The Story

Every story needs a beginning. . .

 The Story

It started out as all things do, small. At first there was a warning, stay inside if you feel any kind of flu-like symptoms, stay away from people who appear sick. Then one by one people began showing symptoms that previous patients hand’t had before. Reports of burning rash and continuous delirium spread quickly around the globe, and with it came the panic. Friends were turned into enemies as the disease gradually began taking innocent peoples lives. A state of worldwide emergency was initiated just days before the disease claimed the presidential families souls. Chaos ensued. Panicked civilians resorted to crime in order to stay alive. Those who weren’t taken by the disease eventually fell into the hands of the robbers who had banded together. The streets were crowded with the bodies of those who couldn’t fight the disease.

Those who had survived the initial outbreak of the disease had been deemed immune to the mutations that followed, regardless of the fact that no one was willing to test their immunity.

The larger cities were of course the first to fall to ruin. Fires burned the once glorious buildings relentlessly, rodents and wild animals roamed the streets and picked off anyone foolish enough to venture unarmed. Those who fled before the panic took the globe sought refuge in the more deserted, forested areas of the world and were not heard from again.

Ever so slowly the fall of technology began. All activities considered job related had long since been abandoned and the now quiet power plants stood as nothing more than haunting shells of the promise they once provided. Soon after the fall of the lights came the shortage of fuel, things like cars and heat source became the of urban legend to the few denizens of the planet that struggled onward. The cities proved to be useless, with their blankets of bodies and the fear of the disease driving people even farther away from the homes they once lived in. Humans most primitive instincts began to replace those of luxury that once lead the planet. The few clans that remained retreated into solitude, to places where they believed they might be safe at last. 

Barely a year after the outbreak 75% of Earths population now littered its barren streets. If one were to take a now and then approach at the world they might come to the conclusion that at least 50 years had passed. That the world should be rebuilding itself after such a horrible tragedy. If only they could see the nightmare that was lurking just around the corner. 

In the cities that the world had left behind a new threat was stirring once again. 

In the cities that once stood above all else, the dead were beginning to walk once more. 

*Update*

Hello all! 

I am terribly sorry that I have not been posting as regularly as I promised I would. Personal problems and such have gotten in the way and I haven't had as much free time as I would like to have had. I apologize and I plan to get back on schedule starting soon! 

On a side note, I have begun writing something like a novel and may be spending a lot of time on that piece, would anybody be interested in chapters being posted here if I ever get around to typing them up? 

As always, feedback is appreciated and once again I am sorry for such a long break! 

Thanks!
~Misa.

Speak

Speak 

Her whole life the girl had been told to always tell the truth, to always speak her mind, and to always stand up for herself. Never once had she been scolded for speaking by anyone in her village. Sure there were a few people who cast dark looks her way when she’d pitch in during adult discussions, but none bothered to speak against her ideas. She was a smart girl. Always paid attention in classes, questioned what needed to be question, and, made such lovely conversations with her teachers regarding the subjects that she had been considered as somewhat of a genius compared to her other peers. Her faith in her morals was an impenetrable steel wall, once she decided right from wrong there was no one who could change her mind on the matter. The elders of her village always told her father that her quick tongue and sharp mind would eventually get her into trouble as she grew up, to which her father replied with sharp words of anger along the lines of, ‘You can’t raise her, I am her father.’ 

Needless to say, the girls tongue did get her into trouble. It was a boringly dull evening when the King’s sentries had arrived with the announcement of the tax increase. Maybe because it was so uncomfortably warm that her mind wasn’t in the right place, or maybe she was just irritable because of the fact that her work in the mines didn’t go as well as she hoped, but for some reason the girl of only 16 spoke out against the aged, esteemed man. Her tongue was sharp and her words were like fire. For a moment after she had finished her rant the man did not react, then, with a swift tap of his  cane she was whisked into his carriage and taken down from her mountain home and to the kingdom below where she would soon see questioning from the most hardened man himself. 

The man had no charges to press against the girl, none beside the fact that she stole his pride from him which certainly wasn’t punishable by imprisonment, so the man made something up. His long and drawn out story of her anger turning to violence at the sound of his decree soon spread all over the land, far and wide, turning the young girl into an example of what happens when you stamp on the law. The man, as sly as a rat, twisted his already ridiculous lies into a more demented plot, a plot of rebellion against the King himself. The words reached the King, the punishment was dealt, and now the man sits beside the King on his own high throne, the title of ‘Hero’ planted in front of his name as he sits on a throne of lies. 

Interrogation had been horrible to say the least. The girl lay in her cell, arms and ankles shackled in cold iron that had so much weight that she couldn’t escape even if she tried her hardest. The King’s dungeon keeper told her of the charges against her, of her apparently devious plot to assassinate the King and rule the kingdom herself like some kind of glorious conquerer. Of course none of this made sense to the girl, especially since she had no intention of even setting foot in front of the King in the first place. No matter how many times she begged and pleaded, bribed and yelled, the guards would not believe her words of truth, so she resorted to not speaking at all. She ignored the guards demands for her to speak countless times, always clenching her fists and looking straight ahead as they prodded her for answers, people she may be working with, people who knew of her brilliant plans. 

