1. Find a class/lecture at your school, or in your area you care nothing about.
2. Take said class/lecture.
3. At the height of your boredom in the class/lecture, begin to write.
4. Be amazed at the work of art you create.
5. Tell me about it.
Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Day 3 —Write about the worst time you’ve ever put your foot in your…
I think I’m gonna do this… I’ve got nothing better to do, though I don’t know what the chances are of me finishing it (I am leaving the country in 12 days).
The sky was instantaneously ripped apart by a bright flash of light illuminating the world for the briefest second, and then the light was gone and the air was torn asunder by an explosion of sound. Before him, his hands flew out and caught hold of the mud tenticulous grass that reached out to him like thin grotesque fingers. Below him, his feet struggled to fight their way up the soggy hill, like all those around him. Somewhere above him, one of his many friends toppled to the ground and began to slide backwards, and with all the strength he could muster in his shivering limbs, he thrust out his arm and pushed his fallen friend to the top of the hill. Gasping, and spluttering, he hauled himself over the side of filthy mound and dropped to his knees, his fingers were raw and his breath came out ragged. The very sound of the air whistling from his lungs was lost in the explosive crash of thunder over head, and the shout of the Flooders around him. His inner voice screamed at his body to climb to his feet, but exhaustion was fighting for control of him and to his dismay, it was winning. Someone’s arm shot underneath his, and with a violent gentility, he was yanked to his feet. He looked up into the face of his helper and found himself looking up at his suite mate, Red. He smiled at him through the falling rain, and Elay found himself wondering if Red ever had anything other than a smile grin on his face.
“We’re not done yet Mr. 3A’er!” He shouted pulling Elay along with him in the direction of the squall. They were all fighting against the storm now, before, the hill had been before them to block its cold, wet, slashing talons, but now they were facing it head on, and if it had a will, then it wanted to crush them. As soon as Red’s arm was no longer linked in his, he felt to crushing might of the storm, and was forced to use everything he could muster to keep his footing. There was a burst of white light and Elay saw Lien stumble, the tresure they were charged to carry above there heads teetered as he did, and with a dash of hidden strength, Elay hurled himself into Lien’s side and steadied him.
“I’ve got it!” Elay shouted with truthless zeal into Lien’s soggy ear. Lien nodded with thanks, and dropped back, to join Red and Sota who were tramping behind the group yelling various encouragements, the majority of which were lost in the chorus of the Flooders heavier voices yelling various tricks into the wind. If Elay knew no better, he could have guessed that their throaty calls were controlling the storm, but only the Snatchers had any true magic, and even they had barely enough to pick him out of a crowd. They forged on through the roar of the rain, Red who had suddenly taken up place at the front of the group began crying his own orders and encouragements. Casting a glance about, Elay caught sight of Axier to his left holding up his own side of the treasure. His and Axier eyes met in a flash of lighting and he nodded to Elay in the storm.
The harmony of Flooder voices changed, and the group of bearers looked ahead. Red, Axier, Sota, Lien, Kole, Dust, Risk, Lyte, Epi, Cos, and Elay gaped at what they saw before them. A gaping maw opened in the ground, its depths darker than anything any of them had ever seen. Light danced across the sky and reflected off the maw as if it was made of glass. Far off in the distance a bell began to toll out the dirge of the secret hour, and suddenly they all realized what it was. The Loch.
“You look out of it.” Leif said smiling tiredly at Elay from across the walkway. Elay looked up at him exhaustedly. He felt out of it, the week had been a mess, a sad, scary, hideous mess. The test had gone badly despite the fact that he had used Park’s methods which never failed, Naia wasn’t speaking to him, everyone thought he was a cheater, and to make everything worse the stigmata was slowly poisoning his very magic.
“I guess I’m just a bit tired.” Elay replied attempting to give Leif a reassuring smile, he pushed a tiny bit of untainted magic into the grin just for good measure. The results were instantaneous. Leif’s face lit up and he laughed.
