Someone I really respect told me that if you get stuck and can't figure out what to write, turn on tv and the first line you hear use it and make a scene out of it. and i know it's adverb-y but i love my adverbs.
“You did promise to marry me.”
“And you said that you kept no secrets from me. So as I see it, we’re both liars.” Adra said. Fabrike wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“You love me.” He purred into her ear. His voice was soft and soothingly familiar. Adra had to remind herself that underneath his familiar face was that of a monster. She wrenched herself out of his hold. Adra braced herself against the warm wood of the doorframe.
“Get out of my home. You’re not welcome here anymore.” She snarled at him, hate and anger blinding her. Fabrike sighed. Crossing to the other side of the doorway, he stopped to stare at her. His cool green eyes were wide with guilt and wistful thinking.
“I know I’ve made this hard on you. I’m sorry.” He murmured.
“Good.” Was all Adra could manage to sputter before slamming the door between them. She leaned against the door. Part of her knew that Fabrike was doing the same on the other side.
“I’m an Ogren, Adra. When we kissed, it was a binding promise; I can’t forget about you and you can’t forget about me.” Fabrike’s voice carried through the door. Adra shook her head.
“You forget, Fabrike. Whatever you are, I’m not. I’m a human and someday I will forget about you.” Adra promised. The door creaked and she knew he’d gone. For one night at least. Adra let that small fact comfort her.
The next morning, as she left the cottage to start planting her garden, Adra kept a wary eye about her. It was impossible to know which tree, which bush might be hiding more of his kind. The morning light was half gone when she finally noticed Fabrike. She had no idea how long he’d been sitting atop her garden gate, watching her dig, and she didn’t want to know. Adra refused to look up at him, stabbing away at the earth of her garden. Part of her felt strangely released every time the earth gave way.
“What s it that you want from me?” Adra demanded. Fabrike slid off of the gate and stepped closer.
“I wanted to see you.” Fabrike whispered. Adra refused to look at him. “So I came.”
“Is that something I should get used to?” She muttered. Fabrike knelt by her side. His large strong hands pulled the wooden spike from her. His strength made quick work, tearing at the soil of her garden.
“I never wanted to make this hard for you.” Fabrike told her, hesitating with the spike in hand as he said it. Adra pulled her basket of seeds closer. She meshed the loosened soil with her hands, making room to plant seeds. For a while, the two worked in silent harmony. The garden was finished before the sun had even set.
“You didn’t come to help me with my garden. Why are you here? I won’t marry you.” Adra said, getting to her feet. She untied her gardening apron and tossed into the newly empty basket along with her tools. Fabrike picked up the basket before she could take it.
“I missed you.” Fabrike told her simply. “I wish it was something more clever but it’s not.” He followed her out of the gated garden and back towards her small cottage. Trees jutted up like pillars around the clearing where her house lay. Adra stopped to look at them for a moment before continuing inside.
“I’ve been thinking that I should’ve known.” Adra cursed herself. Fabrike’s eyebrows dropped in confusion. “About you, I mean.”
“How could you have known?” He stopped just outside of the door. Adra grabbed the basket from him roughly, setting out of his reach. She crossed her arms.
“You put a spell on me, didn’t you?” She accused. “From the first moment I met you, I trusted you completely. That was a spell.” There was no question in her words because the moment she said it, she knew it was true. Fabrike glanced away, blushing from shame and guilt.
“I never hurt you and you did learn to trust me.” Fabrike pointed out. Adra shook her head derisively.
“How do I know that? How do I know that I’m not still under a spell? What gives you the right to choose what I should think and feel?” Adra demanded. Fabrike lowered his eyes.
“You’re only under one spell.” Fabrike confessed. Adra’s jaw dropped in shock. Her hands fell limply to her sides.
“Take it off!” She barked after the surprise had worn off.
“I can’t!” Fabrike groaned. He braced himself against the doorframe, looking as though he desperately wanted to come inside. His shoulders sagged. “Will you let me in, if I tell you what it is?”
“No.” Adra said firmly. “I don’t trust you.”
“That really doesn’t matter.” A man’s voice came from behind her. He was sitting at her table, amusing himself with watching their squabble. The man was almost more handsome than Fabrike with long dark hair and even darker eyes. If there was any flaw in his striking features, it would be the depths of his black eyes. Adra stepped back against the open door in shock and horror.
“Who are you? How did you get in?” She demanded. Adra tried very hard to sound brave and strong but her every impulse was to scream and run for help.
“I’m Fabrike’s brother. For now, that should answer both questions.” The man gave her a crooked smile. Fabrike crossed the doorway and placed himself between them.
“What are you doing here, Tallos?” Fabrike growled.
“You say that as though you don’t want me here. You should have known I’d come for you.” Tallos chuckled. Adra stood as tall as her scant height would allow.
“Both of you, get out of my home right now!” Adra bellowed. With a wary glance, she scanned the rest of her small cottage. “And anyone else that might be here, I want you gone. This home is for humans only!” She snapped. Fabrike backed out through the door. Tallos didn’t move.
“What do you intend to do?” He laughed. Slowly and tauntingly, he got to his feet. He crossed to her side within a step. His black eyes grabbed her up and held her in their dark water. Adra felt fear rising in her throat like bile. Tallos raised his hand, curling fingers around a strand of her hair. “Just what can a little human like you do to stop me?”
“Leave her alone!” Fabrike snarled, stopping himself at the doorframe with malice dripping from his every feature.
“I can take off that pesky spell, if that’s what you want.” Tallos offered. Adra darted out away from his attentions and kept herself a few steps back from him.
“I can’t trust you. You’re just like him!” Adra gestured to Fabrike, who was watching them carefully. Tallos laughed darkly.
“I’ll take back the spell anyway. I want to.” Tallos said but the words sounded thick in her ears. It was as though there were a group of people around her, all speaking around her at the same time. Strange colors flashed around her, the voices all chanting indecipherably. Adra fell backwards.
“Adra? Adra?” Fabrike’s voice resounded in her ears until it was just his voice. Adra blinked up at him in horror. Fabrike’s face was as she remembered it but somehow impossibly different. His beautiful long brown hair had turned bright green and was punctured by the two long grey horns that were smoothed back along his head like thick immovable hairs. “Are you all right?” Fabrike asked softly. Adra recoiled at the sight of him.
“Stay away from me!” She screamed. Unlike Fabrike, Tallos’s skin was a subtle shade of pinkish-purple, hair and eyes still black. His horns however were the same pinkish color as his skin.
“She’s seeing you for what you are brother.” Tallos told him. Fabrike retreated, grinning sheepishly at her with long, sharp, crooked teeth. He wrung his hands around something that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly, Adra knew what it was that Fabrike was holding. It was his own long, thin, green tail.
“It’s not so bad. It’s just different. I don’t have to look like this you know. I can put the spell back on, if that’s what you want.” Fabrike tried to sound convincing but his wide green eyes were filling with tears.
“And to think, you had no idea.” Tallos’s voice was low and cruel. He seemed to find the whole situation hilarious. Something long, red, and snake-like wrapped around her arm and drew her close. Tallos’s tail.
“Just leave her alone.” Fabrike grabbed Tallos’s tail and, with a rough shake, Adra was released. She watched as Fabrike dragged his brother out by the tail and deposited him a good five feet from the doorstep. Tallos cringed from Fabrike’s hold and Adra had no doubts that it hurt him. Passing a clawed hand in between himself and the small cottage, Fabrike whispered and the strange flashing colors returned.
“Now will you let me go?” Tallos barked, clutching his tail to his chest. Fabrike stepped closer to face Adra.
“No one will be able to go into your home without your permission. You have my word.” Fabrike vowed. Adra retreated from the doorway but said nothing. Her eyes were still wide with fear. Because in all of the ways that they were different, Fabrike and Tallos were both still Ogren. Fabrike may have looked like a lovable sheepdog trapped into an Ogren’s body. But Tallos, he was dark and cold. Hate hung around him like a cloud. However innocent Fabrike seemed, there was still darkness in him. He is still Ogren. Adra forced herself to remember that.
“Did you hear that, little brother?” Tallos smirked. “She thinks you’re as bad as me. Nothing will convince her that you’re not.”
“Go home.” Fabrike said coldly, his eyes dropping away from Adra.
He lurched back and forth with the heavy head of the flashlight, not knowing where or what to swing at. His eyes were open but unfocused. I tried not to think about how vulnerable he looked. If I died here, I had no doubts he would die too. I threw all my weight against the net, pulled back, tried peeling my hands or feet away; all with no results. There wasn’t even a rattle from the net holding me in place. I could move my head but that was it. There was a small metal box on the wall that looked like a fuse box. It might work.
