Day Of The Week Writing Challenge

Forum Name: SilentsAppeal
Timezone: EST
@The_Shadow_King3
@Kiba Araqnuibo

Works:
Wednesday:
A tall, wispy figure leans in towards the ground which exhibited an odd clot of soil, his fair, sleek, tow-colored hair blocking his field of view, causing the most powerful of saturnine facial expression to paint itself of the elves once jovial attitude. This was because he was missing an eye, and additional to his fading vision, this inconvenience did not bring much joy to the Guard known as Faolan. His back ached as it arched, not unlike a cat, in his effort to retrieve a pot from the repulsive moist soil, his fingers providing the unsatisfying sensation one may experience when digging through moist, fresh manure. He let out an audible sigh as he carried the closed pot, filled with cheese made by him, back to the small hut. He set it on the table, twisting the lid, which was practically half the pot itself, and pulling it off. The door shut, and rather loudly for that matter, and while Faolan tended to the cheese and not caring at all for the door, a spider-like humanoid would near him, pushing him- …itself from the door in a galvanized way. This odd creature, its name was Kiba, he had rescued long ago during the times of the Great War between the empires, then young, now nearly six feet in height.

Faolan's expression brightened.

"A rather epicurean meal you've brought back, master." The creature's raspy voice would vibrate through the air like a verbal poison, echoing, to put it mildly, in Faolan's pointed ears. The elf grinned, though not without any true emotion behind it other than pride; what was once a Sisyphean task to accomplish, the making of cheese, had now become second nature. He turned to Kiba, sliding a small, maybe hand-sized bowl filled with mashed carrots, its favorite food blended with a bit of honey, its viscosity very similar to slime. He remembered how endearing it was when Kiba had first tasted this mixture, the creature having slurped it into his system in an act of unintentional solecism. He could only admire the innocence behind his actions, and this made up for whatever cost the Pyrrhic victory their Empire had made known in taxes. "We must leave at first light, my friend." Faolan responded, though his voice was drowned out by the slurping of Kiba, a rather ironical occurrence given his thoughts. This, however, was not an act of disrespect. Kiba fetched the atlas just as any good servant would do, though oddly enough, it seemed like they both acted out of friendship and care for each other. Following the action, Faolan sent Kiba off to his sleeping quarters, shrugging in displeasure at what he had condemned him to do. He felt guilty of, though Kiba was unaware, becoming his nemesis, though this was far from his intentions. Faolan's wispy figure stared off in the direction Kiba had left, blinking several tears away from his healthy eye. "I do not abandon you, Kiba Araqnuibo. Friend, I try to protect you… where I'm going I will die, and I will not have your loyalty drag you to an earlier grave." He'd whisper, hoping that by some insane act of magic all will be well, and with this, he stands up, turning towards the door Kiba had shut so loudly.

And then his broken heart projected an image of a lover long lost, a hallucination, making death seem like a blessing rather than a disgraceful sentence made by the same organization, The Guards he defended with his life, a chance at redemption. Hopefully, Faolan thought, his regrets won't be carried onto his next life and will remain in his grave. The elf walks outside, his gait quickening and becoming a jog, a run, a sprint. He could feel his feet becoming weightless, allowing him to run much more efficiently, but he stops, turning back to the home he'd been sheltered in. Beside him, the hallucination of his lover nods, and he acknowledges this with tears falling from his eye. His throat tight, he turns, and in some act of bravery, an act of facing his death sentence, he disappears into the night.

"One day, I shall go too- master"

The echo rings, though unfortunately for Faolan, he couldn't convince Kiba otherwise... he was deaf to loyalty now.
 
Application Form:
Forum Name: finners4444
Time Zone: GMT

Shall we submit are writing in the same post (this one) as we apply on?- For each day?
 
Egg
url
My fingers brushed against the surface of it, so lightly, more gentle than a lover's kiss. I wouldn't dare by much rougher. Of course I didn't need to be careful, but the object held the aura that demanded such actions. The strange, not fully formed shape that quivered ever so faintly within the translucent egg seemed to radiate heat. Like a heart beat the waves of warmth brushed over me, tingled my fingers and making my heart flutter. I leant closer, closing my eyes; the hot pulsating, causing my skin to prickle and my breath to come quick. "Hmph"

The voice scared me, my breath was caught in my throat, and my fingers flew away from the egg; reaching for the blade. "How drawl, the young polovica krv is caught under the spell" The voice was like silk, heavy silk that somehow whipped at the psyche. As my breath slowed and my heart returned to a calmer rate I began to speak. My tone sounding rough and immature in comparison to here. "N, no. I, I just like the warmth" I stuttered, my hand still lingering on the dagger.

"I don't see why you lie, bezplameňové drak; you should know better" She drawled on, her tone dripping with discontent. She took a step forward into the tent, her blue and black (Or white and gold???????) silks flowing as she toured the space. She was a beautiful bezkřídlý víla, but as a polovica krv I couldn't hope to ever even think of anything between us. "I, I am not lying, it doesn't have a hold of me" I tried to argue, but I was greeted with a dismissive hand gesture.

"Look bezplameňové drak, what we have is an okrídlený jašter egg. It is in your simple nature to be drawn to the egg. You are like its lesser cousin; putting it in nice words." She explained moving towards me, using her elegant fingers to caresses my chin. "So easy to manipulate" She stated as she turned to leave, her silks bellowing behind her. "I, I. I am not easy" I squeaked, my voice breaking as I argued. All she did was laugh.

I was alone again, well not alone. The egg was there, almost mocking me with its beauty, its superiority. She was right; I was some lesser descendant to the egg. It shocked me, it filled me with anger, I was in many ways a Drak, but it could be questioned. The egg was the offspring of a Drak, it was a Drak. I hated its beautiful warmth, I hated its golden glow, and I hated it.

Why did I come on this venture? Because it was rumoured bezplameňové draci held sway other young Draci. I am just a tool, I though savagely as I looked around the tent; studying the red tinted light that came through the crimson material. They wanted me just to use me. "I will show them not use me" I snarled, a fire burning inside me.

I knew what I had to do; I had to kill the okrídlený jašter. I wanted to kill the Drak egg. And before I even noticed I was walking towards the egg, my hands glowing faintly as I channelled the limited magic a polovica krv could muster. A faint hum chimed in the air as sound magic buzzed in my fingers.

I laid my hands on the egg, the hum rising in the hair. I felt the egg quiver. "They say kin slayers are cursed by the bezduchý boh. They shall call me cursed then" I whispered as I unleased the magic into the egg. The hum rose and the air seemed to rumble, my ears popped then there was a crack.

"Grph" Growled a voice behind me, my magic ceased and I snapped around to see the bezsrsté medveď; his massive figure dwarfing the slim silhouette of the bezkřídlý víla. I tried to speak, but the words were caught in my throat. "I told you it would work" She said, as if I wasn't there. "I believed you" He said, his voice like the roll of thunder after a lightning strike.

"W, what do you mean?" I stuttered, my anger subsiding and being replaced with fear. "My sweet polovica krv, you did exactly what I wanted. You did not notice the emotion magic; you did not notice I wanted you to try harming the egg. You have the blood of the Drak, your magic is Drak magic. And it takes that magic to hatch an egg like this." She explained, her voice laced with superiority. "bezplameňové drak is dumb." Said the bezsrsté medveď, almost hypocritically.

