Prisoner

Experimenting with various possible plots, scenes, magic and characters in my next novel...
 
He drew a line of white fire across her neck with the tip of his finger. Then he began walking around her, drawing the line as he did so, so when he finished there was a circle around her neck - not big enough for her to move, but large enough so she wouldn't accidentally cut her throat.

"Tell me what I want," the man said, in a normal tone, "or I shall leave you standing here for as long as necessary."

The woman glared at him, defiantly. Her hands were tied behind her back and were hidden from his view, and she was frantically playing with what looked like a ball of black smoke. "I will not," she replied.

"Then you may stand, and you will die when you fall asleep. And I will watch you."

"If I die, the secret dies with me," she snapped.

But he was laughing and shaking his head. "I can get others," the man intoned. "Others easier to persuade, more willing to bend to my command. You are disposable, Linette."

"They will not," Linette said abstinantely. "They will never."

"You may believe it is so, but your hopes are foolish," said the man. "I have time on my side."

Behind her back, Linette's ball of smoke had expanded. It had crept down onto the floor and was lying exactly where her shadow was. The man hadn't noticed.

"They will come for me," she said. "And then they will kill you."

He shook his head, once more.

"Do not deny it," said Linette, lips curving into a smile.

"I shall deny it all I want," the man sneered. "And if I were you, I would not make any useless plans to escape." He strode around behind her, and casually stepped in her shadow. The smoke disappated immediately.

Linette's eyes widened, and she struggled against the bonds on her hands. But the ropes were tight and glowed blue with specks of gold, and simply became tighter every time she pulled against them. "Please..." She begged him. "Let me go! Or at least, allow me the chance to escape so that you can capture me once more."

"I do not play such games," said the man calmly.

"It will keep you entertained in the long hours before I go to sleep," she pointed out.

"Do not tempt me to slit your throat here and now."

Linette fell silent.

Message

Experimenting for 'what if's for my next novel. Obviously it won't be as badly written as this, if it does happen.

A messenger arrived at the front steps of the palace. "I have a message," said the man, "for someone called Visere. I was told he could be found here." He held out a scroll.

The king looked at it suspiciously, but nodded. "Call Visere," he nodded to a servant. The servant turned tail and disappeared, to be followed a second later by a handsome man in his twenties, a politely curious smile on his face.

"There was a message for me, your highness?" said Visere. His voice was controlled, and pleasant. He caught sight of the messenger. "Is that him?"

"Yes."

The scroll was quickly passed over, and the messenger left. Visere, after a moment's hesitation, also turned around and went back the way he came, through marble corridors and up a staircase before reaching his own room. He locked the door then sat on the bed, carefully unfurling the letter.

To Visere, Sorcerer of  ____,

We are sorry to inform you of the deaths of your mother Acacia and your sister Myssie. They were found dead inside their home on the 20th of August. Please accept our sincerest apologies.

Yours,
[insertlongandfancynamehere]

Visere stared at the letter, stunned, after he had finished. He sat there, eyes staring, completely immobile. Then he read it again. And again. Then he stood up and, hands shaking, ripped the letter into tiny little pieces. He let them fall to the floor, and took several deep breaths, closed his eyes, and screamed. With a thud, his knees hit the floor. His head was tilted up towards the sky, his eyes were scrunched closed, and his scream echoed throughout the palace. It was one long sound: horrible, piteous, and filled with anguish.

His hands hit the floor too, and dry, wracked sobs shook through his body. He dugs his nails into his palm so hard that they began to draw blood.

The door of his room was suddenly thrown open, a girl standing there in the doorway. "Is everything alright? I heard a scream--"

"NO!" he roared, suddenly on his feet again. The girl was jerked back, hit the corridor wall, and crumpled. She didn't get up.

"No..." Visere whispered. "Nothing's alright. Nothing. NOTHING!"

He ran. Out of his room, out of the corridor, pushing past stunned people then into the sun, then he kept running, stumbling down the stairs into the courtyard. There was a horse - he swung into its saddle and began to ride. His hands were bleeding, and so was his lip, from the effort of keeping the tears from leaking out. They did so anyway as he rode towards the horizon, only gaining speed and never losing it.