The guard comes in and forces her into an upright position, holding her face in his hands in quite a rough manner, so that she is forced to look into his grimy eyes. He orders her to speak, to say any word, any at all. Every fiber in the girls being is telling her to say whats on her mind, to try once more to explain what really happened to the men, but she cannot. For in the back of her mind she can still hear her elders predicting how her words would be her downfall, only now she is realizing her mistakes far too late. 

No matter what they may say to her, the girl will not speak. 

Decision

Decision 

Coming of age for boys in my tribe has always been very grim. In our case the severity of this day is magnified at least a hundred fold, twins were never really liked in this part of the world. Not since after the experiments. My brother is obviously weaker than I am. At first glance we may look identical, but once you look twice you can see the differences we share. My body is strong and lean compared to my younger brothers frail stature. I stand with pride written on my face while my brother tries to shrink away in the shadows. It isn’t his fault he is this way, Kai always got sick when we were younger which left him no time to grow like I have. The love I have for my brother cannot stand in the way of the job my father put me on today, no matter how grim it is. 

He looked confused at first as my words set in his mind. The confusion was instantly replaced with that of a fear I cannot comprehend. At first he tried to resist my iron grip, eventually giving in to the will I possess. There were tears in his eyes as I held him over the cliff, muffled attempts at speech garbled out of his mouth as he stared into my soul. I heard the desperate plea for us to run away, to live out in the wilderness together instead of dooming each other in such a way as our sick customs demand. A pang of longing stabbed through our hearts momentarily before I released my grip and he was gone from my sights. A single tear treks down my face as I hold my resolve and head back to find my father. 

Snow

Snow

Snow is pure and innocent, they say. They speak of its ability to float gently from the sky like an angel, they tell of its tranquil feel and its awesome beauty as if they worshipped the snow. And they do. They worship the small bits of frozen water for what they call its ‘beauty’. Of course the way they judge the snows beauty is by comparing it to the harshness of the ice that surrounds their world. The ice with its cutting edges, its depressing colors, and its thirst to cover all that lay in front of it make it the most hideous thing on the earth, so they say. 

They call the blankets of snow their savior, the only reason they can survive in the barren wasteland they are in is because of the snow which brings them various creatures to prey on, they say. The people have long forgotten the thick plates of ice deep below the fluffy fields, the ice that they hate, the ice that allows them to live on it. 

They say the ice exists only to compliment the snow, that the snows duty is to cover up the evil that the ice creates. With tongues of fire they condemn the ice for bringing misfortune upon their homes, and when something of great celebration occurs, the people thank the snow for blessing them. The people treat the ice as their underling, nothing but trash in the face of their beautiful snow. 

What the people cannot, and will not see, is the snows true colors. War and bloodshed, delicately preserved under layer upon layer of frost, the bodies untouched, the blood as scarlet as the day it was shed. The countless amounts of souls lost in the horrible snowstorms in late winter still linger in the cold, preying on anybody foolish enough to venture that far out. The snow only exists to cover up the cruel and gruesome world, waiting for the day when the ice will finally disappear and it can show what its been hiding all along. 

Sadly the people will never see such horrors in the snow, they will only see it in the ice. For who can see such colors when they look at something so white and pure as snow?

Wind

Wind 

Ever so softly the wind blows onward. Carrying on it a beautiful barrage of assorted petals which fill the air with their pleasing scents. With the petals comes the insects who, much like the flowers, float lazily on the ever breezy currents. The very wind itself resembles spring with its caring feel, the spirits of those who had been lost in the area contribute even more the the comforting vibe it brings. You see, the winds only job isn’t just the coming and passing of the seasons. No, in this world the wind also has the much more important job of returning the souls of the lost to their homes. Peaceful spirits who have lost their lives and wandered away from their graves are the kind the wind picks up on the way to the village. The restless and vile spirits find themselves left behind, unable to grab ahold of the winds soft waves. 

This is what gives the wind its laugh as it dances across fields of blooming roses, acres of fruitful trees, and lush rolling hills of green. The spirits smile with glee as they ride on the mother-like rush, not really aware of anything that surrounds them. As they float with the wind the wind allows them to feel how it feels. They laugh at the soft touch of their kins wings gliding above them, taking in all of the beauty the wind has been so generous to share with them. 

High above all others who are airborne, is a particularly small girl, one who has just received her wings. Most of the souls take no notice of such a small thing, but one soul in particular floats up to hold the girl in the sky. The mother beams down at her daughter as she helps her along her flying journey, watching how she spreads her wings and becoming even more proud when she sees the look of confidence in her child’s eyes. The spirit feels no sadness at the sight of her daughter, she only feels pride well up within her. Her daughter looks so much like her that it brings tears of joy to her invisible eyes. 