“You’re fine professor but I got stuck. Can you feel if there are any more bullets in your gun?” I shouted. It was dark but I saw him switching hands, moving carefully. The gun clicked as the chamber was opened and bullet by bullet he checked.
“I think there are five.” He stammered.
“There is a fuse box over to the top left, professor. Your top left. If you put the gun and the flashlight together, I can tell you where to shoot. It might release me then.” I explained. He slid the chamber back into the six-shooter and cocked it. I didn’t get a chance to help him aim; I got distracted. The net began to vibrate. I glanced around and in the semi-darkness to my left, I saw blue glowing dots. It moved closer. Dozens of electronic, blue, metal eyes watched me from the head of a robotic spider thing. Inching down the net towards me, I could hear a faint clicking sound. “Oh god…”
“What is it?”
“Aim up and to the right…a little lower, he’s coming down.”
My parents were the fighting type. Not the loud screaming and tossing blame like dishes type but the silent, cold, using my brother, Liam, and me against each other type. When I was younger I never really knew that that was what was happening. I felt cherished. But as the years went by, father came home less and less. He was a soldier; I guess that made it easier to stay away. When I was eleven, he sent my mother a letter saying that he wouldn’t be returning again. I cried and mother focused her joy on the one child that hadn’t seen enough of his father to miss him. They celebrated.
My mother wasn’t good at letting things go. The joy faded out quickly and within a few weeks she was unhappy and angry again. She drank more and spoke less. Over time, I became the reason for her unhappiness. It might have been that I missed my father too much; maybe I looked too much like him. Whatever it was, I learned quickly to stay outside as long as I could and to stay quiet when hunger forced me to come home.
I wrote this for an application to show my writing skill. I don't know if it's very good, but if you read this could you let me know? I wanted to test it out here to see if it's good enough to submit.
Oh, I was given a choice of 5 topics so I included the topic I chose, so you'll understand.
(Untitled)
4. With respect to the nature versus nurture debate, compare and contrast the roles of intrinsic and environmental factors in human development.
Parents in this day and age have the luxury of being able to know the gender of their child long before that baby is born. Some parents can even weed out the offspring that might hold genetic anomalies and possible debilitating diseases. Likewise, parents can give their babies over to be raised by others in more prosperous homes if they choose to. With the ability to genetically and environmentally improve the life of the child, the question of nature vs. nurture must be considered.
There is absolute evidence that many psychological problems stem from child abuse or poor environment and upbringing. Abused children that pass that abuse on to younger or more defenseless children and children that direct the abuse inwards and become self-annihilators, these are mere shadows of the many unfortunate possibilities that lie before children in horrendous upbringings. Many of the most notorious murderers and malevolent maniacs were raised in conditions like these. And tragically there are thousands and thousands of children subjected to this torturous lifestyle and victimized every year.
Of course, the fact that genetics play a vital role in the person that baby will become is undeniable. There are many cases of identical twins separated from birth that have the same habits, dispositions, and even favorite foods. That provides legitimate reasoning that some things really are written in our genetic code. Some these genetic disorders, however, can cripple children from birth, make them suffer intensely throughout their lives, or simply die within hours of their birth. These disorders can sometimes be detected in prenatal scans and thorough fertility consultation.
Both sides balance out their lacks with blaming the other side. What the nurture side can't explain becomes genetic anomaly, what the nature side can't explain becomes poor diet or irresponsible raising. Yet, with technology constantly advancing, our knowledge of what corresponds to what on a double helix chain is also advancing. With the fields of social-work and psychology also expanding we may, eventually, come to a complete and fully functional way of raising children. But we may never understand just what balance of which can make a killer and which can make a self-sacrificing altruist.
Therefore, an awareness and vigilance of both must be the upmost important factor in the breeding of future generations. Here's an example: Think of a playing card, on one side is the face of the card and on the back is the deck's pattern. This is kind of representative of the human condition. On the face we have nurture, we can recognize the Q for Queen like we could recognize an abusive or loving home. On the other side is nature, the mysterious pattern of the deck that represents the unreadable, indecipherable genetic code embedded into every person. There is no card without two sides. Similarly, in humans there is no person without genetics or without a history. We must see both sides to know whether a particular card belongs to a certain deck or suit.
For the first time in years I finally had an idea for a new story. I guess the Lamott 3000 words a day thing actually helped me jog my brain into a creative process. Well, anyways, here it is. (I might read it for the symposium)
Backfire
I squinted at the letters. The more I rearranged them, the less sense they seemed to make. Despite spending a fortune at this school to learn how to rearrange my letters, they still looked weird. But I never was a very good speller anyways. Everything I tried looked wrong on the paper, wrong when I tried it aloud, and wrong when my workshop class tore it apart letter by letter. They had every right though, their spells were better than mine. They had better ideas. It still hurt. I’d read all the books they read, done all the exercises they’d done, and mastered the itty-bitty rules of where to place your pauses and stops just like they had. But I couldn’t even compete with them.
My new spell was going to prove them wrong. Or, so I convinced myself. I’d gotten the idea for it when I was standing in line for the Public Port on my way home for class. It occurred to me that the one spell that no one had written was making a person. Of course it broke one of the rules, energy cannot be created or destroyed only blah, blah, blah. But sometimes rule breaking worked. Like in Christina’s spell last week, she used a triple A followed by a x, but there was no backfire. It was the prettiest trans-morg spell I’d seen a student create. She changed a rabbit to a human with clothes and back to a rabbit with only fur. It was smooth and only had a few glitches. (Let’s just say that the clothing was not gender friendly and if he were a real human, he would have been very embarrassed.)
13 explosions, 22 strangely formed corpses, and one brainless golem later I was nearly ready to give up. I knew that the wording was perfect and I’d tried nearly every hand gesture I could think of, from flipping the bird to thank you. The misspent energy from my previous spell failures clung to my skin and made my antsy, cranky, and wired. Some people exercised and some meditated, but I just danced the feeling away. I turned on my SCAMP with a flick of the wrist. It was a song I’d never heard before. It had a heavy beat and the sound of clapping and I could imagine lasers and the nons dancing to this in the no-magic clubs. I let the music infect me and released the energy before it could build bad luck.
Before you start criticizing, I know I shouldn’t have been dancing. I know what could happen if a speller loses control and moves in the wrong way while saying the wrong thing. I know it. But nothing bad had happened when I danced before so I was just overconfident and stupid, I guess. And it hit me hard.
I hate writer's block. Previously i even broke up with it, only now I think it's stalking me.
So, as part of my daily butt-in-seat trying to write even if I can't, I wrote this.
It has no name though...
I looked up from the computer screen dejectedly. I knew I was supposed to write, I knew it cold. So why couldn’t I do it? It was like someone was gradually letting the air out of my potential and each word I typed got more archaic. I had no clue what I was saying.
“So Audrey, will we be reading that book of yours any time soon?” My friend Gabe joked. He had an open gaming manual by his keyboard and an anime chat site open in the window. I gave him a halfhearted smile.
“You never know.” I answered. The truth was that I knew. Never. That’s when he’d see my book, never. I would never finish it. Hell, I couldn’t even start it. Without another word I logged off the computer. It was an off-hour and I had better things I could be doing than faking my future writing career. I grabbed my coat and backpack and hurried out of the business office. Aside from the library it was the only place with computers. But I didn’t want that now. I never wanted to look at another computer screen again. Ever.
“Audrey, how’s the book coming?” Mrs. Sheldon asked cheerfully. I shrugged.
“Not bad, I just have to keep plugging away.” I nodded. She gave me a bewildered smile before patting my shoulder awkwardly.
“Well whatever works, I guess.” Not that I’d expect her to understand. She’s a math teacher. To her it was merely words. To me, well… I hadn’t gotten that far. I turned down an opposite hallway. Not that I didn’t want to talk to her anymore…but, well, I just didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I wanted to sleep. I had a history project next period and I needed my strength to make-believe my way through it. I could lie my way through anything and did, most of the time.
“Audrey, have you finished the next chapter? I can’t wait to find out what happens to Brin.” Mr. Davis clapped his hands together eagerly. My mind screamed furious insults.
“Yeah, I’ll bring them tomorrow.” I lied through gritted teeth. He clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“I hope she finally beats Kalhid.” He suggested. “It would be about time.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” I countered. He sighed and stopped at the copy room.
“Just don’t forget to bring it this time, you always forget.” He shouted at my back I turned with a wave.
“I’ll get it to you.” I promised. I turned back around. “Just as soon as I write it.” I muttered to myself. I waited for one more question about my book. That would be the last straw. I quickened my steps. I’d be safe in the art hall where the only questions would be, ‘can I borrow your red?’ I grinned inwardly. Yeah, I’d be safe there.