I tried to answer, but a slight sound was heard behind me, a slight snarl. I turned in shock and my heart stopped. My magic broke the egg, but did not kill the Drak. The Drak was alive and squirming within the shell of the egg. "Your ignorance is endearing, you hatched the okrídlený jašter for us." She stated blatantly, raising her hand, her fingers glowing.

My limbs where stiff, unable to move; I was paralysed. I tried to yell, to protest, maybe even call for help. But it was in vain, my jaw was locked. "This is real magic bezplameňové drak, but do not fear. You served your purpose and I will not leave that deed unrewarded. You shall be my drak priateľ, and if you be a good polovica krv; you might even gain your freedom. bezsrsté medveď, the chains" She commanded as the man took some heavy chains from behind him.

It has been many years now, I do not own a name anymore. Only the title drak priateľ, sometimes polovica krv when I needed to be insulted. But it doesn't matter now; I am in chains, a servant to a zlatý opice, titled Kráľ svitania. In some ways, an upgrade from the žalobníček zlodej of žľab prístav. But at least then I was free, unbound from the okrídlený jašter. But I was blood of the Drak, I guess I was meant to serve the scaled beasts. But not like this.
 
Sunday: Egg
It was a shame really, a nest crafted of an assortment of twigs and leaves now rest in shambles upon the smooth pavement. To be honest she might not of noticed it if her gaze hadn't been glued to the ground, trudging wearily as she entertained her short attention span by kicking a pebble across the ground. She'd stop at the sight, letting out a grunt as she kneeled down, peering closer to mess. The mother had all but abandoned it now probably, remnants of cracked shell surrounding what seemed to be a helpless bird gasping for breath. Maybe she'd do some scripted heroic thing and nurse it back to health before releasing it into the wild again. The little tyke however looked like he was far from saving now, clinging on with what little strength that remained in his tiny body.


It looked quite gruesome to be honest, and it most likely harboured some sort of disease. Perhaps if she just pretended to look away she'd be absolved of what little guilt she'd feel for the poor bugger. Opting for the latter she stood once more, glancing around the array of houses that were plotted on the sides of long, winding streets. If not pausing for a hesitant moment she'd set off once more, bringing the hood of her jacket over the top of her head. She'd made it a block away from the nest now, nearing the bend to her own home when in that instance rain dropped from the sky, gradually leading to a pouring storm.


Poor little bugger, he'd probably have no chance now. For a moment her morals settled in and with an almost exasperated sigh she turned on her heels, tracing her steps. Once she returned to the site where the bird lay wounded, a grim frown crossed her expression. It had gone? She was unsure whether it would have flown away, been picked up or eaten but the odds seemed to steer toward the latter. To be honest she probably could have dealt with the ghastly sight of the magled creature but it was the dragging feeling of 'what if' that lingered in the back of her mind. Momentarily she stood idly in her spot, the rain dampening the fabric of her clothes.


Oh shit, was that really the time? She'd glance down at her wrist, wrapped around it was a rather worn steel watch, the clock ticking over to 17:23. Hastily her pace would fasten, just stopping short of breaking into a sprint. Turning down the bends of each street she finally reached the threshold of her own home, gasping as she entered. Impatiently she would kick off her shoes, struggling as she attempted to remove them from her feet. In all honesty it would have been 100 times easier to simply untie her laces and slip of the shoes that way, but that would require her to sit down and put her cold, numb fingers to use. Also effort.


After solving that ordeal she'd step into the kitchen, the satisfying clack of knife against chopping board greeting her as she entered. Meandering over to the counter she'd notice old icecream tubs lined atop the marble, each containing a rather dark concentration of coloured liquid. Bobbing toward the surface, were several boiled eggs. Her thoughts of the previous incident, still fresh in her mind, were cut short by the usual greeting and 'how was school' conversation from her father. The response was always the same, 'good' even though in that instance she wasn't at all really good, in fact far from it.


It was Good Friday tomorrow and Easter would quickly follow throughout the weekend. Great, morality would probably nag at her for most of that time, her mind conjuring up several scenarios of what could have really happened in that brief period when she crossed the other end of the block. A hawk or even a dog could have picked it up. Perhaps a small little boy wandering about decided to do the right thing right off the bat, something which she refrained from doing at that certain moment in time. To make it all the more coincidental she'd probably probably be constantly reminded of it every time she looked at a damn chocolate egg. These following days were bound to be fun. Damn bird.
I didn't know what to do so I just retold a past experience. Also sorry it's short ahhhh.
 
The_Shadow_King3 said:
The page limit was merely a suggested length and no, they don't need to be lore compliant.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

In that case, here's a little thing I wrote up for Recycling week- all very cliche, but whatevs.
Overdone

The figure lifted his eyelids slowly, mimicking the speed and flow of a tired snail as he simultaneously put his own back against the wall. The stunning irises of a golden color would provide such contrast with the darker skin of Anwar, it almost blending in with the dark veil cast upon the vicinity by the sunless sky, that they gave the illusion of a luminous glow. He had longer eyelashes of a stark-white color. Should the man blink, and without a doubt he did, bits of ash would fall to his cheeks with the delicacy of snow. Anwar sighed, vapor emerging from his mouth.

"What an odd island," he thought, "daylight blocked by a cloud of ash with the heat intolerable during the day and at night said ashes fall back down in large quantities and form into grime at our feet. As night falls, the furnaces of these folk are turned off- and this cools the streets drastically."

Anwar's thoughts wandered, counting how many others of his kind he had seen in the last few days. "No more than perhaps thirty… impossible; our numbers could not have plummeted down so much… just thirty others with white hair and golden eyes?" Anwar asked the empty alleys, only to receive not an answer, but an echo of his original question; "Perhaps", he answered. Anwar proceeded to walk, leaving a silhouette of his image plastered against the wall: he had stood there for so long now that the falling ashes dirtied the walls, and by standing there he shielded but a fraction of the said wall from getting dirtied- hence leaving an image behind. He followed the copper wires and the brass pipes between the houses as if they were some sort of map. Most of the homes he passed had their lights off, others lit by candles and with their basement window opened- enslaved subjects listening with interest at the Morse-code messages which were only audible to Anwar because of the magnified sound caused by the echo.

Not much time had passed before Anwar arrived to the countryside. Leaving the poor district behind, he scanned the many hills for a flashing light. The terrain was deficient in trees as the city required to cut them for their wood- sold and exported for the sake of industrialization; this only made locating the light easier. About a mile from him a hand appeared, then two, and then from them emerged quick flashes of light.

That's where they'd decided to hide for the week, apparently.

It took Anwar about ten exhausting minutes for him to run from his previous position to the hill. Once there, the female who had been casting the otherwise blinding rays of light from her palms sat. The female had her skin seem nearly age-less and was olive-toned, though it seemed nearly sickly- as if on the brink of fainting. "Anwar, goodness!" she exclaims weakly, "You know that casting makes us weak. You're getting to be a slower runner." She accuses Anwar. Anwar takes a deep breath, hard for him to do as he was utterly out of it, and spoke between gasps for air "You trade physical resiliency for a magical one. I've gotten better at casting illusions, and consequently I got worse with physical resiliency. You know how it is, Hayfa." "Yes, but just remember that currently it is better to be a 'jack of all trades' and 'master at none'." She replied bitterly, though not with intent. "Let's go find Shane, such a spoiled human- why is it so many pink-skins are being born as Sadeir-Inclined as of late anyways? Our white hair and golden eyes gift mustn't bleed out into other races!" She adds.