The wind beckons the mother to come back, telling her that they will be arriving at the burial site soon. She nods back at the current and wave goodbye to her daughter, only to feel her body freeze in surprise. Her daughter closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Suddenly the air around them turns cold, almost as if the wind has abandoned her daughter in light of what she’s about to do. The mother can only watch as her daughter begins one of the dives that led to her own destruction. She watches her daughter shoot straight towards the unforgiving ground. She feels the cold air cut by her like a million tiny knives, ready to scrape up whatever is left of her daughter should she fail to execute the maneuver correctly. 

With almost no time left before impact the mother watches as her daughter pulls up hard, looping in the air with such grace that she could hardly believe what she was seeing. She smiles at the triumphant look upon her child’s face as she floats downward and towards the place she is laying. With all of her power she sends waves of warm, loving air, towards the now laughing girl, hoping that she’ll be more responsible than she was in her lifetime. 

For a moment the girl is stunned, she looks around as she tries to find where the familiar air came from. After scanning the area the girl sighs and takes off again, climbing into the air to reach new heights for her diving. 

With a smile and one last wave to her daughter, the mother gladly takes the winds hand. As the petals cover the numerous gravestones in the area the mother once again lies down in her bed, a warmth inside her signaling the end of winter and the beginning of a new spring.  

Run

Run

Your breath comes out in short, painful spurts. The burning sensation in your legs is so painful it brings tears to your eyes, but you can’t stop now. There are no memories in your head that reveal how you got here or why you are running, there is only the cold fear that shoots through you, causing sweat to bead on your forehead, forcing your legs to move. Every fiber in your body wants to turn around and face your pursuers, to challenge whatever it is that dares to chase you. But no matter how hard you try, you cannot will your legs to stop. 

The tears roll down your cheeks now as a blindingly painful cramp manifests in your lower abdomen, making your breathing even more erratic than before. The burning has disappeared, leaving a painful numbing feeling behind it. You can feel the burn travel up your body, resting in the back of your throat as it threatens to force you to vomit. You hear a faint pop in both your ears before it all goes silent, your eyes dilate in terror as you feel the warm liquid pouring down your neck. 

You find that you have no more strength within you, your arms flop limply at your sides while you try your best to stay upright. A million different sensations are running through your body at once, a million different voices whisper into ears that cannot hear anymore, but only one voice can be heard over the masses, over the pain. It says one word over and over, run. Each time the word floats past you you feel another stab of terror pierce your body, this time the terror hits your lungs. White hot pain floods from your ribs and everything becomes black. A crushing weight is pressed upon your brain and you give out a yelp of pain as your body collides with the hard earth beneath you. 

Your entire body burns with pain that you never though you would ever feel. An endless amount of water pours out of your eyes as you pathetically try to force your arms to crawl, only to be greeted with another stab of pain. The voice has stopped speaking now, all you can hear is the endless crying as your nerves are mercilessly slaughtered in front of you. In defeat you roll onto your back, instantly regretting it the moment you do. 

Your pursuer is now standing over you, a literal ear to ear grin plastered onto its face. It’s you, but not you. Almost as if you’d been dead for a long time. Dead black eyes and thin white skin, dangerously sharp claws for fingers, all things that strike horror into your very heart. You understand why you were running although the issue of you getting in this situation still escapes you, you suddenly realize it doesn’t matter anymore. You can’t run anymore, there’s no way out. 

The claws slowly wrap around your throat, lifting you in the air so your face to face with the monster. A small growling sound slips through the monsters lips, revealing rows of sharp teeth. With the last of your strength you lift your head to gaze over the monsters shoulder. There’s a boy standing not too far from where you are, his mouth agape as he debates whether or not to try and save you. You feel the stinging pain of the monsters claws drawing fresh crimson from you neck and find yourself looking straight into the boys eyes. As you let out the last breath you will ever take you manage to say one word to the now crying boy. 

“Run.” 

~Update/Favor!~

Hello all, 

I apologize for not posting anything until today, I have been out of town up until now. Aside from that I come asking a teensy favor of you all. Could you possible try and get more people to view my writing? It is entirely selfish of me to ask you this but I would really appreciate more criticism on my pieces so I can grow as a writer. If not then discard this message completely, thank you! 

~Misa. 

Take My Hand

Take My Hand

I’ve watched you grow over these last two years. I’ve watched you struggle and triumph, fail and improve. I’ve even observed as you fell into pieces and built yourself back up, piece by piece. You are a stubborn creature. Always believing that you’re on your own, that no one else can help you with what your going through. In one of the most despicable circumstances possible for a young child, life forced you to grow up fast. 