“Audrey!” A voice cried out behind me.
“For the love of god!” I screamed and barreled ahead.
I was thirteen when I decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life writing stories. Everyone told me that it was too young to know for sure what you wanted to do with the other 50-60 years of living. Up until about 2-3 years ago, I really thought that I was the one in the right. I knew what I wanted and life was simple and I wrote everyday for hours and hours and I had everything figured out. But that was then. In the fall of 2007 I became an International Peer Advisor for the Asia University America Program, where I worked with a lot of Japanese students. Then I went to Japan. The whole time my mind was occupied with which conjugation is best for the emotion I was trying to express or my lesson plans for teaching English.
I started to think that if I stopped writing, it wouldn’t kill me. I might not even miss it. But I kept pursuing the Creative Writing major in order to just graduate sooner and get back to Japan. Somewhere in between the past progressive conditional form of “to sleep” and learning how to make my own character lunch box with heart shaped rice and eggs with faces on them, I lost my ideas. They slipped away while I was sleeping and I dreamed them away like you sweat away water. I not-so-modestly believe that I can still turn a phrase and come up with a decent metaphor, but I can’t think of a story that’s mine.
I have now finished reading all of Alan’s posts and I was jealous. Sincerely jealous. It seems like all the runaway ideas, not necessarily mine but all of the other ideas running around loose, have crawled up into Alan’s brain through his ear and laid to rest there before hatching into wonderful ideas that he puts into stories.
I am not sure where to go from here or how to make the ideas I shoved down and forced away return. I’m not sure if me still being a writer is a possibility anymore. I’m a 23 year old English major with a love for reading and no originality. I think if you dissected anything I’ve written within the last 2 years, you’d find that I spent the better part of all my writing just rearranging or latching on to other better writers’ words.
I’m very sure that my creativity has died of natural causes. Not quite sure that’s it’s reversible…
About five minutes ago I emailed my professor and told her I was too sick to go in to class today. The real reason? I got so addicted to the Taiwanese drama I've been watching I don't want to stop it to go to class.
The story is that the main character's number one love interest has just gone into a coma. Her other love interest is going to Germany for a dream job and she has to decide if she should give up her life to be with the one she really loves or follow her dream and stay by the one that loves her the most.
Now, I'm hearing myself describe this and thinking what I thought when I was a little girl, "Who would really fall for this kind of story? What kind of idiot would get into a soap opera like this?" But there's also a part of my brain that reminds me that I'm into watching this in the same way I'm into reading books. I feel for the character, I think I know her and it makes me continuously go back to the story.
I guess it makes me wonder which is more important, characters or story? In a book, story moves everything forward but it might be just because we can't see the way the character in a book smiles. It doesn't matter how many crooked smiles you read about, if you can't see the way his eyes light up and his head tilts ever so much to the left so that he can hide the smile away, then character alone won't provoke your emotions for him. If you can't see the dead, not-there quality of his face as he's being put into the ground, you need more to make you cry over it.
I want to become a screenwriter. At least, I'd like to try. I think that my stories lack something in print but my dialogue and my characters might be good enough for a movie or a show. And then I'd be able to see my characters grow and develop before my eyes. I'd see the silly way my character laughs in small spurts with her chin up and out and her head tilted back like the laugh continues behind her head into the back of her brain.
I watched that jet lee movie about a guy that was trained like a dog to fight and live in a cage and wear a collar an everything. So I wrote a story inspired by that. Right now it doesn't have a title but it's just an idea that inspired me for roughly 10 pages. This is just the opening few pages (2, I think).
Tuesday.
“He will kill you if you let him.” Piren whispered into her ear. Annika glanced over her shoulder at the scrawny pup of a man behind her. His eyes were wild and his nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Annika nodded.
“Yes, master.” She readied herself for the fight at hand. Piren grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand was tight on the handle of his cane. The merciless expression on his face did nothing to hide the fact that he was not long for the world.
“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.” He warned her. Annika merely glanced back at the pit. From where she stood, she could see it all. The dirt floor of the pit was stained with sweat, blood, and fear. Over the years, the pit had seen more blood than it’d ever seen of water. And it left the ground with a sodden uneven feeling. It was a feeling that stuck, one she remembered. Piren released her but his bloody handprint remained. “I can’t have a repeat of last time. Someone has to die.”
“Yes, master.” Annika murmured before she was shoved off the platform. She fell hard to the grimy dirt. She scrambled to her feet. The bear-like man across from her, started to laugh. But whatever amused him, he didn’t find it funny enough to take his eyes off her.
“Hello little girl. You’re a bit small for this, ain’t you?” He grinned. Annika didn’t speak. Fear had made her mute. It muddled her thoughts until the only thought she had was that his wrist was bigger than both of her arms put together. He could snap her into two pieces, four, six... Her mind kept repeating it.
“Annika! Start fighting!” Piren commanded her. She lunged at the man across from her. She got one good hold on his neck. She let her power flare up and kept her hold. He screamed. Annika forced her hands to become even hotter. She burned him like an all-consuming fire. Every time he hit her, he just cried out in more pain. He got one opening and punched in the face. She flew across the pit and into the opposite wall.
“I know what you are!” The man shouted at her. His neck and the bigger half of his chest were burned down into the muscle and raw. She could barely breathe for the stink of his charred flesh. There was shock in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Annika braced herself to continue fighting.
“I don’t want to die either.” She whispered, tears blurring her vision. He took the opportunity and punched her quick. He’d grabbed and released before she’d had time to heat up. He kept at her with a flurry of hits. He was too fast. She grabbed handful upon handful of the gritty ground. She pressed it into his wounds. He screamed and backed away. She heated up and made a dive for him. There was screaming and struggling and the smell of burned flesh and when she finally let go he was dead. She glanced up at Piren from the pit. His foul yellow teeth were bared in a smile.
“Good girl.” He said simply. She was pulled out of the pit and dropped back onto the platform, her legs collapsing under her from the drop. She knew better than to stand in a hurry. They might throw another fight at her if they thought she was ready. Piren peered down at her, leaning on his cane to do so. He glanced up. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring it again.” He informed someone that Annika couldn’t see. She had no doubts who the it was. The person made a throaty noise before tossing Piren a small bag of coins.
“If you come tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a fight ready. But I can’t have it using powers in the pit anymore. That smell will drive my audience away.” Someone said gruffly from just behind her. Piren’s face twisted with rage. Annika stayed on the ground. She knew it would be better to stay out of his sights when he was in such a mood.
“That’s all she’s got! Look at her, there’s not a scrap of muscle on her!” He snapped. Annika didn’t hear anything but for some reason Piren suddenly changed his tactics. “You know it’s always good for business to have a little slip of a thing beating someone like that.” Piren motioned to her dead opponent. All the muscles in the world hadn’t helped him. He was being hauled out of the pit carefully. No one could bear to even touch him.
“And you think I can’t get another little girl in here?” The voice demanded. She glanced up meekly. It was a well dressed man with a grey beard. Catching her eyes on him, Piren slammed his cane down just beside Annika’s head. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Can you find one that wins?” Piren’s voice was soft as silk.
“Then find a way for it to win without making a stink.” The voice snapped. “Or unload it and get a new one.” The voice suggested. There was a swish of cloth and the man left. Annika got to her feet. She tried not to think about the man’s suggestion. Piren grabbed her by the arm. Years of experience had taught her better than to cry out about being held too roughly. It would only earn her even worse treatment.
“You'd better be thinking of something.” He barked. He shoved her ahead of him out the door and towards the marketplace. Bright light broke over her face as she left the dark building. She blinked and made her way towards Piren's carriage while he limped on behind her. A slow smile filled her face as she thought about the reward awaiting her at home: one hour in the house gardens and one flower to take back to her cage with her. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she didn't notice the man step in front of her and crashed into him. they fell in a tangle of elbows and knees.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled at her, getting to his feet. Piren came to her defense. The two began trading insults in loud voices. Annika darted away and huddled by herself by the carriage. The driver glanced over but knew better than to speak to her. Annika watched the two fighting, everyone turning to stare at them.Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What’s your name?” A boy asked. His smile was kind as he looked her over. He noticed the scars on her arms but didn’t seem bothered. Yet, Annika felt panic rise in her throat. She watched the ground by her feet, ignoring him. “C’mon, what’s your name?”
“Please go away. I don’t want him to get angry.” She said in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. The boy grinned. His dark eyes seemed to dance in the light. Annika lowered her gaze.
“Him?” He nodded towards the growing dispute. “Is he your father?”
“Please go away.” She said again. The boy sidled closer to her. There was such kindness in his face, she was afraid to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured comfortingly. “How’s this? If I guess your name, will you tell me?” Annika almost felt like smiling. It was a weird sensation and, in the end, she just nodded meekly. “Is it Annika?” He guessed right on the first try.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess, I guess. I’m Davon.” He reached a hand towards her but Piren caught it.