“Well, all that coffee should help.” He said with a nod to Elay’s near empty mug. Slowly, Elay looked down into the cups murky depths and nodded half heartedly.
“Yeah it should help…” He agreed with no conviction, and no energy to fake it.
“So what ever happened to you and Alpha?”
Elay’s attention was instantaneously drawn. He had told Leif what he thought of Alpha, so why was he asking again?
“Nothing, I like Alpha, it’s just not right for me you know.” Elay said with a weak shrug. Leif nodded and smiled warmly.
“And I’m sure getting rid of Park is a pro too.” Leif’s words slapped Elay in the face. Of course he was involved. He had used Park’s formula for the test, it was Park’s fault that everyone thought he had cheated. But, could it be possible that Park had something to do with Naia, could it be possible that Park had something to do with his sickness? He could do things but not like that, he couldn’t make people actually get sick, or feel real pain, and his illusions didn’t work on other boys, especially not Elay. What if he had found a way around that rule? What if he wasn’t limited to working his charm on girls? Could it be possible that the stigmata was just an elaborate illusion? Slowly, a sickening realization crept into Elay’s mind, what if stigmata was no illusion? What if Park had found a way to stop him for good?
There was a flurry of cloth, white like the purest cream, it was draped across the shoulders of all passers by like snow on the Andies. Music pummeled the air, and voices mixed with it and the darkness to give everything an edge of mystery and excitement. With feigned purpose, he made his way through the throng in the direction of a pale haired boy not to far away. His friend, before he could reach the place where he stood talking he found himself staring at thin air. He had spun his magic with yet another group of people and with his purpose finished danced off to work on another set of unknowings. He needed to be stopped before it all got out of control. He was using it wrong, too much. He caught sight of him again, another pair of girls, his power seemed to only work on them, the same way as his own powers only worked on other men. It was annoying but it was what he had, and he made do with it, he didn’t abuse it.
“Ee-l-ay” Someone called annunciating every sound in his name. He turned and looked in the direction of the call. Naia, the girl from the church, she was weaving through the crowd deftly towards him as if she was practiced at the art. Her dress shimmered whiter than all the other whites at the party. Elay glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of him disappearing once again. He would have to wait.
“Naia right,” Elay asked quickly. She smiled brightly, her face was oddly devoid of magic, he had noticed this the first time, when he had attempted to charm her, there was something different in her. He would have to get closer to unwind it.
“Elay!” A fierce melodious voice barked. He spun quickly to see him seemingly revaporating before him. It was all he could do to not allow it to appear on his face, he had to keep himself closed, or he would be able read everything beyond his mask. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.” Park said with a wicked smirk.
He stared into the pale box at the mangled mess of what would have been his midnight snack. The weak plastic shell that it came clothed in had melted hideously making the crust of the pastry inedible. The smell wafting from the box was the sickening smell of plastic that was synonymous in his mind to that of synthetic decay. Wordlessly, he glanced over his shoulder. Did He really do that on purpose? He had to know that one did not cook with the wrapping on. But it was insane to believe that He had done it on purpose, what did He stand to gain from ruining food? Looking over his shoulder once again, he threw the poisoned pastry that He had made for him, into the trash. The lid of the bin instantly silenced the screaming scent of the burned food. With his mind cleared of the chocking odor, he found his brain able to spin again. It came to him what he should do, quickly he flung the ice boxes door open, holding back a shiver as the frigid air snaked around his unguarded feet. With unpracticed speed, he grabbed a new pastry, tore its plastic suit off, and thrust it into the box that had just so willingly turned his own food against him. In his head, he had already decided that he would not let Him win, if it was a rise He wanted, than he most certainly would not receive one. The piercing shriek of the heating box cut his thoughts in two, and without hesitation, he ripped the sizzling food out and dropped it, without ceremony, on his plate. Someone was calling, probably Him, He who destroyed his food, He who attempted to poison him, He who would not win.