"They don't see it as a gift, though as a genetic defect instead. Most of those who are born with them are usually exiled or sold into slavery, which is why we've been flooded with those of their kind who seek refuge. They may be pink-skins, but they are still very useful. Magic usually takes at least five decades to master if you're human, less if you're a Sadeir like us. The sadeir-inclined humans are capable of cutting that number by half." Anwar spoke, tiredly walking towards a tree, a dead one, before a man came up from behind it, holding a couple of seeds in his hands. "Shane" Anwar says in disgust. Shane holds out a finger between Anwar and him, completely disregarding Hayfa. His hands twitch into an odd motion, him muttering something under his breath before the seeds grew into mature roses in a matter of seconds. "At this rate, we can do the same with trees. Our air will actually be breathable" said Shane.Anwar watched Shane's hand as he, the thirty year-old male, handed Hayfa the flowers which still had their roots. Hayfa accepts them in false gratitude. Anwar noticed that she had regained some of her color.

The triumvirate stood there, Shane speaking most of the time. They discussed their thoughts on the noticeable rise in temperature which had been burning much of the island's grass. They spoke on how the waste had poisoned the rivers with acidic liquids, and that the water was practically unusable. Furthermore, they predicted that this year they wouldn't be capable of using the molten snow for water as the ashes would contaminate much of the rainwater or snow- the other foul chemicals they were releasing into the atmosphere would only add to this. In the end, they spoke about how terrible it was that the humans from the city were using their steam technologies to cut trees- disagreeing with both the cutting of trees in the first place and the fact that they would rather keep contaminating the air by not using man power to do so. It was already hard enough to see through the smog in the distance, to the point in which the sky was always gray even if the ashes were to be disregarded.

"Every time we moved from place to place, I and others who practice the plant-growth magic have been altering plants genetically so that they can survive in high levels of petroleum, acids, and coal- for example. They feed off of these chemicals, acting as a purifier for the water and soil" Shane finished. "Behind the mountains and away from the capital, there are others who plant two new trees for everyone they cut- and the same mages who practice the plant-growth form cause for them to grow into their mature form spontaneously in a few minutes. If only mages could practice more than one form, you'd help, we need more people do to the fact that causing trees to grow is particularly tiring. Growing one tree with magic leaves the mages bedridden with illness in exchange for at least two weeks." Spoke Hayfa.

"Similar to Hayfa's side effect for casting: overexertion. It can cause the mage to lose conscious, and there is always the chance of them not waking up" begins Anwar. "Saving the island would cause us to become dependent on magic. Everyone would have to be capable of casting- and overexertion would make our population sick. We cannot run an island on magic- it'll just contaminate the environment spiritually. I've already managed to start a passive-aggressive rebellion of sorts in the capital; I assume the messages had been passed through Morse-code. A boycott on the steam-powered technologies and contaminants has begun. It took a couple of months of me patrolling the city at night, but at least the poor and most of the commoners have agreed to evacuate the city and move into the countryside beyond the mountains which was described by Hayfa earlier. They're already on the move." Anwar blinked, tilting his head to the side as he finished his own explanation.

"So we're having troubles with the nobility; great! Considering they own the land and industries in the capital's coast, we've made no progress at all" Spoke Shane, looking at Anwar with disgust, nearly blaming him for wasted time. "I don't know what you're looking at Anwar that way, Shane. You have no right to look at any Sadeir like that. Remember that it was your kind, the humans, the pink-skins, that started the industrialization of the island and completely disobeyed nature's ways" Hayfa retorts.

"Silence" Anwar begun to exclaim. "Don't you realize it isn't the nobles who operate the buildings? More than half their workers are gone- and the Emperor is suffering economically for it." Anwar takes a deep breath, swallowing hard as he debates whether or whether not to tell them. "The Emperor is blessing us with an audience with the Arch-Chancellor this morning in the Imperial Palace. I suggest the three of us get going. Bring the ice-mage slave!"

Much time had passed since Anwar had arrived. As the ice-mage joined them, the four initiated their march towards the capital once more. As they did so, their eyes fixed on the dam which blocked the horizon. The sea levels had been rising, and the dam was built with the purpose of sparing the capital from flooding. As time passed, the sea-levels kept rising. The dam was elevated to keep the water out, at the bottom it was made of stone and clay, the center made from brick, and at the upper levels, from metal. The slave saw this, and realized that there was a large amount of rust in the areas made from metal. However, he was not permitted to speak, so he said nothing.

They arrived with the sun, and as the gates opened, the hostility could be sensed. The Chancellor began to shout. "So these are the faces of the leaders of the group which opposes our great Empire?! Come closer, plebeians, and allow us to discuss your crimes!" "He always did have fame for his aggressive exaggerations" thought Anwar. The group nears the Chancellor, and Shane begins to speak:


"Your excellency--"

"Do I look like royalty to you? Call me by my proper title, Lord Arch-Chancellor, scum"

"Lord Arch-Chancellor, Scum" whispered Shane.

"I beg your pardon?!" the Chancellor frowned, his voice booming.



"Lord Arch-Chancellor, Ser, what is the issue- what do you mean by 'crimes'?" Anwar started,and the Chancellor quickly replies. "You ignite a revolution against the state. This worries the Emperor. Why?" Anwar, upon hearing the sudden change of attitude of the chancellor, would be cautions at proceeding, fearing what the madman would do or say next. "Our island is located in the northern archipelago, which is meant to be littered with glaciers. Such glaciers have disappeared ever since the steam technologies were introduced about thirty years ago. It is repulsive that they expanded to all corners of the world so quickly. As of recent, they have given the waters around us the alias of 'Sea of Ash'. We have noted that every summer since has been hotter and hotter, and the dam becomes more and more unstable. Furthermore, the use of petroleum has littered our water supplies, forcing us in the country to use rainwater- which has started to show signs of acidic contamination. Can you not create laws limiting the amount of waste produced?"

"Acid rain? The public should have just spoken their concerns!" The chancellor began, his voice no longer full of confidence- Anwar thought he was lying. "Yes, our island has been the root of industrialization and steam technologies around the world. While the island itself may not particularly serve as eye-candy, it holds the largest economic potency in said world. We make use of our land, our resources… all we've done is try to move forward and evolve into being better! I suppose we could create laws, but we need nobility to sign for them- and they won't do a thing until they get their workers back." The Chancellor said, in attempts to fool the group into stopping the boycott so that the workers could return before breaking his word on creating laws. "We can purchase water, just as the Emperor does for the nobles and himself, from cleaner islands. You see--"

The Chancellor's eyes become a strange sight as he hears the loud, metallic creak. They widened to almost inhuman proportions. "What was that?" he demands to know, and from a servant he finds out that it was the sound of metal. More sounds could be heard afterwards, each time louder than the last. The Chancellor asks again, and this time the ice-mage slave answers- his eyes filled with comprehension. "It's the dam!" he shouts, and Anwar looks at him with a scowl. "Take his tongue;" The Chancellor suggests, "your friend speaks nonsense- my servants are better educated and a common plebeian. Should they have agreed…"

The servants move towards the windows, their eyes widening.

"Then, I would have believed you." The Chancellor finished. He had no way to know that the speaker was a slave.