“That will cost you twenty camars, upfront.” Piren laughed. There was no amusement in his face.
“What?” Davon scrambled to get free. Annika watched his struggle with emotionless eyes. Davon gawked at her as though she should save him. She turned away, trying not to remember his face.
“Here’s a lesson, boy. Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.” Piren snarled. His grip turned merciless on the Davon’s arm. Piren cracked him over the head with his cane before releasing him. The boy hurried away. Annika glanced up for orders and she saw Piren coughing. As though to make up for letting her see a weakness, her pushed her towards the carriage door. “Get in already!” He commanded and she hurried to obey him. Piren clambered wearily into the seat beside her. With the sound of clomping hooves, the carriage lurched forward. The pit, the market, the boy, and all thoughts of the man she killed fell far behind them.It was just another day.
A young girl dashed across the open field, dark brown hair falling in her eyes. She flapped an impatient hand at the boy awaiting her. He held the reigns of two chestnut brown mares. She raced past him into the small stable. Its silence was, for once, a comfort. Thankfully, it was deserted as the stable–men ate their midday meal. Stepping into a relatively clean stall, she stroked her expensive dress. Her thoughts wound into dangerous patterns. If mother knew, she would be furious. She yanked the mass of silken fabric over her head. Underneath she wore a white billowing shirt and a tan pair of fitted breeches. She rolled up her dress and shoved it into a clean spot of the stall floor. The hostlers would take care of it when they returned. They always did. Stumbling out into the sunlight, she hurried over to the young boy. He yanked and prodded her, tying her hair back, making her into a fair resemblance of any other boy.
“Ready, Tirana?” Liam smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. His flaxen hair was cropped just above the ears. Tira narrowed her eyes anxiously.
“Why don’t you just shout that I’m a girl if you intend on revealing me?” She snapped in a soft voice. “If they find out that I’m not a boy then I’ll be whipped for certain.” She reminded him in a desperate whisper. Liam made a guilty face.
“You know, every week you look less like a boy. I think everyone in the village knows it’s you by now.” Liam told her with a frown. Tira felt her heart hammer strangely in her chest. She knew he was right.
“But not mother.” She mumbled quickly. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. He handed her a set of reigns, giving her shoulder a playful shake. “Don’t worry.”
“I’ll be whipped for certain.” Tira glanced around at the empty yard as they led their horses towards the outside gate.
“Do you really think mother is mean enough to whip her own daughter?” Liam asked after a moment. He answered his own question when Tira didn’t speak. “She may be hard on you but she’s not cruel.”
“I’d rather not find out.” Tira retorted. With a grunt, she mounted her mare. She threw an envious sigh towards Liam, who effortlessly slid into his own saddle. He gave her a sanctimonious grin. Anything he might have said was lost as a loud yet distant bell sounded from the village below them. Tira groaned. “Oh, Adam will not be pleased that we’re late for lessons again.”
“I’d race you but we both know I’d win.” Liam teased, kicking his steed into a gallop.
“Is that a fact?” Tira felt a tiny smile stretching over her face. The things he said may have seemed arrogant or taunting from the outside but Tira knew there was only love behind it. She urged her own mount into a chase after Liam. “C’mon Pallo.” Tira whispered to her horse. Pallo whinnied as though she could read the young noble’s thoughts. Tira felt a laugh escape her. This was the feeling she lived for. The slight second where she was unstoppable. They caught up Liam within an instant and passed him a moment later. Pallo’s legs flew over the ground like quickfire. Within a blink, the village was creeping up on them. Inns, cookhouses, and small shops sprang up from the ground like flowers. She eased Pallo into a slower pace, following the well–known path toward a large fenced–in field. A girl hopped from her seat on the fencepost. Her smile faltered.
“Tira? Where is Liam?” She asked softly. Tira dismounted, handing her reigns over. She flicked a look around her.
“Hush Terjn! Someone might hear you.” She chided climbing quickly over the fence towards the ranks of children. Terjn grabbed Tira by the arm.
“Where is he?”
“He’s behind me a few yards.” Tira pulled the tight fingers away and stumbled into a run towards the stern faced fighting master.
“You’re late again.” Adam said tightlipped. “Well, hurry and join ranks.” He ordered. Tira eyes strayed around the field as she headed for the beginning of the line. Practice was almost over but, if she was good, she might still have time to beat her record. If she could get to the end of the line that was sectioned off, it’d be enough. She peeked at the weapons case with a rueful sigh. She would have to fight unarmed. She stumbled through a quick stretch before darting into the first row. She glanced at the older boy across from her. Tira sank into a fighter’s crouch. The boy locked his jaw and spun his staff in one hand. It stopped spinning with a sharp crack on the ground.
“That would be more impressive, if I wasn’t going to win.” Tira smiled.
“Not this time.” The boy lunged forward, throwing his weight behind a low hit. Tira jumped over the staff, kicking his wrist and thereby the staff to the ground. He ducked under her next jab but not her kick. He flew backwards, skidding on the bare dirt. He raised a fist. Tira bit her lip and helped him to his feet. He grinned at her slowly. “Fine, I’ll pass yea. But it’s only ‘cos yea look so nice today. I don’t particular feel like roughing yea up, Tira.” He confided guiltily. A swift blow caught him off–guard. He clutched at his new injury, glaring at the boy behind him.
“Watch your mouth Toby.” Vander growled. His voice was deeper than she remembered but it had been weeks since she’d seen him last. He merely nodded to her, his emerald eyes emotionless. Tira tore her eyes away as Vander began his next fight. Toby rubbed his new injury and nodded.
“Right, sorry Nathan.” He grumbled, using her boy’s name. He waved her past again. Tira blinked but stepped up to the next fight. Toby handed over his staff with a pointed look. His gaze was on the next fight in the line. Two of the boys were battling it out. The fight would have been close, even if they weren’t both armed.
“Thanks.” Tira took the staff with a grateful smile. She would need it when it became her turn. The match ended abruptly. The winner got passed on and the loser gave her a foul look. It was a boy she didn’t recognize but he seemed to know her. There was a smugness that Tira resented.
“Oh gods.” He groaned. His face was twisted up in scorn. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then pass me.” She snapped.
“You can’t be serious. You’re a gi–” He lost his footing and fell to the ground hard. Vander peeked down at him curiously from behind. The boy got to his feet, his nose dripping blood down the front of his tunic.
“You should take care of that.” Vander murmured blandly. The boy cursed them both but left the line. Stepping into the boy’s place, Vander grinned at Tira wolfishly. She fell into his smiling green eyes, happy and annoyed all at once.
“You're back.” Tira grinned, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. Vander shrugged.
“Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?”
“Only when you try and take out all of my opponents. Don’t you have your own fights to win?” She teased. Vander glanced back over his shoulder before shrugging.
“You didn't want to fight him anyways. Fight me.” Vander drawled in a voice soft enough for her ears only. Tira twitched at his closeness but remained smiling. She sidled back preparing for a real fight. “You always surprise me, Nathan. We both know you aren't allowed off the grounds.”
“And I told you that I can keep my secrets on my own.” She changed the subject.
“Your gratitude is overwhelming.” Vander joked. He lowered himself into a fighter’s crouch. He grinned and it caught on her face like a wildfire. She smiled despite herself.
“Well, you can’t pummel everyone for the sake of a secret.” She pointed out. Vander’s grin became wicked in a heartbeat.
“I suppose it depends on the secret.”
“No.” Tira sighed. Without warning, she launched herself into an attack. She spun but he ducked the staff. He caught it one-handedly, ripping it away from her and tossing it off to the side. She kicked forward. Effortlessly, he caught her leg. He grinned at her like a fox about to devour dinner.
“You’ll have to do better than that.” Vander smirked. Tira felt her anger surge forward. He was one of the few boys that always held back on her and suddenly it made her furious. All she wanted was to prove that she was as good as him.
“Like this?” She whispered. She threw her weight into a fall and launched him a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet, stepping back to recover his stance. She lurched forward in attack. He grabbed her punch and swung her over his shoulder to the ground. He set his foot on the base of her neck, pressing on her throat lightly.
“That’s enough, little Nathan. Now I’ll pass you.” He told her playfully, raising his fist. Tira let her anger get the best of her.
“I don’t need your charity. I can win on my own.” She panted, blowing up clouds of dirt. She raised her fist as high as she could from her position on the ground. Vander pulled his staff away from her neck and helped haul her to her feet. Both picked up their respective weapons and waited for their next opponents.
“Next time it’ll be you in the dirt.” Tira told him with a scowl.