A line and a squiggle, 16. It was her birthday, he remembered when he had turned the same age some two life times ago. In the grander scheme of things, it was such a short time ago, but looking at it from his point of view made it appear like ages. He couldn’t have been much less or more than 16 when he had met her. All bright eyes and blonde hair she had excitedly waved hello to him as their mutual friends introduced them to one another. Chances were that neither of them could have ever hoped to guess what sort of friendship would bud from that first encounter. Nor could they guess how much things would change. Silently, he grimaced. Honestly, he wished he was there to wish her a Happy Birthday in person, he missed his home, his city, his family, his friends, his life. He missed the safety of home, and yet parts of him relished the danger-esque feeling of life on his own, though not as many parts as he would like. Thumping on the stairs told him that someone was on their way up the stairs, he listened for the second turn to tell him that they were well on their way in his direction, he had to finish quickly, it could be him for all he knew. Rapidly, he punched in the characters till a phrase was spelt out ‘Happy Birthday’. Someone was calling him, he was worried to find out who. He slammed in the last few buttons and clicked sending the message, with the speed and grace of a yak he grabbed his bag tripped over the couch and darted behind the door.
Words appeared on the computer screen. Happy Birthday, they read.
She had been right about them, he thought as he paced back and forth across the muddy lawn. They were the same, both of them had plans, things they wanted more desperately than air, but the difference was, what they would do to get it. The boy he had once thought of as a friend would stop at nothing or no one to rise to power. He was the flame and his twin in thought was the moth. Sooner or later one of them was going to fly to close to fire and be licked up by it, burned till there was nothing left to show that there ever was one or the other. The problem is, the pacing boy found himself thinking, was knowing who was the moth, and who was the flame. At the moment he felt quite like the moth, his vision was limited, his comprehension was small, but what he could see before him was something bright, but whether that brightness was the future, or the flame was hard to tell. A shiver of fear coursed through him, he was in way over his head, a moth has no chance against a flame. His only chance was to allow the flame to burn, if he was lucky it would smolder out well before it had a chance to reach out a burning claw and catch hold of his fragile wings, if he was unlucky, the fire would continue to burn until it caught hold of a tree instead of his soft wings, and then, no one would be safe. Everyone and everything, would burn. Silently, he cast a glance about, there was no sign of his friendly enemy, but there was a sort of tingling acid in the air that seemed to be left by his presence, it was almost magic. Everything about this new land seemed to be magic, the sad thing was, now that he had finally met magic, he wished he never had. For the difference between reality, and magic was small, and frightening, and not all magic was like he had once thought, some of it was furiously hideous.
She was laughing, and he was too, but he wasn’t sure why, the buzz of noise drowned out his three companions voices as they joked about something or other. They were making their ways across campus towards Tyler West, the better half of a large fifty year old building that housed the infamous Flooders. It was hardly what one might expect a Flooder to live in, there was nothing special or distinct about it, just several eye like windows peering out at the passersby. On the third floor two windows were ablaze with light giving off the feeling that the building itself was staring down at them, daring them to come closer. If not for the powerful carefree energy in the air, the boy would have felt intimidated, but he had no need for fear, the night was warm, laughter was afloat and all was right with the world, except one thing. Like a snap time flashed by, for a brief moment he was in his room grabbing his things and beckoning his roommate to join him as he and the others prepared to fly out into the town for sweeties. He was out of the room before even checking to see if his friend was following, before he could even notice a difference he was outside again in the warm moist darkness. Outside it was humid, but the breeze blew causing the trees to dance about. Looking at them, one might think that the lone standing beings would up root themselves just so they could dance in the night with the wind. About him people were flitting into cars and speeding off into the night, and suddenly, the girl who had been his date to that same nights prior event was pulling him towards a tall white vehicle. As quickly as everyone else had disappeared so was he, born by a tall white automobile, he and three others shot off into the shadows.
Themed by Hunson | Background: Nathan Lowe