"Oh my… Lord Chancellor! Lord Chancellor! Order for the alarms to be raised, quickly!" The Servants shout, desperately urging the chancellor as if their lives depended on it.

A large, final creak could have been audible before a large explosion. The noise was followed by a powerful sound which is comparable to the activating of a hose, though a thousand times louder. The water from behind the dam hit the grounds outside, sounding like a waterfall and circling around the Imperial Palace in a matter of seconds before the windows shattered, water filling the room at apparent light-speed.

"Ice-Magic: Solid Frost!" The slave shouted, his hands gesturing as fast as humanly possible. Arms extended, the slave sucked the heat from the water into his hand- though a small, murky shield appeared at his palm as he casted; preventing him from being burnt. The water froze, though it still kept flowing in, so the ice mage instead let some water form itself under Anwar's, Shane's, Hayfa's and his feet before freezing it. This created a small, boat-like glacier under their feet, and the water separated it from the floor- the group now flowing out the door along with the water, leaving the chancellor behind.

20150311_muted_palette_by_psdeluxe-d8lf5rq-jpg.54480


The water traveled fast, as if the ocean attempted to consume the island. Not capable of resisting the current, the group stood helpless in the small boat, struggling to not fall. They watched as many of the commoners who did not flee the city by participating in the boycott climbed to their roofs, some sinking into the bottom- only to be kept safe by air bubbles inside the lower levels of their homes. To Shane's dismay, he watched as he could do nothing to help his people, the humans, get out of the mess they had started.


It did not take long for the group to reach the haven described by Hayfa. Ice mages froze much of the water for it to act as a new dam, and stone mages manipulated the terrain to form different canals leading to different tree-plantations as if to divert whatever water could not be stopped from flooding that part of the island over all. Eventually, the plant-growth mages agonized at the foolishness of the entire action- as the ice would eventually have to melt and the trees would die from the salt water. In a rushed action, they re-shaped the trees to reform a dam, plastered against the wall of ice, made of wood. Others altered the trees to actually turn the salt water that leaked through the new dam's wood into drinkable water- however this would not be effective until the wall of ice melts.

Once all was settled down and chaos no longer flooded the day, the surviving island-folk would reestablish a society. They were no longer hindered by the Emperor and their Chancellor. Steam technology, petroleum, and all traces of such were outlawed for use, though not study. As years passed, the scholars of the spared part of the island would study these technologies, experimenting possible ways to use things such as engines without the use of coal, petroleum, and steam overall. They discovered that the dam was an excellent form of power, opening it every now and then to spin wheels which grinded grains or transform it into electricity through the use of spinning magnets integrated into the grinding wheels. They repeated the process with windmills, and transported the electricity through copper-wire networks. Like those of the flooded capital once did, they sold this technology to those around the world as well- and this quickly replaced steam technologies and petroleum do to its relative cleanliness. Further laws, which limited the use of potential contaminants, were created- and from the leftovers and trash that eventually cheated their way past the dams from the ocean and flooded city. From these scraps they made further technologies or incorporated them into the already existing ones- some even retained their purpose. This marked the beginning of recycling.

Eventually, this island would become so advanced at creating self-efficient cleaner and cleaner energy that their cities became too crowded with inventions- and this civilization collapsed as well, though long after the death of the slave and the trio. The surviving folk of this island would have escaped in rafts, taking bits of their technology with them. However, they scattered, and failed to reunite and piece the shards of knowledge they carried with them back together to restore the technological advances they had made. They became incorporated in civilizations which once were declared as barbaric and primitive by them, and lived as tinkers. However, their technology failed to rise once again due to lack of funding, and steam power was rediscovered; thus repeating the process. This time however, need for clean energy was not necessary as the continents were plentiful in coal and other resources- and once again this energy type became dominant. Now, magic has been dismissed as a fairytale by nearly everyone- and humanity has only just started to slowly climb out of their dependence on oil once again- repeating the process of the creation of laws and rediscovery of wind and water energies. Recycling becomes a widely accepted idea, noting it as the way to help get rid of massive world-wide temperature rises now called global warming.

Might the cleaner world we once lost be regained?
 
Sunday -"Egg"

Fat'hiyaa has very few memories about what her life was like before she was taken a slave . One of those few memories is the first time she was an egg. They didn't have many chickens in the city where she was born. The only person who had any was one elder that lived on the edge of the city just by the ocean. They called the old woman Hakimah. Hakimah lived alone in a little sandstone house with only two rooms with a secure chicken pen attached to the west side. Fat'hiyaa used to sneak down to the old woman's fence and watch the chickens. They would strut around their pen picking at the ground. Some of the chickens would lay on the ground or just inside of this tiny little shed that was in the corner. She wondered what was in there because sometimes Hakimah would come out with a basket in her arms and go in the little shed and when she came back out the basket was filled with little oval things that were many sheds of light brown. Fat'hiyaa would normal run back to the edge of the house where the old woman couldn't see her and wait for her to leave. However, one time Fat'hiyaa was looking at a beetle that was crawling across the sand and she didn't see Hakimah coming out of the door and out into the pen. She heard a sweet gentle voice coming from in front of her.

"What are you doing there tiny one?"

Fat'hiyaa started back landing in the sun-warmed sand. "I'm sorry...I I'll leave" she said scrambling to get to her feet

"Slow yourself child...I do not care of you are here. I wish you would of just came to the front door instead. Come around little one" Hakimah walked back into her house. Fat'hiyaa got up, confused, and walked around toward the old woman's front door.

From that day forward Fat'hiyaa and Hakimah were good friends until the day that her city was attacked.
 
"Egg"

Eggs are what bring life. Fitting, really, that the earth, the place where life began, should be shaped like one.
Sometimes, the egg may bring life at the expense of others, for example, the mother octopus will die of starvation after tending to her eggs non-stop for months on end. However, the egg brings life nonetheless. The egg sometimes takes time to break out of, the baby animal may have to crack the hard shell in many different places just to be able to leave it.

For the people of San Fransisco, the day began as any other day. People went to their jobs, played in the playgrounds and life went on as usual. As it was a warm day, manypeople were outside to here the sirens go off, warning of an earthquake. They immediately ran for cover as the ground began to shake, but only expected a small quake. Perhaps a building or two that was badly made might fall down, but all in all they did not expect much. However, as it progressed, the earthquake got worse and worse. Buildings fell down, cracks razed the city to the ground. Hundreds upon thousands of people died.
It ended as quickly as it had started. The remaining people of San Fransisco surveyed he damage and began to mourn for their loved ones. However, they did not have enough time for that. Another earthquake struck, even worse than the last one. A giant chunk of earth seemed to move out of place, as if a hand had grabbed it and was trying to lift it away. Their last moments before the cracks in the ground swallowed them were filled with terror.

The last hundred or so came to their final realisation.
The faultlines of the world were mearly cracks in an egg.

In horror, they watched the claw emerge.
 
Sunday- Egg

The scent of an abused amount of rosemary, thyme and parsley crept up the staircase, shaking me awake from a slumber what felt hours too early, though the clock blinking hazy numbers begged to differ with my groans. Regardless, the main confusion was that awful scent-- who was cooking at this hour? Single dad, father of a fourteen year old and a six year old, both girls. Andrea was supposed to be at school by now, then.. Oh. In a mass slip from my failed attempt to slide on the hardwood floor to the staircase, to where I more carefully- albeit, yes, hurriedly, stomped down the stairs with the equivalent grace to a stegosaurus at meal time.