“Then I hope I don’t look as filthy as you.” Vander laughed, rubbing some of the grime off Tira’s nose. His laugh was loud and made Tira want to smile, even through the dirt. The sound of a cough caught them both off–guard.
“You might want to remember that you’re both men.” Liam said pointedly, uncertainty showing through his smile. Tira made a face but didn’t answer. She continued brushing herself off. Vander shrugged impassively and stepped away.
“Right. Thanks, Liam.” Vander cleared his throat, stepping forward as the other fight ended. Liam faced Tira.
“Ready?” She asked quickly. Liam crossed his arms. Something changed in his eyes and he smiled.
“Do you think I could raise my hand against you?” Liam asked.
“I was hoping you would.” Tira gave him a sheepish grin before lashing out. Liam blocked her every move. Tira locked her jaw, forcing herself to be swifter, faster. She tried to attack but Liam caught her motionless without even striking her once.
“I could never hurt my baby sister.” He whispered into her ear. Tira scowled.
“I’m not a baby. You used to fight with me.” She reminded him. Liam released her, shrugging his shoulders.
“Now I know better. So should you.” Liam told her simply. Tira felt her stomach drop. She raised a hand to her forehead.
“Don’t start that here. It’s not the place.” She murmured. Instead of answering, Liam raised his fist and waved her past. She didn’t get the chance to start a new fight because the loud clang of a bell stopped practice. Tira groaned. All the fights ended and everyone parted ways, some with smiles and promises, some with threats. The eyes meeting hers were mostly friendly, some less friendly than others. She glanced away in a hurry, heading for Adam.
“Adam!” She called and he turned with a slight frown. The field was mostly clear when she stepped over to him.
“I’ll tell you now as I tell you every week, girls aren’t meant to fight.” Adam murmured in a quiet breath. He dropped a protective arm around her. “You’re almost too old for this. You shouldn’t come anymore.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“I mean it. You’re almost a woman and a lady too. You have no business learning to fight. You should be learning to sew or something like that.” Adam reminded her with a frown. “You can come and watch but I won’t let you on this field again.”
“But Adam!” Tira looked at him, a wounded expression across her face. “I love fighting. You said I was good at it! You can’t just take it away from me.” Adam turned away from her. She grabbed his arm. “Please!”
“I already gave you an answer.” He told her flatly.
“That’s not fair!” Tira barked. “Liam, tell him–” She turned to find Liam but he was talking with Terjn. Their tones were hushed but even from where she stood, Tira could see the joy in Liam’s face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to scream with it. Finally he glanced up, noticing Tira’s eyes on him. With a few indecipherable words, he jogged across the practice grounds to her side.
“Go home with Vander. He’s said he’ll take you.” Liam told her, grinning as though he’d solved the Veld Iden maze. Tira blinked, wanting desperately to smile with him.
“What’s happened, what is it?” She asked.
“Tira, go home. I’ll be just behind you.” Liam said again. He gave her a small push to her already saddled mare before returning to Terjn’s side. He looked happy but Tira couldn’t suppress the feeling that something wasn’t right. She crossed the distance to Vander’s side as though in a trance.
“C’mon little girl. Let’s go.” He grinned, trying to take her mind off of her confusion. For once Tira didn’t argue but let herself be pulled uphill numbly. Her thoughts kept circling one thing. What was happening? And why couldn’t she know? They were nearly at the edge of the village before she found the courage to speak.
“It’s good, right? Something good happened?”
“For Liam, it is.” Vander murmured. Part of Liam’s smile seemed stuck in him. It made sense. He was, after all, Liam’s best friend. Tira peered at him carefully.
“You know what it is then?” She asked. And suddenly she was wondering how a boy so much older than Liam could be his best friend. Liam had only just turned thirteen and Vander had to be at least three years older. And she wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Vander got out of their friendship.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to say.” Vander murmured uncomfortably.
“Then tell him to explain it to me.” Tira sighed. The sound of hoof–beats made Tira glance up. She expected to see Liam riding up on her but what she saw instead scared her near to tears. Oh no…Tira’s mind screamed. Sure enough, the poised woman was sliding out of her saddle in the graceful way that only Liam seemed to have inherited. Her mother’s disapproving scowl looked down on the both of them. Vander bowed his head and backed away instantly.
“Boy’s clothes, Tirana? Commoners? Fighting?” Her mother said crisply, without a trace of amusement.
“It’s not– I can explain!” Tira stepped closer to her mother’s horse in desperation. Willa was unmoved. Her eyes flicked over Vander’s face with displeasure.
“You don’t seem shocked by this, boy. How long has she been coming here? How long have you known she was a girl?” Willa demanded. Vander glanced between the two of them hesitantly.
“My lady, I think there has been some mistake. I am deeply surprised to learn this.” He lied.
“You are either a liar or an imbecile.” Willa said scornfully and turned on Tira once more. “No, the only mistake here has been my trust in you, Tirana. Get on your horse, we’re going home.” Willa commanded. And that was the last of it. The two women got on their horses and continued back to the keep in silence.
Someone I really respect told me that if you get stuck and can't figure out what to write, turn on tv and the first line you hear use it and make a scene out of it. and i know it's adverb-y but i love my adverbs.
“You did promise to marry me.”
“And you said that you kept no secrets from me. So as I see it, we’re both liars.” Adra said. Fabrike wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“You love me.” He purred into her ear. His voice was soft and soothingly familiar. Adra had to remind herself that underneath his familiar face was that of a monster. She wrenched herself out of his hold. Adra braced herself against the warm wood of the doorframe.
“Get out of my home. You’re not welcome here anymore.” She snarled at him, hate and anger blinding her. Fabrike sighed. Crossing to the other side of the doorway, he stopped to stare at her. His cool green eyes were wide with guilt and wistful thinking.
“I know I’ve made this hard on you. I’m sorry.” He murmured.
“Good.” Was all Adra could manage to sputter before slamming the door between them. She leaned against the door. Part of her knew that Fabrike was doing the same on the other side.
“I’m an Ogren, Adra. When we kissed, it was a binding promise; I can’t forget about you and you can’t forget about me.” Fabrike’s voice carried through the door. Adra shook her head.
“You forget, Fabrike. Whatever you are, I’m not. I’m a human and someday I will forget about you.” Adra promised. The door creaked and she knew he’d gone. For one night at least. Adra let that small fact comfort her.
The next morning, as she left the cottage to start planting her garden, Adra kept a wary eye about her. It was impossible to know which tree, which bush might be hiding more of his kind. The morning light was half gone when she finally noticed Fabrike. She had no idea how long he’d been sitting atop her garden gate, watching her dig, and she didn’t want to know. Adra refused to look up at him, stabbing away at the earth of her garden. Part of her felt strangely released every time the earth gave way.
“What s it that you want from me?” Adra demanded. Fabrike slid off of the gate and stepped closer.
“I wanted to see you.” Fabrike whispered. Adra refused to look at him. “So I came.”
“Is that something I should get used to?” She muttered. Fabrike knelt by her side. His large strong hands pulled the wooden spike from her. His strength made quick work, tearing at the soil of her garden.
“I never wanted to make this hard for you.” Fabrike told her, hesitating with the spike in hand as he said it. Adra pulled her basket of seeds closer. She meshed the loosened soil with her hands, making room to plant seeds. For a while, the two worked in silent harmony. The garden was finished before the sun had even set.
“You didn’t come to help me with my garden. Why are you here? I won’t marry you.” Adra said, getting to her feet. She untied her gardening apron and tossed into the newly empty basket along with her tools. Fabrike picked up the basket before she could take it.
“I missed you.” Fabrike told her simply. “I wish it was something more clever but it’s not.” He followed her out of the gated garden and back towards her small cottage. Trees jutted up like pillars around the clearing where her house lay. Adra stopped to look at them for a moment before continuing inside.
“I’ve been thinking that I should’ve known.” Adra cursed herself. Fabrike’s eyebrows dropped in confusion. “About you, I mean.”
“How could you have known?” He stopped just outside of the door. Adra grabbed the basket from him roughly, setting out of his reach. She crossed her arms.
“You put a spell on me, didn’t you?” She accused. “From the first moment I met you, I trusted you completely. That was a spell.” There was no question in her words because the moment she said it, she knew it was true. Fabrike glanced away, blushing from shame and guilt.
“I never hurt you and you did learn to trust me.” Fabrike pointed out. Adra shook her head derisively.
“How do I know that? How do I know that I’m not still under a spell? What gives you the right to choose what I should think and feel?” Adra demanded. Fabrike lowered his eyes.
“You’re only under one spell.” Fabrike confessed. Adra’s jaw dropped in shock. Her hands fell limply to her sides.