He screamed again, then let go of the horse's reins and made a furious motion with his hands. Everything fifty feet from him rippled as if it had been struck by a wind, then collapsed into a junk heap.

By now, people have begun chasing after him. They began calling his name, straining their horses for extra speed. They yelled at him to come back, to tell them what was wrong.

Visere heard their voices and, amidst his tears, smiled mockingly. It was a painful and icy smile, and only flickered for a moment before a spasm of pain crossed his face. "Come back?" he breathed. "Come back? I'm not going back, you pathetic ragdolls. You're never going to see me ever again."

Tuesday's Times [KttK]

So I just finished reading Grim Tuesday...again...and it's really sad what happened to Tuesday's poor, poor Times. Especially at the end where Yan was getting excited. *sobs* So this is inspired by them, I guess. (I can only remember like, 4 of them.) I own nothing.

Grim Tuesday, Lord of the Far Reaches, Wielder of the Second Key to the Kingdom and the Architect and one of the Seven Trustees of the Will, nodded to his Dawn, Noon and Dusk. They were inside his Treasure Tower, which wasn't yet encased by the glass pyramid, but already was built. In fact, they were not so much inside as 'underneath', miles beneath the surface, accessible only by an elevator.

This place was built for only one purpose and would, very soon, cease to exist. It was a large room, separated in half with immaterial glass. Tuesday stood on one side of the room, and his Dawn, Noon and Dusk on the other. The Trustee was wielding the Second Key, as usual, which took the shape of silver gloves on both his hands.

"Stand closer together!" Tuesday barked, as his Times quickly complied.

Noon opened his mouth to speak. Tuesday snapped at him. "Problem, Noon?"

"Yes, sir," said Noon respectfully, inclining his head. "Well, no sir," he added as an afterthought. His voice was smooth and persuasive, but held no power over his master nor his siblings. "It is not so much of a problem as a difficulty."

"And what is that?" Tuesday asked.

"Well, sir," began Noon reluctantly. "Meaning no disrespect, Lord Tuesday, but I cannot see how splitting us into seven will increase the amount of work being done. Surely we shall command less power, not to mention the uncomfortable experience and all the potential disasters which are possible--"

"They are not possible!" said Tuesday. "I have wielded the Second Key for millenia. There will be no mistakes."

"I did not mean mistakes, but rather unforeseen circumstances."

Next to Noon, dressed in all black with silver buttons, was Dusk. It was he who know spoke. "Lord Tuesday," Dusk said quietly, yet his voice seemed to carry. "I agree with Noon. It would be too hasty and dangerous for such an experiment. We shall be weaker when separated, and it will be painful and time-consuming. It is against the natural order the Architect--"

"The Architect!" laughed Tuesday disdainfully. "She is gone, and her Will hidden where no one will find it. I disobeyed the Architect the moment the Will was split into seven pieces. Now, if there are no more protests--"

"Lord Tuesday!" cried Dawn. "I cannot fathom why you are doing this!"

"I, also, object," said Dusk.

"Perhaps we should consider another possible alternative," said Noon.

"It is too dangerous--"

"And painful--"

"We shall become weaker--"

"It would be more difficult to serve you--"

"I cannot see how--"

"QUIET!" Tuesday roared. His Times ceased immediately, and silence filled the room. "You shall not speak," he told them. "Your opinion matters not. Seven shall be able to mine more Nothing than three. Now, stand closer together, while I meld you into one being, and then into seven--"

"Please, Lord Tuesday!" cried Noon.

"I command you to become silent immediately!" Tuesday barked. Once again, there was utter silence. "Now. As Lord of the Far Reaches and wielder of the Second Key, the Times of Grim Tuesday, Dawn, Noon and Dusk, are to become one Denizen."

The three Times began to glow witih a silvery white light, too bright for lesser Denizens to look upon. Grim Tuesday kept his attention completely focused as the three of them began to meld into one figure. When the light faded, Dawn, Noon and Dusk had become one person, easily nine feet tall, with perfect features.

They--that is to say, he bowed. "Lord Tuesday." Their voices were combined, too, creating a harmony of smooth sound.