Freezing the momentum I had picked up as I slid into the kitchen and gripping the archway frame, soon after darting my eyes all around me. Before glancing down to see- … A mess of horribly chopped {butchered, even,} herbs scattered across multiple cutting boards, a soon to be burning {based on the heat set to high and the lack of attention to it} goopy mess containing what looked to be a coma-inducing amount of salt scrambled eggs, and a six year old wearing my 'kiss the cook' apron whilst standing on the step stool and holding a chefs knife.

Needless to say, I turned off the heat as fast as I could, pushing it off the burner and taking the knife from Emilia's hand with an expression of mild anger and intense concern, sweat dripping from my brow already as I knelt to her level. "Emilia, honey, what were you thinking? You could've cut yourself! You could've burnt the house down!"

"Bu- buh Papa! It's your birthday! Y'supposed to get breakfast in bed on birthdays, y'huh?"

Pausing for a moment, Alexander stared at his six year old in mild astonishment and fought the mild urge to cry as his expression softened. How, even when he had forgotten his own birthday, his youngest daughter was trying her best to make sure it was as good as he made hers. As if she was supposed to care for him as he did to her. Parenting is supposed to be a one way agreement, but he couldn't help but kiss his little girl on the forehead with a smile that spoke as if such an agreement was nonexistent, and parents took just as much from their children as their children did from them. Maybe in some ways. Maybe in some families. Maybe just this one.

"Let me help."

Soon after a cleanup and a waste of lord knows how many herbs later, scrambled eggs with toast and bacon was on the menu. To be eaten in bed, of course, at the suggestion of watching Beauty and the Beast by the ever-brilliant Emilia herself. Maybe it was just a plate of scrambled eggs made with the help of a six year old, and most people would sure as hell be concerned by that sentence {or more so by the fact that I'm actually eating it}, but I don't think I've ever had a better meal in my life. Maybe meals are just better when you're with those who you care for. Pft, it was probably just the ball scene in Beauty in the Beast.
 
Sunday - "Egg"

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W̷̬̪̘̻̣̩͉͍͉̹̲̜̬̬͍͈̻͘ ̷̵̭̦̻͔̯͕͉̲͘͠a҉҉̧̧̩̪̮̹̺̱͞ ̷̖̯͖̦͈͔̣̠͔̜͔͍͉̬̘͓͔͟͞ͅͅk̶̵͇̪̯̞ ̵̢҉͉̻̟̫̦̼̪̩̹͇̟̣̗̭̱̤̩͝ͅȩ̷̦̖̩͈̥͔̮͍̩̯̲ ̛̖̭̲̣͕̻͔̥͜ ͚̬̳̺̠̻̬̙̦̤̬͜͝u͇͕̭̼͇̱̟̫̱̙͔̗͇̰͉͍͍͘͞ ̧̗͓̰̲̺͍̖̙̰̼͉͍̥̺̪͟͜p̡̺̗͉̞͔̗̗̲̦͍̫͞͝.̷̩͔̙͚̮̼̖̬̯̙̜̥̜͘ ̵̵̵̱͙̗͎̥̫͘ͅC̤͖̗̬͝ ̨̧̧̱͓̭̩͎̳̪͙̼̦̠͔̦̫͈̣̬͠h͖̯̱̖̟͈̲̬̀̀͡ ͚̱͚̳͙͜͞͠r̸҉̶̢̘̘̦̯̜̰̦͕̳͉̞͜ ̶̢̛̛͔͖͙͖̥̻͎̖̲͈̘̰̯̫̭͝í̵̛̯̮̝̰̠͕̫̪͓̩̲̩̝̻͢ ̙̻̻͙̺̱̖̞̬͇̘̰̝̗͘͞ͅs̛̜̦̭̭͍͓̪͜͡t̡͖̤̳͈̝̙̥̤̻͘͟͜͟ ̶̢̳̱͕̻̝͡ǫ̨̧̬̩̣̝̩̱̬͈̦̘͓͎͡ͅ ͘͝͡҉̠͕̱̲̫̺̪͙̬̦͍̭̞p̧͎̞̭̩̟̀͜͜͢h͏̜̼̹͓͉̱̰͈̼͚͕̣̺͖̕ ̻̯̠̣̩̲̣̲̬͘͡,̫͉͙̬͚͓͓̼̠̱̬͙̯͜ͅ ̺̩̖̯̩͢͞͡m̴̛̗̗̗͙͖̙͉̤̺̘͚̲̥̺͚͇̟̼̪͞y̶̶̛͍̰̮̦̣̦̙͔͢͡ ̶̸̤͇͍̜͍̺̗ḏ̯̤̱̼̻̲̠̲̺̠̬̞̖͎͠e̸̸̡̨̤̭̤̤̹̞̙͎͓̩͔͈͉̫͟a̡̹̹̟̟̖͈͟r̢͍͎̞̯̗̀͠ ̷̨̧̼̙̫͕͚͉̬͉́ͅ,̴҉̭̞͖̫͕̦̙̗̼̺̝͓
̡̰͇̯̫͉̱̖̗̮͎̣̳̼̞̯̠́͢
̡̙͉̞͎̟̠̀W̦̝̫̞͔̱̘͚̮͝͝͞ͅͅͅ ̷̶̰̖̲̺̭̰̩̰̼͉͕̜̬̩͔̯̬͡ͅh̴̪͚̦̥͍̜͇͕͇̼͙̠̭͜ͅ ̢̛̳͙̟̼͠a̵̴̠͓̪͍̫̟͇͇̯͓̯͕͡ ͈͎̥̘͎͔̯͎̼͇͕͕̟̤͕̩̭́͘ͅṯ̸̴̮͈̺̤̥̪̻̣̝̮̞̕ ̷̭̖̳͚̥̱͓̺̤͕̻͢͢͠ͅ ̨͇̱̘̹͙͇̪͈̘͓͇̫̝̫à̴̱̯̼̞̭͚͚̗ͅ ̨͟҉̣̼̠͖̟͇̠̮ͅr̷̦̣̩͇̯̫̜̼͚͎̥͘͢ͅ ̶̛͓̱̭͍̥͚͇͇e̢͘͟͏̢̠͎̯͈̪ͅ ͎̙̠̩̭̝̪̯̥͙̫͔̞͠͝ ̷̴̨̨͈̦̞̖̹͝ͅy̸̫̹̹̞̣̙̩͉͈͍̖͡ ̫̩̼͕̣̹̹͉̝̠͡o̢̳͈̫̪̦̞̰̳̦̖͘͠͝ͅͅ ̨̢̟̝͕̭̙̜͎̕͢ͅu҉̨̬̮̯̗̯̟͎ ҉̼͕̝͎͓͈͚̦̙͓̟̠͈͘ͅ ̤͓̠̜̲̺̮̦̻̮̠͚́͟ͅd̶̘̼̱̺̬̙͍̖͙̥̟̻̝͇͔̭ͅ ͏̡̼̘̖͉͚̹͔̻̜̬̠̜̘̞͠ͅó̢̠͚͍̣͍̫̪͠ ̰̩̥̙̲̘͎̺͚̱͜͠i̢͉̤̰͇̬̻͙̬̰͇̝͟ͅ ̻̜̯̬̝͙̣̟̠͚̯͘͢͡n̵͓̦͇͇͈̳̙͈̯̜̖͕͢͡ ̢̰͎̥̯͚̲͞g̸̡͖̬͍̘̫͜ͅ ̵̨̛̲̮̭͍͙͙̰̗͎̩͇̠̠͇̘͞,̴̨̜̜͉͖̗̭̙̪͉́͝ͅ ̸̶̢̠̬̹͚͙̣̦̖̼͔̯̤̝͎͉̹͟ͅl̷͏̷̦̘͔̻̱̳͔͕͔͙͢͜ ̷̜͙̪͇̗͉͕̬̞̬͎͈͇̺̻͔͡ͅo̵̺̥̱͘͡ ̬̣͍̲͍̬̮̗̜̙̞̘͇̫̯͍̙̣́͠v̵̧̼̯̬̱͕̻͚̙̦͖̻͡͠ ͡҉̵̲̥̰̤͍̝͖̜̩̙̞̰̻̝è̵̸̖̞̣̖̲͙̞͇͕̩̞͎͙̦̝̻́͜?̷̢̀͏̣̝̦̜̩̹̰͕̘̭̖̯̠̰ͅͅ ̵̢̧̳̭̟͈̫̣̯̲͈̞̼͓̤͓̤̫͝ͅW̧҉̹̝̤̳͇͖̕ ̛͏̲̮̯͕̪͚͓̤̗̬̤͇̗͚̟͓̤͖͜a̸̩̦̭̩̗̼̰̟̜͙̕ ̛̯͉͈̥̠̫̰͉̞̭̤̺̀k̷̡҉̞̫̖͍̜̠̼͎̩̺͕̩̬̫̱͔̩͞ ̶̸̛͕̤̗͈͠͠e̼͍̘̝̯̬͇̮̜̜͙͎̹͟͞.̕҉̨̫̻͉͙̦͚̠̲̳̝͉ ̸̘̣̞̘̰̬̠͚̳̮͈͟͞U̡̢̼̬̙͎̻̳̙̘͇̝̰̥̲ͅ ̡̛̦̖͍͚̯̣̻̣̯̳̟p̴̟͚̹̥̝͚͍̝̘̗̮̳̱̙̮̭̮̀͠.̧̢͖̟̯̬͈͍̕͠ ̛̣̠̗̳͎̼̣̰
͓̗̮ ̧̥͚̣̬͎̩ ̭̗͔̦͕̭̟͢ ̤̞ ̵ ̞̣͈̹̫̭̱̕ ̺͕̘͕ ͔̳̩̟͉̦̮ ̩̺́ ̧ ͏̜͍ ̦̱̮̼͈͕ ͕͕̬ ͎̲̥͕ ̭̯̹̻͙ ̧̺̞ ͇̭̤̟͇ ̮̯ ̮̼̗͙͖͔͓ ͉̬̪͚͙ ̞̹͖̱ ҉̳̩̺ ̠̗̦̟̭̺͓̕ ̟͖ ͎̪̝̘͓̬́ ͖͙̝̳̱̺ ҉̰͈ ̴̬͙͉͚̘̣ ͙͔͇̭͙ ̶̖̺͍͙̱ ͎͎͓̖̖ͅ ͏̞̞͚ ̵͕͇̼̳̱̻̮ ̧̪̥͖̤ ̮͎̗̩̤ ̗͔̹̤ ̣̰̪͕͇̼ ̸͈͔̼͙̦ ̖̭ ̼̜ ̪͞ ̡ ̞̖͉͜ ̙̳̰̲͜ ̸̱͕͔̻ ̻̠͉̼͔ ̨̖̳̫̬̲̮̰​