You’re strong in more ways than just physical strength. The things you’ve endured are often too terrible for me to imagine, but everyone has a breaking point. I cried when you cried. I now see how vile I’ve been to you in these past two years, I only wish I could tell you this to your face. 

When you snap you lose control, it’s only natural after all. Withdrawing and irritation are only two of the obstacles you place, hoping that no one will be able to tear down those walls and get to the hurt places inside. I watched you through tragedy, breaking down the barriers one by one and getting back up time after time when you shut me down. It’s not your fault, I wish you would believe me when I say this. It’s anyone but your fault. In your head you see yourself as a evil and cruel being, regardless of what I say. Sometimes it becomes so serious that we stay apart for days on end. I wish I could help you, all I’ve been able to do is watch in silence as you grow and fall, hoping one day you’ll notice my outstretched hand.

Some days we might fall apart, we may even lose each other. But through everything life has and will throw at us I will always be by your side, my hand outstretched in waiting for the day when you will finally take my hand and let me walk with you. 

Line

Line

The line. All he’s ever known is that he has to walk only on this line. As far as he can see, in all possible directions, is a white and empty void. No one else is with him, no one speaks to him, no one looks at him. When he gets tired, a bed will pop up on the line in front of him, granting him a few hours of rest before he must walk again. When he gets hungry or thirsty food and water will appear, to give him strength to continue the line. The one thing that will not magically appear in front of him, is another human being. 

The man cannot remember how he ended up in this situation. For all he knows he could have been walking down this line his entire life. Not knowing where he’s going, or where the line ends, just walking. He was never held at gun point or threatened or forced to walk said line, in fact, the man isn’t even sure why he walks on the line. What purpose does this serve? Who benefits from his walking? Does he actually want to walk on the line, or is he just doing what might be expected of him? And who would expect this from him? 

The only sounds that reach his ears are his own footsteps, gently padding on the hard floor. The man wonders what would happen if he began to feel bored, what would pop up then? Absentmindedly the man begins to think of color, even though he’s not entirely sure what color is exactly. Something other than this black line, something other than this pure white world. As if on queue, the line beneath his feet turns to a color so bright he has to look away, only to be bombarded with an assortment of colors that he’s never seen before, or he has seen before but he’s long forgotten them. 

A warm feeling spreads through the man as he flexes his mind, willing the line to become a cool, light color instead of the dull black he always stares at. The man can feel a tugging in his mind, a sensation of being watched begins to run through him but he doesn’t care, with his mind no one can possibly stop him. A crazy thought trails through his mind, what would happen if he stepped off of the line? Would the line follow him? Or would he suddenly disappear? 

Frankly the man didn’t care what happened as he stepped off of his line for the first time. Nothing changed, except for the wild world of colors he had created. He felt the sensation of being watched increase as a smile broke on his face, a laugh leaving his chapped lips. Almost like a child the man began to wonder what was beyond the whiteness of this world, what was beyond the white ceilings above him. As he wondered he noticed a change in his world, a tall wooden ladder had appeared in front of him, balanced on nothing but the air it seemed. 

Gleefully the man jumped onto the ladder, scurrying up it as fast as he possibly could to find his freedom. There suddenly came a tugging on the mans legs, the line was calling out to him, begging for him to come back and restart his life once more. The man fought and fought the strength of the line, ultimately willing some sort of flying contraption to swoop down and break the hold of control that had been on him for so long. As the man began to fly out of his personal prison he took one last glance at the life he had lived for so long, shocked to see that the line had converted back to its original color. An even bigger shock to the man was the realization that the line wasn’t a line at all, but a massive circle that he had been trekking in for as long as he could remember. The man could feel it, the bonds of slavery had been broken off of his hands as he let out a shout he never could have created when he was with the line. 

With the power of the mans mind, he broke through the white ceiling and into the beautiful world he had been blind to for so long. 

Burned

Burned

The sun is a very childish being. When one first learns of the suns age they might exclaim at how old it is, but on the contrary, the sun is very new, a teenager if you will. The sun flaunts itself as the planets orbit around it, soaking in the feeling of praise greedily. Of course, the sun has always been very childish. Even during the time when humans once believed the Earth was the center of the universe, the sun was still acting in childish ways. Beaming its attention seeking rays into the minds of men, forcing them to realize that the sun is indeed the center of all. Forcing them into changing their ways so it can feel better about itself. 

The sun is no doubt the most important source of life and light the has ever shone upon Earth, but it is also the most deadly. Capable of burning entire planets up in a split second, one could say that kind of power is foolishly trusted within such a immature entity. 

Even now the sun demonstrates how spoiled it has become over the years of forced adoration. The sun shines down, not a cloud in sight to block its damaging rays, how could there be? The suns made sure to evaporate all of them as quickly as they come. No one can go outside, for the fear of burning. No work is being done. Somewhere in the world fires are starting, food is being destroyed in deadly flames. The people will starve, the ball of fire in the sky knows that. The planets in forced orbit know it as well, pleading with the child king to spare the dwellers of earth, as well as the planet itself. 