“Take it off!” She barked after the surprise had worn off.
“I can’t!” Fabrike groaned. He braced himself against the doorframe, looking as though he desperately wanted to come inside. His shoulders sagged. “Will you let me in, if I tell you what it is?”
“No.” Adra said firmly. “I don’t trust you.”
“That really doesn’t matter.” A man’s voice came from behind her. He was sitting at her table, amusing himself with watching their squabble. The man was almost more handsome than Fabrike with long dark hair and even darker eyes. If there was any flaw in his striking features, it would be the depths of his black eyes. Adra stepped back against the open door in shock and horror.
“Who are you? How did you get in?” She demanded. Adra tried very hard to sound brave and strong but her every impulse was to scream and run for help.
“I’m Fabrike’s brother. For now, that should answer both questions.” The man gave her a crooked smile. Fabrike crossed the doorway and placed himself between them.
“What are you doing here, Tallos?” Fabrike growled.
“You say that as though you don’t want me here. You should have known I’d come for you.” Tallos chuckled. Adra stood as tall as her scant height would allow.
“Both of you, get out of my home right now!” Adra bellowed. With a wary glance, she scanned the rest of her small cottage. “And anyone else that might be here, I want you gone. This home is for humans only!” She snapped. Fabrike backed out through the door. Tallos didn’t move.
“What do you intend to do?” He laughed. Slowly and tauntingly, he got to his feet. He crossed to her side within a step. His black eyes grabbed her up and held her in their dark water. Adra felt fear rising in her throat like bile. Tallos raised his hand, curling fingers around a strand of her hair. “Just what can a little human like you do to stop me?”
“Leave her alone!” Fabrike snarled, stopping himself at the doorframe with malice dripping from his every feature.
“I can take off that pesky spell, if that’s what you want.” Tallos offered. Adra darted out away from his attentions and kept herself a few steps back from him.
“I can’t trust you. You’re just like him!” Adra gestured to Fabrike, who was watching them carefully. Tallos laughed darkly.
“I’ll take back the spell anyway. I want to.” Tallos said but the words sounded thick in her ears. It was as though there were a group of people around her, all speaking around her at the same time. Strange colors flashed around her, the voices all chanting indecipherably. Adra fell backwards.
“Adra? Adra?” Fabrike’s voice resounded in her ears until it was just his voice. Adra blinked up at him in horror. Fabrike’s face was as she remembered it but somehow impossibly different. His beautiful long brown hair had turned bright green and was punctured by the two long grey horns that were smoothed back along his head like thick immovable hairs. “Are you all right?” Fabrike asked softly. Adra recoiled at the sight of him.
“Stay away from me!” She screamed. Unlike Fabrike, Tallos’s skin was a subtle shade of pinkish-purple, hair and eyes still black. His horns however were the same pinkish color as his skin.
“She’s seeing you for what you are brother.” Tallos told him. Fabrike retreated, grinning sheepishly at her with long, sharp, crooked teeth. He wrung his hands around something that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly, Adra knew what it was that Fabrike was holding. It was his own long, thin, green tail.
“It’s not so bad. It’s just different. I don’t have to look like this you know. I can put the spell back on, if that’s what you want.” Fabrike tried to sound convincing but his wide green eyes were filling with tears.
“And to think, you had no idea.” Tallos’s voice was low and cruel. He seemed to find the whole situation hilarious. Something long, red, and snake-like wrapped around her arm and drew her close. Tallos’s tail.
“Just leave her alone.” Fabrike grabbed Tallos’s tail and, with a rough shake, Adra was released. She watched as Fabrike dragged his brother out by the tail and deposited him a good five feet from the doorstep. Tallos cringed from Fabrike’s hold and Adra had no doubts that it hurt him. Passing a clawed hand in between himself and the small cottage, Fabrike whispered and the strange flashing colors returned.
“Now will you let me go?” Tallos barked, clutching his tail to his chest. Fabrike stepped closer to face Adra.
“No one will be able to go into your home without your permission. You have my word.” Fabrike vowed. Adra retreated from the doorway but said nothing. Her eyes were still wide with fear. Because in all of the ways that they were different, Fabrike and Tallos were both still Ogren. Fabrike may have looked like a lovable sheepdog trapped into an Ogren’s body. But Tallos, he was dark and cold. Hate hung around him like a cloud. However innocent Fabrike seemed, there was still darkness in him. He is still Ogren. Adra forced herself to remember that.
“Did you hear that, little brother?” Tallos smirked. “She thinks you’re as bad as me. Nothing will convince her that you’re not.”
“Go home.” Fabrike said coldly, his eyes dropping away from Adra.
He lurched back and forth with the heavy head of the flashlight, not knowing where or what to swing at. His eyes were open but unfocused. I tried not to think about how vulnerable he looked. If I died here, I had no doubts he would die too. I threw all my weight against the net, pulled back, tried peeling my hands or feet away; all with no results. There wasn’t even a rattle from the net holding me in place. I could move my head but that was it. There was a small metal box on the wall that looked like a fuse box. It might work.
“You’re fine professor but I got stuck. Can you feel if there are any more bullets in your gun?” I shouted. It was dark but I saw him switching hands, moving carefully. The gun clicked as the chamber was opened and bullet by bullet he checked.
“I think there are five.” He stammered.
“There is a fuse box over to the top left, professor. Your top left. If you put the gun and the flashlight together, I can tell you where to shoot. It might release me then.” I explained. He slid the chamber back into the six-shooter and cocked it. I didn’t get a chance to help him aim; I got distracted. The net began to vibrate. I glanced around and in the semi-darkness to my left, I saw blue glowing dots. It moved closer. Dozens of electronic, blue, metal eyes watched me from the head of a robotic spider thing. Inching down the net towards me, I could hear a faint clicking sound. “Oh god…”
“What is it?”
“Aim up and to the right…a little lower, he’s coming down.”
My parents were the fighting type. Not the loud screaming and tossing blame like dishes type but the silent, cold, using my brother, Liam, and me against each other type. When I was younger I never really knew that that was what was happening. I felt cherished. But as the years went by, father came home less and less. He was a soldier; I guess that made it easier to stay away. When I was eleven, he sent my mother a letter saying that he wouldn’t be returning again. I cried and mother focused her joy on the one child that hadn’t seen enough of his father to miss him. They celebrated.
My mother wasn’t good at letting things go. The joy faded out quickly and within a few weeks she was unhappy and angry again. She drank more and spoke less. Over time, I became the reason for her unhappiness. It might have been that I missed my father too much; maybe I looked too much like him. Whatever it was, I learned quickly to stay outside as long as I could and to stay quiet when hunger forced me to come home.
I wrote this for an application to show my writing skill. I don't know if it's very good, but if you read this could you let me know? I wanted to test it out here to see if it's good enough to submit.
Oh, I was given a choice of 5 topics so I included the topic I chose, so you'll understand.
(Untitled)
4. With respect to the nature versus nurture debate, compare and contrast the roles of intrinsic and environmental factors in human development.
Parents in this day and age have the luxury of being able to know the gender of their child long before that baby is born. Some parents can even weed out the offspring that might hold genetic anomalies and possible debilitating diseases. Likewise, parents can give their babies over to be raised by others in more prosperous homes if they choose to. With the ability to genetically and environmentally improve the life of the child, the question of nature vs. nurture must be considered.
There is absolute evidence that many psychological problems stem from child abuse or poor environment and upbringing. Abused children that pass that abuse on to younger or more defenseless children and children that direct the abuse inwards and become self-annihilators, these are mere shadows of the many unfortunate possibilities that lie before children in horrendous upbringings. Many of the most notorious murderers and malevolent maniacs were raised in conditions like these. And tragically there are thousands and thousands of children subjected to this torturous lifestyle and victimized every year.
Of course, the fact that genetics play a vital role in the person that baby will become is undeniable. There are many cases of identical twins separated from birth that have the same habits, dispositions, and even favorite foods. That provides legitimate reasoning that some things really are written in our genetic code. Some these genetic disorders, however, can cripple children from birth, make them suffer intensely throughout their lives, or simply die within hours of their birth. These disorders can sometimes be detected in prenatal scans and thorough fertility consultation.
Both sides balance out their lacks with blaming the other side. What the nurture side can't explain becomes genetic anomaly, what the nature side can't explain becomes poor diet or irresponsible raising. Yet, with technology constantly advancing, our knowledge of what corresponds to what on a double helix chain is also advancing. With the fields of social-work and psychology also expanding we may, eventually, come to a complete and fully functional way of raising children. But we may never understand just what balance of which can make a killer and which can make a self-sacrificing altruist.