The tiniest patters of rubble as they reverberated through the youngling's idle mind made him jerkingly recoil. His eyes started agape, only to settle back into an expression of normality combined with a mixture of surrealistic confusion. A vague precedent of rolling hills yonder had filled his previous countenance, a perspective that was now clearly outside of his current consciousness. Dreams were such fickle things, ripped away upon the sole calls of morning. It was a fleeting mollification, one filled with both somber and satisfactory repercussion. Even the specifics of his foregoing mental endeavors were now hazed behind the tinted curtains of verisimilitude, surely a product of his non-rudimentary task he now placed upon himself. The boy shifted in a whimsical flurry, rising from the dirt ground with an unorthodox elegance. Crimson stained the surroundings of his nose, a sniffle soon following in the presence of the frigid temperature the cavern he now resided in bestowed upon him. He had little, save for the tattered garbs he wore proudly and the knapsack he held religiously near to him. It was all that was necessary, and all that was desired at that.
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Lingering fingers reached o'er to his satchel, flipping up the leather hamper that impeded vision of the aspired item as he quickly glanced about his contemporary environment once more. It was an oval, one not particularly large, but bold enough to harbor both hands as support. Along its outer rim was a collection of rough reptilian textures, as if the scalings of a saurian creature had been compressed into this idiosyncratic shape. Whatever it was that occupied the innards of his bag so contently, it exhibited an illuminessence that simply screamed 'I am important'. And so, with sullied hands the young man found it all but mandatory to take on the delicate procedure of securing the object for himself. Whether it was to be eaten, put on display, or sold for an undisclosed penny was all to be revealed. All that was left was to return to his village for that exact rationale. With that thought in mind, off the boy went in efforts to seize his small theorized prize.
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Amidst the arrival of the lad at his hamlet entrance, he was greeted with mere sideward glances perhaps accompanied by muffled notions of concern. It was only when a misplaced pebble obstructed his path and the tumbling of said child ensued that few residents decided to even take note of the cherub's existence.

"Oof!"

Disgruntled echoes of over-emphasized pain emitted from the boy's lips, soon halted by the fatal realization of his rucksack innards. In a frenzy he grasped, throwing the container from around himself as he sloppily ripped open the bag. It was cracked. A small adjacent crack held at the bud of the item all but slapped the young boy who'd traveled so far across the face. A likelihood of tears swiftly spread over the child's features, scrunching in a distasteful physiognomy. However, his whimpers of defeat were somehow over beared by the sound of a different bairn. Soft coos came from the circlesque article, leaving a sense of overall bewilderment amongst the conflicted disdain. The entity continued to crack more and more exceedingly with each passing moment, causing the boy to inch away from his once desired premium in a vigorous motion.

And out of that little makeshift satchel emerged a winged lizard-like creature, eyes bulging yet barely in use. It was only then the child turned to see that the whole of the village had centered around him, mouths heavily gawking at the sight currently unraveled.

"Oi, 'e… 'ad a dragon egg!"
____________________________________
I apologize that this literally has no meaning or punchline whatsoever. This story was originally far more well-constructed, however I completely forgot about the challenge and sort of just pumped this out. I hope it makes at least a modicum of sense. I'm thinking of bleeding this story over the course of the challenge, so assumedly it'll be more coherent as days continue.

​
 
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Actually, I might opt out as well. I'm not sure I'd have the time to do this. Sorry!
 
Monday: Rabbit
There was a little rabbit girl and her brother, who were great friends ever since birth. "This forest needs a leader. I should be its princess and my brother will be my servant." The little rabbit said to all of the animals of the forest.

"Who says you can be the princess?" The birds asked the rabbits.

"Because we are the softess, cutess, richess, and no one has a fluffer tail than us. Therefor I should be the princess" the rabbit replies fluffing her tail at the animals.

The animals didn't like the rabbit's plan at all. They've been just fine without a leader for years.