Tuesday nodded with approval. He raised the Second Key again and muttered another few words. The figure glowed with a light brighter than before, then began separating into seven indistinct shapes. At first, there were sounds of mild discomfort, then gasps, groans and then screams. The person screamed as their essence was torn apart, a sound which seemed to shatter the heavens. It was the sound of the ultimate torture - of a body split into seven, of a soul torn, battered and broken.

Then the light faded, and the sound suddenly cut off, and seven Grotesques stood in a line.

"Lord Tuesday."

Grim Tuesday nodded. His job was well done.

Procrastination

(True story of what's happening right now.)

Blank.

That was what she saw in front of her. A blank screen, a list of responsibilities and a wide internet with as much procrastination as one could want. She stared at the screen. Responsibilities. Internet. Responsibilities. Internet.

I deserve a break, she told herself. I've done maths homework for the last hour. Then she looks at the clock and almost dies of horror. There's no time - no time to waste, at least. She could finish everything on that list in half an hour. Or, she could wait until tomorrow, and have fun for half an hour.

Or, she could do neither, and just shut the computer down for the rest of the night.

...

Nah.

She looked back at the list, and tried writing down a few words. She got as far as the first word - no, not even that far. She merely switched to the tab which had the information she wanted, then stared at it. I'm wasting time, she told herself. Yes, she knew that, she wasn't stupid. She wanted to do work. She had no excuse, even when she tried to tell herself that her muse wasn't here. Because if her muse wasn't here, she wouldn't be able to be writing this right now.

She was just a procrastinator.

One story, she told herself, to warm up my muse. Well, one story's gone. She had run out of things to say. She wanted to keep writing, if only to delay the inevitable for a little while longer.

She pauses, now, and stares at the screen. She breathes in and out and wonders what else she could possibly write. She wonders whether she should go on youtube. Or twitter. Facebook seems good right about now. She flicks to the twitter tab. She begins typing things such as 'My muse is gone' or 'I'm a procrastinator', but she's trying to fight the procrastination so turns back to her blogspot tab without doing anything.

One song, she promises herself. One song, and then to work.

The Failed Test Subject

Her father led her into the elevator, then pressed a button. Down they went, lower than the ground floor, the car park, lower than she had ever gone before. Her whole body tingled with a mixture of excitement and fear, and she shivered.

"Are you sure about this, Lynette?" her father asked, for the third time in five minutes.

"Yes, yes, of course!" she replied immediately, eyes shining. "I want to see him! Just one look, dad, you promised! Please?"

Her father sighed. "Alright. I know I've told you already, but--"

"Yes, I know there's a bulletproof glass wall between us! He'll be nice, I just know it."

Down and down the elevator descended until, with a final ding, arrived at its destination. The doors opened. Her father stepped out warily. Lynette practically bounced out with excitement.

The one long corridor was lit with white electric lights on the ceiling, giving the atmosphere an artificial glow. At the end of the corridor was a lone door - made of steel and kept locked at all times, expect when the person on the other side was fed - three times a day, every day. Other times, he was kept confined, alone, and his actions were monitored ceaselessly.

Lynette's father opened the door, and they stepped into a small compartment. Another door blocked their way. He locked the first door behind them, then thrust the key into the next, which slid open noiselessly. She stepped into the room.

At first, she couldn't see anything. It was dark, lit by a silver light in the shape of a crescent. She could clearly see the glass separating the room into two. The side she was standing in was empty, painted black, and devoid of any furniture or colour of any kind. The other side was much bigger - many trees, but not enough to be a forest, a small pond, vines, and a house. It was a large house for one person, painted brown, and stood ominously in the darkness.

Her father let out a low whistle, then paused and waited. He whistled again. "Come on out, Visere!  You have a visitor! A visitor is someone who comes to see you. Isn't it exciting?"

Nothing happened for a few moments, then the front door of the house opened. A tall man walked out - sixteen years of age, dressed in a short-sleeve shirt, baggy pants and no shoes. His dark hair was down to his waist and immensely tangled, his eyes were too big for any human, and gleamed with savagery. When he opened his mouth, Lynette could see that his teeth ended in points.

"Lynette, say hello to Visere," said her father.

She took a breath, but the words caught in her throat. Her eyes were glued to this strange spectacle. She tried to speak, choked, then cleared her throat and tried again. "H...H-Hello..." Desperately, she turned to her father. "Does he understand me?" she whispered.