Many are starving by now, the animals cannot stand such intense heat. Soon there will be no hope for the humans. But still the sun continues its relentless assault, finally revealing the cause of all this destruction. Somewhere in the galaxies, somewhere no one can see, a star was out of position, thus causing the suns rage. The planets all cry out in one almost audible shout, but there is only one thing that can please the selfishness of the sun. 

Clouds form in the skies over the burning crops, pouring the first rain the dry earth has seen in months. Humans eagerly run outside, taking in the quenching liquid with happy hearts, thanking the sun for its mercy. Feeding the suns ego. 

Somewhere in the sky a star’s light flickers into darkness.  

Phantom

Phantom 

Smoke wafts lazily up into the gloomy sky. Clouds block out all sun, but no rain will come. Not even the gods are willing to bless this desolate earth with the cleansing liquid, not after all this destruction. Not after all this death. The smallest shadow of a man blinks briefly upon the ruined walls of what could have been a house, but is far too destroyed to tell for sure. The man is walking slow, even slower than the lazy smoke. Calmly and gradually he passes through most of the debris, taking note of every piece of broken civilization that he passes. 

He does not have a name, if he does he surely cannot remember it at this time. He’s never seen his face, or his feet for that matter. All he sees is what lies before him in the ruins of a town. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot remember his past. Nothing except what is present remains in his head, that’s how it’s always been for this man, as long as he can remember that is. This man does not remember what it’s like to speak, he hasn’t ran into any humans to converse with, causing him to abandon the thought of speech altogether. 

He walks slow, taking in the ruins around him. Wondering what could have caused all of this destruction. The man struggles to keep his train of thought, trying as hard as he can to keep ahold of his memories, but alas they slip away once more. The man absentmindedly wonders what could have caused all of this ruin, and what the world might have looked like before the war. This stops the man in his tracks for a second as he soaks in the small memory he’s recovered. The war. He loses the struggle once more and begins to wonder what could have destroyed the areas around him until he reaches a great chasm in the ground, preventing him from moving forward. 

The man cannot see the bottom of the abyss, nor can he see the other side of his roadblock. Briefly the man wonders what kind of disaster could have created such a hole before turning his in tracks and walking in another direction. A broken window to the mans right throws the reflection of someone the man cannot recognize, the initials R.T embroidered on the mans breast. The man ignores the image and walks onward, vaguely wondering what could have broken the window as more smoke crawls upwards from a smoldering heap to his left. A sound reaches the mans ears, a small thunking sound coming from the ground in front of him. Slowly the man looks down at the beautiful stone before him, taking in all of its precious colors. Suddenly the man is no longer looking at the stone, he’s looking at a battlefield. 

War. A war like no other seen on this planet before. And over what? The man wonders. A small stone? To have a rock that looks pretty sitting on our shelves? The man watches the same human he saw in the window pacing around his office, his brow furrowed in frustration. Angrily the man begins to curse something called ‘The Dig’, yelling out all kinds of obscenities at something called the Omega. 

The man watches on to a scene of utmost destruction. Fire rains from the sky, mushroom like clouds erupt out of the ground in every direction. There is a screaming in the distance as the ground begins to shake. Buildings in the town begin to crumble, fire plumes from the earth in an angry protest, taking everyone and everything down into the earth below it. All that remains is a large chasm. 

The shell of a man is now back, standing in the ruined world he started out in. The stone he gazed upon flickers faintly and then turns black. Strangely the man can still remember everything he’s just seen, the declaration of war for the stone, the crumbling of the earth as the men dug dangerously deep into the stones, the horrific destruction of the world while bombs rained from the sky. For no reason at all, the man continues to stare at the stone, watching it intently as it begins to disintegrate before his very eyes, leaving a thin layer of black dust in its place. The mans stare intensifies as he watches the young sapling sprout from nothing, its small and frail body cringing briefly at contact with the bitter air. 

A small change takes place in the phantom, his memories flooding back to him in on painful breath as he looks upon a world that he created. The town he was born in, blown to smithereens. The man he hired to do his dirty work, lost in the depths below. The endless terror the world went through upon discovery of the stone, and, ultimately the erasing of human life. The man feels numb inside as he counts his sins, not even bothering to remember his own name, or what he looks like. With a small gesture, the man smiles at the thriving sapling, knowing that it will survive in this hard, dangerous world. 

The sapling continues its rapid growth as the man begins to walk away, its leaves billowing in a nonexistent wind in a wave of goodbye. Slowly the man behind the greed that overtook the world walks onward into the unknown, disappearing into the depths of uncertainty that he put so many innocent lives through as he lived. 