One morning the little rabbit princess was awaken by the beautiful birds' song. "AGH! That song is so annoying. They always sing the same song every day. I am sick of it." The little rabbit called for her brother. "I want you to get rid of those birds."

"But sister the birds are our friends. Why do you want to get rid of them?"

"Their songs are so high pitch, and it's the same always the same song. And bring me some water my throat is dry."

The servant left and brought the princess some water. The princess spit the water out. "Gross! Where did you get this?"

"From the lake like always, the fish helped me."

The princess threw her glass on the floor, "Oh those fish, swimming in our drinking water, how dare them. I want you to band them as while as the birds."

"But sister where would they go?"

"Anywhere, I don't care where, just not here!"

"But sister what will happen when you banned all of the forest animals?"

"Then it's their fault! Now leave me be."

"Yes princess." He bowed, picked up the cup and left.

Later that day the two royal little rabbits were taking a walk down by where some little baby hedgehogs where playing. The rabbit princess stepped on one of the baby hedgehog's quill on the groud. "Ouch! I stepped on one of their stupid quills!"

Trying to comfort his enraged sister the rabbit servant said, "It was just an accident they can't help where their quills fall."

"Then they shouldn't have any quills at all! From now on all hedgehogs are banned!" All the hedgehogs could not believe what they just heard.

"But miss we don't have any other place to go." A little hedgehog girl was trying to save her population.

"Then find somewhere! Just leave at once!" The enraged princess and her servant were just about to leave when the servant stopped.

"Sister you banned all of the animals."

"So I don't need them I have everything. Looks, riches, I'm small, cute, soft, and fluffy."

"If that's all you think you need then I guess you don't need me!" The young rabbit servent left his greedy sister and her forest of nothingness.

When the young little rabbit princess went back to her hole inside the biggest tree in the forest, she climbed to top where her bedroom was and saw there were no fish swimming in the lake, there were no birds singing, no little hedgehogs playing in the leaves, and no brother. The princess really did have nothing.
 
Easter Sunday: Egg

A vast sea, infinitely vast, with a single, tiny speck in the center. Darkness, but warm, friendly darkness. Muffled noises, songs as heard over an ocean of distance. And then, a heartbeat. Beat, Beat, Beat, Beat. No breathing, not yet. No seeing, not yet. Hearing, yes, this was real. But nothing else. Not yet. But life. Definitely life. And to protect that life, a powerful shell that can hold it safe. This is an Egg.

I've also gotta drop out of this, too much on my plate now that the week has actually started. Enjoy the little diddy I popped out in the last 5 minutes or so, even if it isn't too great :/
 
Rabbit
​
The forest was a mosaic of green, gold and brown hues. The ground was teak, the trunks were chamoisee, the ferns where jade, the canopy above was verdant, the rays of light were saffron and the flowers were arylide. But those colours where not to be focused on, shades of silver, grey and white were the ones the keen eyes scanned for. The distinct colours of fur would stick out in the forest. Maybe it would just be as a blur, the rustle of a low lying scrub. But within the forest, rabbits lurked. But a hunter lurked there with them.

Armed with a simple leather swing and a pouch of stones, the hunter moved. More like a shadow than a man. It seemed to flow through the underwood, making not a sound. As swift as water, as silent as snowfall and as deadly as a snake's venom. Hazel eyes, gazing dully over the environment; nose twitching and auburn hair drifting in the wind. A nose twitched the faintest of sounds. The prey was near.

The leather sling seemed to materialise in the hunter's hand, or perhaps just a subconscious movement that couldn't be detected. Again without noticing the leather was slowly rocking with a stone rested within it; not a sound was made. The hunter still moved, the prey still remained.

Small indents could be seen on the ground, disruption in the undergrowth and the tell-tale signs of pellets. The hunter followed without the sound, gently placed steps to remove breakable twigs and dry leaves that would cause a sound. Hazel eyes narrowed, back slightly hunched and knees bent. The hunt was drawing to an end.

There it was, silver in the gold light. A small shape amongst a moderate sized clearing, a rabbit; prey. The sling blurred a low hum sounded. The stone shot forward, nothing but a blur. The rabbit made a squeak, a crunch, and then nothing. The silver creature lay on the ground, twitching slightly; its back leg deformed.
The hunter didn't say a word; it just began the messy work; skinning, gutting and cleaning the creature. It didn't take long; it was mere muscle memory for the hunter. The blade in his hand moving swiftly and precisely.

The hunt was over, the prey was caught.
 
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My, the sun is bright today
​
The future is many things to many people, it can be foreboding, it can be bleak; it can be bright, it can be prosperous. Perhaps it can be all those things and more, even through the eyes of the same person. The future is what it is made to be; if it is dreaded it will be years of despair. But if it is embraced like the open arms of a lover it can be a period of joy and happiness that some can only compared to the sheer ecstasy.

But how can something be viewed as two stark antithesis of itself? Is it within the eye of the beholder? Their past that warps the view of the future? Or maybe it is those around them? Do the pessimistic views of others invade the psyche of one? If that is true, maybe the hope of one will be a beacon to others. For hope is stronger than despair, joy is stronger than sadness and love is stronger than hate.

So I write this, smiling. Eyes aimed towards the bright azure skies that mark the future, the rays of aureolin lights acting like spotlight; my, the sun is bright today, everyday, pushing back the arsenic darkness that swirls in the depths of a crushed soul. But I do not fear the darkness anymore, for it can't exist where there is light. Where there is hope. So I walk the pass towards the future, knowing it holds happiness for those willing to grab it.

But how do I the future is bright, prosperous and something worth moving towards? Well it is simple, the present shapes the future. If your life is filled with love and light today, the next will be the same. So stay happy, stay hopeful and remember love is everywhere; because while the future is bright, the path may be treacherous. Filled with false friends, spiteful saboteurs and resentful rivals. So do not walk alone, for a compassionate companion will be a torch in the dark. Pushing back those who would steer you off the path to happiness and send you into the depths of hate and fear.

So remain strong, remain happy and know you are loved, it may not be clear, it may be hard to believe; but everyone holds a special place in someone's heart. So no one stands alone, help is never far away if it reached for. Affection is always there, and even the smallest amounts of love overpower great amounts of hate.

So love yourself, love those around you and look forward to the future that stands bright before you. Let joy fuel you so that you can arrive at the beacon of hope you were destined to reach, let love give you courage to brave the path and let friends lend you support when you lose your way. Enjoy the future, for it is a wonderful thing.
 
My personal favorite out of the week
Bright Tuesday

"My, the sun is bright today," I said as I took a sip of a cold can of soda.
My brother nodded in agreement as he sipped his own. I had followed my brother back to the front of the truck. We were taking a break before heading to his work.

We were both near our late teens. My brother was just a little younger than me, but he towered me in height and weight. We had sat in the back of our late father's pickup that was then mine. The red paint had chipped and dirtied. The driver door didn't match the rest. It didn't look like it but it meant a lot to us.

My brother had finished his drink and jumped out of the back to get another from the front seat. I noticed a plane flew overhead. It was rare to see planes then since the government shut down. Normally we wouldn't have been chilling in the back of my pickup, but that day was calm and seemed happier than average. We did have jobs, not the best. My brother was part of what was called the Cuffs. Without a government there were no cops or military. The Cuffs were different. They were men and women who believe in a state of law. Think of it as the military without being a military; just good people with guns and force. There was something like it for doctors too I think.