His father didn't answer - the person did. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do." His voice was hoarse from lack of use. His large, dark eyes stared into her soul.

"Oh," Lynette squealed. "Well, um, hello." Once again, she looked to her father for help, but he smiled and prodded her forward. Hesitantly, she took half a step towards the pane of glass. "My name's Lynette. Um... my father said your  name was Visere. Is that right?"

The person nodded almost robotically, face devoid of expression.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, blurting out the only thing she could think of. "Um... it's... nice weather, isn't it?" Lynette blushed. Obviously in this dark underground room, he couldn't see the weather outside.

"I don't know," said Visere, still in his quiet tone. He switched his gaze to her father. "What is a 'weather'?"

Her father cleared his throat. "It's the, uh, conditions of the sky."

Visere swung his head up, looking at the black ceiling many meters high, then turned back to Lynette. "Yes," he said conversationally. "Very nice weather. What did you say your name was?"

"L-Lynette."

"I'm sorry." Visere inclined his head, half-bowing. "I do not... remember things well. I do not need to remember anything here."

A pang of pity stabbed through Lynette's heart. "Oh, um," she said timidly, completely lost for words.

"I do not, of course," continued Visere slowly, "usually have visitors. I am to be kept in solitary confinement for the rest of my life."

Her father looked uncomfortable. Lynette ignored him. "D-Do you like that?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Not really. But I cannot do anything about it. I understand that this is for my own safety, and the safety of others. I do not want to... to..." He struggled for a word. "I do not want to make everyone else feel unsafe."

"I don't think that's fair," said Lynette quietly. "I think you should have a chance to live a normal life, too. Even if you are a bit... different."

"I am not different. I am a failed test subject."

"Well, did you volunteer to be tested on?" she demanded.

He frowned and closed his eyes, as if trying to understand what she was saying. A few seconds later, his eyes opened again, and his face was a mask once more. "No, but I do not mind. Not really."

"Yes you do!" Lynette cried. "Of course you mind! Who wouldn't mind being trapped down here by themselves for the rest of their lives, just because they were tested on and found to be 'dangerous'? It's a horrible thing to do to someone!" She gasped, and suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth. Had she gone too far? Lynette glanced sideways at her father, but he was looking away from her, and she couldn't see his expression.

"I am told," said Visere, "that the other... option... is death. I do not know what death is. I have asked everyone, but nobody can tell me. I do not want something that I do not know. Do you know what death is?" he asked.

"I-It's," she began, then seemed to choke on her words again. Lynette fell silent and shook her head, as she tried to prevent tears from leaking out from the corners of her eyes.

Visere nodded sadly, as if he had expected this. His large eyes seemed to be drawn on something. He blinked curiously. "You have water on your face," he said. "Where did it come from?"

Lynette supressed a sob, then wiped the tears out of her eyes. It didn't work, because they just kept flowing. "I... I'm just... I..." She had to stop as a sob wracked through her body. The tears didn't stop.

He seemed to realize what was going on, and adopted a calmer tone. "If you are upset with me, you do not have to stay here."

She shook her head so quickly that her vision blurred. "I'm not upset," she hiccupped. "Not with you, anyway. But I do have to go now." She hesitated. "You're a really nice person, Visere. You know that? I'll come back for sure, to talk to you. I'll be your friend."

Her father put an arm around Lynette's shoulder, and walked her out. The door closed and locked behind them. Visere was left standing, watching silently through the wall of glass. At last, he said to himself, "I do not understand what a friend is."

Then he shook his head, and went back inside his house.

Farewell

Inspired by Touchstone from Sabriel. 

He stared up at the dusty photograph, left on a broken shelf in a home abandoned long ago. His hand moved upwards, instinctively, brushing the dust off, and took the picture off the shelf. A beautiful woman, with a three-year-old daughter. Both were laughing, the light was bouncing off the woman's black hair like it shone of mirrors. The light shone in the young girl's face.

The man closed his eyes and allowed tears to flow. He didn't wipe them away as they dropped onto the picture. He took several deep breaths then, with an effort, put the picture back on the shelf, and walked out of the room. The tears remained on the glass, glistening in the dim light.