Greed

Patience 

The stone lay quietly in its groove of hard stone somewhere far beneath the Earth’s surface. Of course the stone was much farther underground than any humans have ever dug before. The stone was very much aware of its pursuers. It listened to the ground cry out in pain as they continued to delve deeper into the depths randomly, nowhere near the stones true location of course. At one time the stone had listened to the many voices that were cast into the darkness, humoring them as it listened to them slowly disappear, soaking in the despair and desperation their poor souls were giving off. 

That was the secret to the stones creation, the evils that humans create inside themselves. Over thousands of years that the emotions had been flowing, spreading all around the world, being soaked up by the soil sadly as humans began to destroy themselves from the inside out. More and more evils were created, and the soil slowly began to overflow with the putrid substance, forcing it to take drastic measures and begin weaving the hate through the hard stone. The evil began to fester and grow, concentrating itself down into a tangible object, a small stone that glowed every known color of the rainbow, and many more after that. 

The stones discovery was an accident, of course. Harsh machines cut through the stone, barely managing to chip a piece off of its horrible beauty. A mere piece was all the humans needed. They soaked up the magic of the stone, gazing into its captivating depths until they could no longer see the world, bathing in the glory of their own memories like selfish animals. Once the stone was lost, the humans need to find a way to receive more. To quench their cravings of lust. Leading to the countless human deaths, leading to the endless digging for a stone that sits so far below the surface, no human could dream of exposing it by his own hand. 

There was a deep rumble from beneath the stones resting spot, an angry lash that rose from the depths of the earth and threatened to strike apart the unfortunate ground above it. The stone felt the dirt begin to crumble before anyone else, bracing itself while the endless amounts of beatings were unleashed upon the foolish humans above. Listening to the tortured cries of those once again destined to meet their doom in the darkness, the stone began to feed once more. But its feeding was rudely interrupted but a small breaking sound that shot through the earth like a gun shot. Unable to move, the stone could only lay as a piece of its own body was severed by the cruel rumbling, lost forever in the cold dirt that was being shifted. Forever lost, is where the stone should have stayed. 

The stone could feel the mans gaze on its helplessly broken shard that had somehow reached the cold surface world. It could feel the endless greed brewing inside of the man, sapping the stones powers for his own selfish pleasure. As the stone feasted upon the cries and evils of the dying men, hundreds of feet below the air, it noticed a new source of food. As the fragment was passed around from man to man, a new type of evil became accessible to the stone, a form of nourishment that excited the stones own evils inside. A form of food that reached the stone, regardless of the distance it between the two. 

Hungrily, the stone began to feed upon the bottomless greed of the men. Slowly, the stone began to sap away all of their power, all of their life, consuming them all entirely until they were mere husks of their former selves. The stone enjoyed the food, lapping up every kind of evil it could get its hands on, and becoming very upset when it could not get its way. 

Somewhere, deep below the stone, in a cavern so far underneath the rock that it could never hope to notice its presence. A new form of evil is brewing, concentrating and growing until finally, it takes on a tangible form, and the feeding begins once again in the endless cycle of greed. 

Dark

Dark

Several of the men have already fallen victim to the heavy layers of dust that line their lungs. Others have simply succumbed to the exhaustion that punishes their bones mercilessly, day and night. The sum they are being paid to do this dangerous job is larger than any of them could ever hope to earn in a regular job, but what good is money if you don’t live to receive it? 

No one can tell exactly how long they’ve been digging, or what they’re looking for exactly. Some have even gone so far as to say that they’re looking for nothing. That the man who hired them just wanted to watch hundreds of men suffer in caves, digging for a rock they will never fine, chasing after money that they will never get to see. 

Suddenly, the sound of digging stops. The only sound that remains is the steady drips of sweat that land against the hard barriers they’ve pressed themselves against for so long. The men can’t tell what they are sensing exactly, but they know that something is coming. No one makes a move for the ladder that will take them back to the world of the living, the men hardly even dare to breathe out of fear of upsetting the earth they’ve damaged so badly. Then it happens. It one small movement, one small puff of air that one man takes in happens to upset the balance of a tiny pebble sitting in his vicinity. The men point their flashlights in the direction of the rock, watching it fall. As the stone breaks on the hard rock beneath their feet, the men all take in a collectively large breath of air. They wait for seconds, minutes, half and hour, nothing happens. Slowly, the men edge towards their posts and resume their digging, releasing the breath they held in for so long. As the first man digs his pick into the ground, the floor disappears, and hundreds of men fall, as useless as the rock they tumble with. 

Only few are alive. The few that are, find themselves so badly damaged that they can’t help but cry out. The lights have long since gone out, those who were not broken in the fall are now wrestling madness in the complete darkness they’ve been thrust into. 

They cry out, begging for someone to save them. Calling out into the darkness, barely hanging on to the slim string of hope they’ve been given. At this point, the men are dying from hunger. Their bellies remaining empty, no matter what they put into them. The darkness tempts them further by tampering with their already destroyed minds, tricking them into believing that the stones around them are home cooked meals, waiting to be eaten. 