Therefore, an awareness and vigilance of both must be the upmost important factor in the breeding of future generations. Here's an example: Think of a playing card, on one side is the face of the card and on the back is the deck's pattern. This is kind of representative of the human condition. On the face we have nurture, we can recognize the Q for Queen like we could recognize an abusive or loving home. On the other side is nature, the mysterious pattern of the deck that represents the unreadable, indecipherable genetic code embedded into every person. There is no card without two sides. Similarly, in humans there is no person without genetics or without a history. We must see both sides to know whether a particular card belongs to a certain deck or suit.
For the first time in years I finally had an idea for a new story. I guess the Lamott 3000 words a day thing actually helped me jog my brain into a creative process. Well, anyways, here it is. (I might read it for the symposium)
Backfire
I squinted at the letters. The more I rearranged them, the less sense they seemed to make. Despite spending a fortune at this school to learn how to rearrange my letters, they still looked weird. But I never was a very good speller anyways. Everything I tried looked wrong on the paper, wrong when I tried it aloud, and wrong when my workshop class tore it apart letter by letter. They had every right though, their spells were better than mine. They had better ideas. It still hurt. I’d read all the books they read, done all the exercises they’d done, and mastered the itty-bitty rules of where to place your pauses and stops just like they had. But I couldn’t even compete with them.
My new spell was going to prove them wrong. Or, so I convinced myself. I’d gotten the idea for it when I was standing in line for the Public Port on my way home for class. It occurred to me that the one spell that no one had written was making a person. Of course it broke one of the rules, energy cannot be created or destroyed only blah, blah, blah. But sometimes rule breaking worked. Like in Christina’s spell last week, she used a triple A followed by a x, but there was no backfire. It was the prettiest trans-morg spell I’d seen a student create. She changed a rabbit to a human with clothes and back to a rabbit with only fur. It was smooth and only had a few glitches. (Let’s just say that the clothing was not gender friendly and if he were a real human, he would have been very embarrassed.)
13 explosions, 22 strangely formed corpses, and one brainless golem later I was nearly ready to give up. I knew that the wording was perfect and I’d tried nearly every hand gesture I could think of, from flipping the bird to thank you. The misspent energy from my previous spell failures clung to my skin and made my antsy, cranky, and wired. Some people exercised and some meditated, but I just danced the feeling away. I turned on my SCAMP with a flick of the wrist. It was a song I’d never heard before. It had a heavy beat and the sound of clapping and I could imagine lasers and the nons dancing to this in the no-magic clubs. I let the music infect me and released the energy before it could build bad luck.
Before you start criticizing, I know I shouldn’t have been dancing. I know what could happen if a speller loses control and moves in the wrong way while saying the wrong thing. I know it. But nothing bad had happened when I danced before so I was just overconfident and stupid, I guess. And it hit me hard.
I hate writer's block. Previously i even broke up with it, only now I think it's stalking me.
So, as part of my daily butt-in-seat trying to write even if I can't, I wrote this.
It has no name though...
I looked up from the computer screen dejectedly. I knew I was supposed to write, I knew it cold. So why couldn’t I do it? It was like someone was gradually letting the air out of my potential and each word I typed got more archaic. I had no clue what I was saying.
“So Audrey, will we be reading that book of yours any time soon?” My friend Gabe joked. He had an open gaming manual by his keyboard and an anime chat site open in the window. I gave him a halfhearted smile.
“You never know.” I answered. The truth was that I knew. Never. That’s when he’d see my book, never. I would never finish it. Hell, I couldn’t even start it. Without another word I logged off the computer. It was an off-hour and I had better things I could be doing than faking my future writing career. I grabbed my coat and backpack and hurried out of the business office. Aside from the library it was the only place with computers. But I didn’t want that now. I never wanted to look at another computer screen again. Ever.
“Audrey, how’s the book coming?” Mrs. Sheldon asked cheerfully. I shrugged.
“Not bad, I just have to keep plugging away.” I nodded. She gave me a bewildered smile before patting my shoulder awkwardly.
“Well whatever works, I guess.” Not that I’d expect her to understand. She’s a math teacher. To her it was merely words. To me, well… I hadn’t gotten that far. I turned down an opposite hallway. Not that I didn’t want to talk to her anymore…but, well, I just didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I wanted to sleep. I had a history project next period and I needed my strength to make-believe my way through it. I could lie my way through anything and did, most of the time.
“Audrey, have you finished the next chapter? I can’t wait to find out what happens to Brin.” Mr. Davis clapped his hands together eagerly. My mind screamed furious insults.
“Yeah, I’ll bring them tomorrow.” I lied through gritted teeth. He clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“I hope she finally beats Kalhid.” He suggested. “It would be about time.”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” I countered. He sighed and stopped at the copy room.
“Just don’t forget to bring it this time, you always forget.” He shouted at my back I turned with a wave.
“I’ll get it to you.” I promised. I turned back around. “Just as soon as I write it.” I muttered to myself. I waited for one more question about my book. That would be the last straw. I quickened my steps. I’d be safe in the art hall where the only questions would be, ‘can I borrow your red?’ I grinned inwardly. Yeah, I’d be safe there.
“Audrey!” A voice cried out behind me.
“For the love of god!” I screamed and barreled ahead.
I was thirteen when I decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life writing stories. Everyone told me that it was too young to know for sure what you wanted to do with the other 50-60 years of living. Up until about 2-3 years ago, I really thought that I was the one in the right. I knew what I wanted and life was simple and I wrote everyday for hours and hours and I had everything figured out. But that was then. In the fall of 2007 I became an International Peer Advisor for the Asia University America Program, where I worked with a lot of Japanese students. Then I went to Japan. The whole time my mind was occupied with which conjugation is best for the emotion I was trying to express or my lesson plans for teaching English.
I started to think that if I stopped writing, it wouldn’t kill me. I might not even miss it. But I kept pursuing the Creative Writing major in order to just graduate sooner and get back to Japan. Somewhere in between the past progressive conditional form of “to sleep” and learning how to make my own character lunch box with heart shaped rice and eggs with faces on them, I lost my ideas. They slipped away while I was sleeping and I dreamed them away like you sweat away water. I not-so-modestly believe that I can still turn a phrase and come up with a decent metaphor, but I can’t think of a story that’s mine.
I have now finished reading all of Alan’s posts and I was jealous. Sincerely jealous. It seems like all the runaway ideas, not necessarily mine but all of the other ideas running around loose, have crawled up into Alan’s brain through his ear and laid to rest there before hatching into wonderful ideas that he puts into stories.
I am not sure where to go from here or how to make the ideas I shoved down and forced away return. I’m not sure if me still being a writer is a possibility anymore. I’m a 23 year old English major with a love for reading and no originality. I think if you dissected anything I’ve written within the last 2 years, you’d find that I spent the better part of all my writing just rearranging or latching on to other better writers’ words.
I’m very sure that my creativity has died of natural causes. Not quite sure that’s it’s reversible…
About five minutes ago I emailed my professor and told her I was too sick to go in to class today. The real reason? I got so addicted to the Taiwanese drama I've been watching I don't want to stop it to go to class.
The story is that the main character's number one love interest has just gone into a coma. Her other love interest is going to Germany for a dream job and she has to decide if she should give up her life to be with the one she really loves or follow her dream and stay by the one that loves her the most.
Now, I'm hearing myself describe this and thinking what I thought when I was a little girl, "Who would really fall for this kind of story? What kind of idiot would get into a soap opera like this?" But there's also a part of my brain that reminds me that I'm into watching this in the same way I'm into reading books. I feel for the character, I think I know her and it makes me continuously go back to the story.
I guess it makes me wonder which is more important, characters or story? In a book, story moves everything forward but it might be just because we can't see the way the character in a book smiles. It doesn't matter how many crooked smiles you read about, if you can't see the way his eyes light up and his head tilts ever so much to the left so that he can hide the smile away, then character alone won't provoke your emotions for him. If you can't see the dead, not-there quality of his face as he's being put into the ground, you need more to make you cry over it.
I want to become a screenwriter. At least, I'd like to try. I think that my stories lack something in print but my dialogue and my characters might be good enough for a movie or a show. And then I'd be able to see my characters grow and develop before my eyes. I'd see the silly way my character laughs in small spurts with her chin up and out and her head tilted back like the laugh continues behind her head into the back of her brain.
I watched that jet lee movie about a guy that was trained like a dog to fight and live in a cage and wear a collar an everything. So I wrote a story inspired by that. Right now it doesn't have a title but it's just an idea that inspired me for roughly 10 pages. This is just the opening few pages (2, I think).
Tuesday.
“He will kill you if you let him.” Piren whispered into her ear. Annika glanced over her shoulder at the scrawny pup of a man behind her. His eyes were wild and his nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Annika nodded.
