa; I claim no great powers to ease the path before me. I am but a Matoran, a single, weak being alone in a sea of sand. But my goal lies ahead, and I must reach it. And because I must do so, I will. I reach the crest of the dune and halt for a brief moment to observe the landscape. Sand. More sand. And, off in the distance, a small dark speck. It is not until hours later that the speck becomes a narrow swath of green in the midst of the endless tan. An oasis. A sliver of paradise in a world of endless pain. It is hours still before I reach it, but at last the sand turns to grass beneath my feet. The foliage radiates from a pool of water, deep and clear. I unshoulder my pack by its shore, dip my canteen into its depths. The water is cool and pure, life in the midst of death. I fill the vessel and seat myself beneath a towering palm, the tree shielding me, protecting me from the merciless sun. As I drink I dig my feet into the ground, relishing the feel of grass between my toes. I finish off the canteen and turn to the tree, wrapping my arms around its long, limbless trunk and pulling myself upwards. I manage the climb on willpower alone; my strength, certainly, is not sufficient to carry me to the top. I draw my knife and cut free a cluster of bananas before dropping to the ground myself. I peel one of the fruits and eat it slowly, enjoying the sweetness that fills my mouth and the fullness that barely begins to fill my belly. I continue in this manner for the remainder of the day – drinking, sitting, climbing, eating. At dusk I curl up on the ground, grateful to be able to sleep on the soft grass rather than my coarse bedroll. The next morning I wake, bathe, and begin again my routine of eating and drinking. I have gone long without water and longer without food; my energy must be replenished. I search the rest of the oasis, finding nuts, berries, and more fruits. No rahi have made their homes here, it seems, which is somewhat unfortunate – meat it would’ve been nice to have a bit of meat. Nonetheless, I gather what I can and return to the pool. The next day, too, follows a similar pattern, but with the added task of drying and preserving any food I can find. By the end of the day my supplies have been replenished. I wake the following morning and bathe quickly before refilling each of my canteens. I take a final sip of the pool’s cool water before shouldering my pack. An hour later the sun is again scorching my neck; the sand is again blistering my feet. My throat is again dry and my lips are again chapped. Again my pack threatens to drag me to the ground. Paradise is behind. My goal is ahead. ----- THE END. Feedback is appreciated.
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This is my entry for the FFM contest "Find the Power" It is also a brief tale about Kranos. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Just yesterday, I was a handsome Av-Matoran. Now, I'm a monster. A small, green and black Matoran thought as he sat down in his cave. What will I do now? Both sides hate me. All I can do is sit here and fight my own battles. "Hello Kranos." A familiar voice said. "Made a decision yet?" "No." Kranos replied flatly. "And it doesn't matter what you think. You're dead." "Oh come on. If I were dead, then how could I be here?" The voice said, stepping out of the shadow. "Zek, you died five weeks ago when the Makuta first attacked. I know because I saw you roll off that cliff and plummet into the swamps below. No one could have survived that." Kranos said. "And yet, I am here." Zek said. "No, you're not." Kranos said, annoyed. "You're just a figment of my imagination." "Oh really? Prove it." Zek said, snickering. How Kranos would love to pick up his sword and stab this ghost. But that was the evil talking. Five weeks ago, the Makuta began their assault on Karda Nui. Zek, Kranos, Kirop, Radiak, and Gavla had all been struck by Shadow Leaches, creatures that sucked the light out of you, leaving nothing but a shell full of darkness, hate, and evil. Zek had rolled off of a cliff in his agony and fallen at least forty-thousand feet into the swamps below, where the beasts that dwell down there would feast on his flesh. Kranos had ripped the leach off of his face before he lost his mind. At least, not all of his mind. Kranos' body had changed, but his mind was in a state where a perpetual conflict existed. A battle between good and evil; light and darkness. How easy it would be to let the evil take over, but Kranos would not allow that to happen. He would fight to find the power to keep the darkness at bay until he could find a cure. "Well? What are you waiting for Kranos. Kill me." Zek said. "I can't kill you. You're not real Zek." Kranos said. "Nice try, Makuta." He finished as Zek disappeared. "You're right, misfit. You can't kill him. But I can kill you." The Makuta said as he dropped from the cave ceiling. "This will be extremely fun. But I'll give you one last chance to side with the Makuta." "Why would I do that after what you did to me?" Kranos said, drawing his sword. 'What I did to you? I made you stronger, faster, deadlier. I made you perfect." The Makuta sneered. "Perfect? I'm anything but perfect." Kranos said, edging closer to the dark entity. "Well then, it's been nice knowing you, Kranos." The Makuta said. It was a fierce battle between Kranos and the Makuta. But in the end, with a sword though his thigh, Kranos fell. "Farewell, Kranos. My work is done." The Makuta said as he flew away. White was in the edges of Kranos' eyes, he knew that his time had come. Thank you, Makuta. Kranos said, he didn't even think that he would ever say those words. But the Makuta had ended his suffering and helped Kranos find the power to follow the light. Kranos lay still on the cold, hard ground, greeting Zek on the edges of reality. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Please C&C!