I wasn't part of anything organization like that. I ran what was left of our family's business. Before the fall I was about five, I think, and my brother was about four…maybe. Then our family ran a drug store. It wasn't much but it helped us get by. My brother's mother had died while giving birth. Mine…just left. Our father passed away two years into the fall. Then I took up the store, but there really wasn't a use for it since money was useless. People just fought for goods.

My brother wasn't always good. He used to take avenge of the fall like most people. I thought it was wrong…it made us into animals… we weren't people anymore…Now that I think of it, maybe I should have. I might have had a better life that way. It wouldn't have mattered though. It would end way the same way. He would have still died. I remember it all too well. Every--detail.

I had joined him on a mission. Nothing big, just watch over a part of town, what was left of it. It was quite expect for some screams in the distance. It used to scare me long back, but…then and now, I was only glad it wasn't me or my brother screaming. It was early that morning. The sun had just risen. We were leaning against a wall of a broken down liquor store. I had made a joke that it would nice if there was some left inside. We laughed. He stopped when he heard rushing footsteps. He has his gun at the ready. I didn't know much about guns but it was a big one. Then it happened all too quickly. Before I could lean off the wall we were rushed by what felt like thirty men maybe more. He didn't even get a shot in just told me to run. I couldn't. They only wanted him and to destroy the Cuffs. They knew I wasn't one because I didn't have a patch on my shirt of a reef made to look like a peace sign.

He lied on the ground gory, bleeding…. We knew this job was dangerous but he took it anyway. He wanted to make up for all he had down at the start of the fall. I was crying, balling even, yet he smiled up at me. I had never seen him so happy in my life. He only said one thing to me: "My, the sun is bright today."
 
One day, I shall go
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"One day, I shall go free." Muttered a voice, more defeated than hopeful; in truth it is hard for a voice to sound anything but defeated if bound in rags and behind bars. The owner of the voice was frail, a skeleton wrapped in paper thin skin that showed each vein and bone joint. Sparse straw like hair covered the prisoner's scalp and fuzzy, wiry like hair covered the chin.

"To the block?" Said the jailer, a smilga radījums with bug eyes and buck teeth; its average height shortened by the hunched back. Warty and gnarled hands that seemed to revel in cracking a whip ended the short arms that stuck out of the stocky body. A cackle of laughter shook the frame of the jailer at its own wit.

"No chains can hold a pūķis." Stated the prisoner, seeming to be talking to themselves more than the hunch back; looking at the clawed hands that ended the twig fine arms, as if they held significance.

"Good thing there is bars holding you, not chains." Replied the keeper of keys, a garš viens; a towering figure, with sickly thin limbs but with strange strength. Its tone striking like a pick axe, sharp and jarring. A long nose protruding from the withered face of the creature, set between two sunken eyes.

"Very nice master, quick thinking." Complimented the smilga radījums; always the boot licker. Shuffling behind the garš viens, rubbing its gnarled hands together in anticipation. Its master rarely entered the cell of the pūķis, but when it did. It satisfied the sick mind of the jailer.

"A pleasure to hear your wit Bērns prostitūta; a change to the Riebīga parazīti apģērbi sorry attempt at intelligence." The stated plainly, not lifting its eyes from the floor of the cell. The faded red hair of the pūķis covering the facial features.

"Ohh, what a vile tongue you pūķi have, I would wish you were taught better. But I can't expect too much." The garš viens drawled on, waving its large hands to incite action on behalf of the smilga radījums. Soon the doors of the cell were open and the two approached the pūķis.

"So it is time? The end?" Asked the pūķis, rising from the sitting position to stand at a height between the other two. The gold iris on the black sclera shining like the molten metal as they gazed toward the garš viens and the smilga radījums. Fang like teeth poking through the dark grey lips of the pūķis.

"Yes, the axe" Grinned the smilga radījums, sadistic joy sparking in the crimson eyes of the jailer. The hunched creature hated the superior attitude of the pūķis, being the butt of the jokes it could not fully understand. The idea of the prisoner's head rolling away from the body delighted the smilga radījums.

"They say we pūķis were born from the sun" Explained the prisoner, after many flights of stairs and a plethora of doors. The rays of light showing the pūķis' haggard features; the indents in the skin as it wrapped around the bones showing deep shadows on the prisoner. But the bony figure still stood tall, determined.

"Is this the pūķis criminal?" The īsa milzu asked its tone like a bear growl. A massive creature with a just as massive axe, a platinum blonde beard hanging to its waist littered with silver and onyx rings. A few nods where exchanged and within moments the axe split the pūķis' neck, ending the story.
 
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My god, sorry!- Completely forgot about this in recent events. I'll replace this post with my shturf as soon as I can! >_<
 
Ohdang, gotta drop out sorry >.<
Not quite enough time.
 
A Dark Figure​
Garbed in arsenic gyvatė leather and ebony geležies plates, the creature stood; rather foreboding. Magija ran through the attire like blood in a body, it radiated from the dark figure. I bit my lip, unsheathing my blued steel rapyra; causing a slight hiss as the blade was freed from the leather holder. My wrist shifted the light dancing on the tip of my weapon.

The figure seemed to stir as my weapon caught the light, it moving like a puppet of strings. Twitchy, sudden and uncoordinated, but with speed. I sunk into a stance suited for a rapyra, the needle like weapon's tip aimed at my opponent.

A slight wind rose, a product of the figures Magija. It carried the smell of death, decay and blood. My crimson silk apsiaustas catching the foreboding breeze and flapping to my left. My raudonas gaubtas threatening to pull away, revealing shocks of blond hair beneath it.

I waited for a moment, my mouth set into a grim line; then much like an arrow from a bow, I shot forward. My vision blurred, the figure was the only thing in focus. My rapyra, aimed for the neck of the creature. But my attack never connected, a juodas Cinquedea seemed to appear in the figures hand, knocking my own weapon up and away.
I stumbled back, preparing for the counter
strike, and with little surprise I felt the kiss of steel on my blade. The impact was jarring; the magija could be felt in the blow. My arm grew weak; blocking would not be wise; parrying could be more helpful. Speed would be my friend.

I charged again, darting to the left to try strike the flanks. But the dark blur of the Cinquedea was there, blocking my rapyra. But I was already jabbing at the figure again, aiming higher. I saw the onyx blur, but my sword was faster. I felt the resistance of armour, then the feel of flesh. That's when its blade smashed into my needle like one. I leapt back, my rapyra was torn free from the creature, leaving a gaping scar; but not stopping the figure.

Damson wisps spilt from the wound, filling the air with decay. I looked to my rapyra, the blade was bent; it was useless. I reached for my belt, hoping to find my žalia iron durklas. Luck was on my side, the blade was there, and now firmly gripped in my hand. I studied the blade for a second, and charged.

I saw the figure cast its magija, liquid darkness forming behind it. Forming serpent like shapes, and then lunging at me. I swung my blade, trying to slice the first liquid serpent. But it felt as if I hit obsidian. My dagger flew from my hand, smoking. Before I could react I was hit by another snake of shadows. It chilled my blood, burnt my body and darkened my vison. I flew back, a harsh scream escaping my lips.

The dark figure seemed to laugh as the other dark basilisk rose, twisting together as the struck down onto me. I tried to move, tried to block. But nothing, a short pain was felt, a loud crushing and a million hisses. Then nothing, just darkness with two options, quit or restart.
 
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