Days of wailing and screaming has made the air in the tiny room they all occupy tainted with stink. The few that were dwindling before are reduced to numbers so small, one would hardly believe they were a party of so many before. The men don’t know if their cries have been heard, and they don’t care. In fact, the men hope that their wailing somehow pierced through the miles of hard rock and dirt. They hope with all of their remaining strength that they tormented those above with their deaths, they hope that the man that hired them can hear their cries. They hope that their deaths will change something. 

As the last few pockets of air are quickly swallowed up by the dying men, they all hold on to one last thought. No, one last wish. As they all slowly begin a descent into the unknown, the men all silently wished that their deaths would be the end to the greed that sentenced them to their graves in the depths below. 

~Blog Update!~

Hello all, 

I've decided to only post on weekdays, dedicating my weekends to other pieces of writing I am posting elsewhere. That being said, I was unable to post yesterday, (Tuesday, July 1st), because of a surprise family outing, please excuse me. 

Any reviews or critique is greatly appreciated. 

Thanks! 
~Misa

Jewel

Jewel

300. Three. Zero. Zero. That’s how many men we’ve lost since we started digging. That’s the number of families who will have to learn of their loved ones deaths with nothing more than a box to remember them by. Why? Why are all of these men dying? Why do we have to lose so many, and for what? Nothing. 7 straight months of digging, and still nothing of worth pops up.

A man named Cade steps into my tent, his face sorrowful. “Sir.” He begins. “There was another cave in. We have yet to confirm how many were lost.” 

With a wave of my hand he is gone. Nothing of worth is really not the phrase to be used in this situation. We’ve unearthed countless amounts of diamond, sapphire, ruby, almost any gem you could think of. Millions of dollars have been found in stone at this sight. But not what we’ve been ordered to find. The diamonds are used as paperweights, the rubies prop open our doors, and the sapphires are used to hold the pitiful fans in place. 

There was no description of what we were looking for. Only the words, ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ were given to me and my men, along with a handsome sum for our troubles. The man had a crazed look in his eyes, almost as if he couldn’t see us. No, I’m sure of it now. The man was looking through us, at some distant unknown object we couldn’t see. 

The beginning of the dig was easy, the soft fertile dirt coming apart at the touch. A few days in we hit hard stone and were forced to bring in heavier equipment just to continue. Weeks passed by and we began to strike water, caves, underground ravines, one obstacle after another. The heavy equipment could no longer be brought down the mine shafts we had dug, my men were forced to carry on with only the tools they could carry. They began to drop, one after another, whether it was from accidents or exhaustion was unknown. Once there was a cave in. The men were unreachable, but the sounds they made weren’t. They still haunt me in my sleep as we continue to dig down. 

The ground under my tent begins to rumble menacingly, so much that I am beginning to think we’re all going under. There’s a loud crashing sound mingled with the cries of a few men, just outside my tent. In desperation I fling myself under my bed and wait for the trembles to cease. 

When they do I slowly step outside my tent, only to find that the entire dig site has been swallowed up by a dark, large, hole in the earth. Only a few of my men remain and those that can still breath are only sobbing to themselves. A man runs up to me, his arms outstretched, and tears in his eyes. In his hands he holds a small package, a mere towel wrapped around something hard and small. 

I cannot explain why but for some reason my hands are shaking as I unwrap the small package, only to drop it the second I realize what it must be. But it’s far too late for me, as I’ve already seen the beauty that lies within the rock we are searching so tirelessly for. Words cannot be used to describe what I saw in the rock, the closest comparison I can find was that it was like looking into a memory, the happiest memory a human possess, all in a jewel that sits at the bottom of the darkest holes of the earth. 

Strange feelings are beginning to overcome me. A desire for more, more of the tiny shard of rock thousands of men lost their lives for. I see the rock in my dreams, even though I’ve only gazed upon it once, and have locked it away in a chest no one could dream of opening, not even myself. My employer has begun sending more and more men to carry out the mining. But how could I force them into the abyss so many have died in? What kind of human would do such a thing? But the jewel. The jewel is a necessity for us now. 

I’ve noticed something. I can no longer hear the screams of the men that were left to die in the caverns. I can no longer picture my assistants face, or the pictures of sadness on the families face as I deliver the package to them. All feelings of regret or despair I might have had at one point seem to have vanished. In fact, what is despair? 

My name is Reginald Thompson, leader of the first excavation for the Omega Jewel. Approximately 5000 of my men have fallen victim to the harsh environments of the caves, and many more are no doubt to come. My name is Reginald, and we must keep digging. 

Forge

Forge

Years of sitting by the forge have aged the expert blacksmith greatly. The fires hot touch has created scars of previous mistakes on almost all of his skin. Hours of pounding away at fiery metal have created thick calluses on his hands, even through his heavy work gloves. 

The man has served this family for many years, crafting the fine blades that will defend the kingdom when trouble arises. Once he even prepared a sword for his majesty the King himself. All of the mans years of hardship and strain have rewarded him with the title of Best Blacksmith in the Country, but he doesn’t particularly care for the title. 

Over the years this man has had the pleasure of mentoring the youngest prince in the family, teaching him the trade of smithing late in the evening, when no one would notice the prince’s absence. The prince shouldn’t be dabbling in such peasant trades, he was royalty after all. Royalty like him shouldn’t even come into contact with someone as low as the blacksmith, but this did not stop the prince. 

To the prince, watching the old man skillfully forge a blade out of rock was nothing short of a miracle. He longed to make his own steel, to become just like the blacksmith, even if it meant abandoning his title of prince. 

The blacksmith begged and pleaded with the prince. Telling him over and over that the punishment will be harsh if he is caught in such a place, with such a man, but the prince wouldn’t listen. So night after night, the prince would watch the man create giant plates of armor, long punishing blades, and even delicate latches for boots and belts. The presence of the boy watching him by the gentle glow of the forge didn’t bother the old man so much. He quite enjoyed the company. After years of loneliness the man was unsure of how to talk to another human, so conversations were short and lacked any real topic. Because of this the man never got to know the prince past the picture of his face, even the prince’s name was unknown to the man. 

One night the prince did not come to the blacksmith’s quarters. This worried the man greatly, but he shoved his worry’s aside and continued on his work, he had just received that day a new order from the king himself. An order for a sword that could withstand even the kings powerful blows. 

The following morning no knights came to retrieve the sword, instead the blacksmith found himself facing the young prince. There were tears in the boys eyes and he muttered a quick thank you before scurrying away with his package. For a long time the smith stood there, mouth agape, brain full of fear for the young boy whom he had came to love. The clashing of metal on metal brought the man back to his senses. From the forge the man cannot see what is happening, but he has the knowledge to assume who’s duel it is that is making such a racket. 

From the courtyard the prince can just barely make out the small wisps of smoke that float off from his friends forge. His sword had long since been knocked out of his grasp and he now found himself on his knees, his armor ripped to shreds. His father is yelling to him, but he ignores it, only thinking of the comforting light of the forge and the occasional warm smile from the old man who’s name he never bothered to learn. A smile plays across the boys lips as his father raises his blade.

Thank you, the boy thinks. 

The blacksmith takes note of the lack of noise from earlier, but does not bother himself with any particular thoughts of it. Slowly the man begins to hammer away at a new blade order he has received, mentally deciding that tonight would be the night he would ask the young prince for his name. The aged man works through the night tirelessly, waiting for the soft knock at his door that would signal his friends arrival. 

Predator

Predator

The smooth black cat stepped through the trees silently, its refined muscles making just the right movements to ensure maximum stealth. It has been days since the monster last ate, its belly grumbled faintly while bright yellow eyes scanned the ground for prey. Long ago the cat decided to travel alone, and it never regretted the decision. The cat actually believe that loneliness was the best way to live in this world. 

The cat knows it is the most feared animal in this part of the woods. Not one animal can contest its terrifying speed, its razor sharp teeth and 3 inch long claws. Yes, this predator stands on top, and will remain on top for quite some time. Still, the lone cat can’t help but wonder when there will come a real challenge for it to face. An enemy that will leave it clinging for life in a fight that it can’t win, any kind of even that would make the cats life worth living. 

Once, when the cat was traveling with a few others of its kind, it felt a rush like that. On the night that it vowed to travel alone, rather than leave its life in the hands of others. The cat learned that day that no one is to be trusted, that every animal would rather save their own life than the life of someone else. And this made the cat cold and bitter towards the world. 

A small scuffling sound meets the cats ears. Sinking low to the ground, the cat begins to stalk its soon to be dinner quietly. The cats mouth begins to water at the thought of finally sating its aching stomach. The prey is just beyond this rock now, the large cat prepares to pounce, waiting for the opportune moment to do so. THe scuffling stops momentarily and the cat knows its time. 

With a kick that takes little effort, the cat bounds over the boulder to face its prey, but what it sees causes it to hesitate. The two rabbits are breathing heavily, eyes fixated on the cat in fear. One is female and obviously pregnant, the cat only need look at her to tell, but that isn’t what stops the cat. As the cat prepared its strike upon facing its prey it witnessed something strange. In a split second the male, and much larger, rabbit had stepped in front of its partner as if his sacrifice would save her at all. The rabbit had to have known that the cat could slash through the both of them in an instant and be done with it, but this didn’t sway the rabbit. No. What the cat was witnessing was something it would rather not see. 

With a light growl the cat lowers its claws and closes its gaping mouth. It can hear the rabbits sprint as far away as they can in this moment of mercy but it doesn’t care. The cat decides it would rather stay hungry for now and continues its bitter walk to a new prey. 

The cat can’t tell on its own, and would certainly not admit it, but deep inside the cats heart, there is a change taking place.