“Yes, master.” She readied herself for the fight at hand. Piren grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand was tight on the handle of his cane. The merciless expression on his face did nothing to hide the fact that he was not long for the world.
“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.” He warned her. Annika merely glanced back at the pit. From where she stood, she could see it all. The dirt floor of the pit was stained with sweat, blood, and fear. Over the years, the pit had seen more blood than it’d ever seen of water. And it left the ground with a sodden uneven feeling. It was a feeling that stuck, one she remembered. Piren released her but his bloody handprint remained. “I can’t have a repeat of last time. Someone has to die.”
“Yes, master.” Annika murmured before she was shoved off the platform. She fell hard to the grimy dirt. She scrambled to her feet. The bear-like man across from her, started to laugh. But whatever amused him, he didn’t find it funny enough to take his eyes off her.
“Hello little girl. You’re a bit small for this, ain’t you?” He grinned. Annika didn’t speak. Fear had made her mute. It muddled her thoughts until the only thought she had was that his wrist was bigger than both of her arms put together. He could snap her into two pieces, four, six... Her mind kept repeating it.
“Annika! Start fighting!” Piren commanded her. She lunged at the man across from her. She got one good hold on his neck. She let her power flare up and kept her hold. He screamed. Annika forced her hands to become even hotter. She burned him like an all-consuming fire. Every time he hit her, he just cried out in more pain. He got one opening and punched in the face. She flew across the pit and into the opposite wall.
“I know what you are!” The man shouted at her. His neck and the bigger half of his chest were burned down into the muscle and raw. She could barely breathe for the stink of his charred flesh. There was shock in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Annika braced herself to continue fighting.
“I don’t want to die either.” She whispered, tears blurring her vision. He took the opportunity and punched her quick. He’d grabbed and released before she’d had time to heat up. He kept at her with a flurry of hits. He was too fast. She grabbed handful upon handful of the gritty ground. She pressed it into his wounds. He screamed and backed away. She heated up and made a dive for him. There was screaming and struggling and the smell of burned flesh and when she finally let go he was dead. She glanced up at Piren from the pit. His foul yellow teeth were bared in a smile.
“Good girl.” He said simply. She was pulled out of the pit and dropped back onto the platform, her legs collapsing under her from the drop. She knew better than to stand in a hurry. They might throw another fight at her if they thought she was ready. Piren peered down at her, leaning on his cane to do so. He glanced up. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring it again.” He informed someone that Annika couldn’t see. She had no doubts who the it was. The person made a throaty noise before tossing Piren a small bag of coins.
“If you come tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a fight ready. But I can’t have it using powers in the pit anymore. That smell will drive my audience away.” Someone said gruffly from just behind her. Piren’s face twisted with rage. Annika stayed on the ground. She knew it would be better to stay out of his sights when he was in such a mood.
“That’s all she’s got! Look at her, there’s not a scrap of muscle on her!” He snapped. Annika didn’t hear anything but for some reason Piren suddenly changed his tactics. “You know it’s always good for business to have a little slip of a thing beating someone like that.” Piren motioned to her dead opponent. All the muscles in the world hadn’t helped him. He was being hauled out of the pit carefully. No one could bear to even touch him.
“And you think I can’t get another little girl in here?” The voice demanded. She glanced up meekly. It was a well dressed man with a grey beard. Catching her eyes on him, Piren slammed his cane down just beside Annika’s head. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Can you find one that wins?” Piren’s voice was soft as silk.
“Then find a way for it to win without making a stink.” The voice snapped. “Or unload it and get a new one.” The voice suggested. There was a swish of cloth and the man left. Annika got to her feet. She tried not to think about the man’s suggestion. Piren grabbed her by the arm. Years of experience had taught her better than to cry out about being held too roughly. It would only earn her even worse treatment.
“You'd better be thinking of something.” He barked. He shoved her ahead of him out the door and towards the marketplace. Bright light broke over her face as she left the dark building. She blinked and made her way towards Piren's carriage while he limped on behind her. A slow smile filled her face as she thought about the reward awaiting her at home: one hour in the house gardens and one flower to take back to her cage with her. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she didn't notice the man step in front of her and crashed into him. they fell in a tangle of elbows and knees.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled at her, getting to his feet. Piren came to her defense. The two began trading insults in loud voices. Annika darted away and huddled by herself by the carriage. The driver glanced over but knew better than to speak to her. Annika watched the two fighting, everyone turning to stare at them.Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What’s your name?” A boy asked. His smile was kind as he looked her over. He noticed the scars on her arms but didn’t seem bothered. Yet, Annika felt panic rise in her throat. She watched the ground by her feet, ignoring him. “C’mon, what’s your name?”
“Please go away. I don’t want him to get angry.” She said in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. The boy grinned. His dark eyes seemed to dance in the light. Annika lowered her gaze.
“Him?” He nodded towards the growing dispute. “Is he your father?”
“Please go away.” She said again. The boy sidled closer to her. There was such kindness in his face, she was afraid to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured comfortingly. “How’s this? If I guess your name, will you tell me?” Annika almost felt like smiling. It was a weird sensation and, in the end, she just nodded meekly. “Is it Annika?” He guessed right on the first try.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess, I guess. I’m Davon.” He reached a hand towards her but Piren caught it.
“That will cost you twenty camars, upfront.” Piren laughed. There was no amusement in his face.
“What?” Davon scrambled to get free. Annika watched his struggle with emotionless eyes. Davon gawked at her as though she should save him. She turned away, trying not to remember his face.
“Here’s a lesson, boy. Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.” Piren snarled. His grip turned merciless on the Davon’s arm. Piren cracked him over the head with his cane before releasing him. The boy hurried away. Annika glanced up for orders and she saw Piren coughing. As though to make up for letting her see a weakness, her pushed her towards the carriage door. “Get in already!” He commanded and she hurried to obey him. Piren clambered wearily into the seat beside her. With the sound of clomping hooves, the carriage lurched forward. The pit, the market, the boy, and all thoughts of the man she killed fell far behind them.It was just another day.
A young girl dashed across the open field, dark brown hair falling in her eyes. She flapped an impatient hand at the boy awaiting her. He held the reigns of two chestnut brown mares. She raced past him into the small stable. Its silence was, for once, a comfort. Thankfully, it was deserted as the stable–men ate their midday meal. Stepping into a relatively clean stall, she stroked her expensive dress. Her thoughts wound into dangerous patterns. If mother knew, she would be furious. She yanked the mass of silken fabric over her head. Underneath she wore a white billowing shirt and a tan pair of fitted breeches. She rolled up her dress and shoved it into a clean spot of the stall floor. The hostlers would take care of it when they returned. They always did. Stumbling out into the sunlight, she hurried over to the young boy. He yanked and prodded her, tying her hair back, making her into a fair resemblance of any other boy.
“Ready, Tirana?” Liam smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. His flaxen hair was cropped just above the ears. Tira narrowed her eyes anxiously.
“Why don’t you just shout that I’m a girl if you intend on revealing me?” She snapped in a soft voice. “If they find out that I’m not a boy then I’ll be whipped for certain.” She reminded him in a desperate whisper. Liam made a guilty face.
“You know, every week you look less like a boy. I think everyone in the village knows it’s you by now.” Liam told her with a frown. Tira felt her heart hammer strangely in her chest. She knew he was right.
“But not mother.” She mumbled quickly. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. He handed her a set of reigns, giving her shoulder a playful shake. “Don’t worry.”
“I’ll be whipped for certain.” Tira glanced around at the empty yard as they led their horses towards the outside gate.
“Do you really think mother is mean enough to whip her own daughter?” Liam asked after a moment. He answered his own question when Tira didn’t speak. “She may be hard on you but she’s not cruel.”
“I’d rather not find out.” Tira retorted. With a grunt, she mounted her mare. She threw an envious sigh towards Liam, who effortlessly slid into his own saddle. He gave her a sanctimonious grin. Anything he might have said was lost as a loud yet distant bell sounded from the village below them. Tira groaned. “Oh, Adam will not be pleased that we’re late for lessons again.”
“I’d race you but we both know I’d win.” Liam teased, kicking his steed into a gallop.
“Is that a fact?” Tira felt a tiny smile stretching over her face. The things he said may have seemed arrogant or taunting from the outside but Tira knew there was only love behind it. She urged her own mount into a chase after Liam. “C’mon Pallo.” Tira whispered to her horse. Pallo whinnied as though she could read the young noble’s thoughts. Tira felt a laugh escape her. This was the feeling she lived for. The slight second where she was unstoppable. They caught up Liam within an instant and passed him a moment later. Pallo’s legs flew over the ground like quickfire. Within a blink, the village was creeping up on them. Inns, cookhouses, and small shops sprang up from the ground like flowers. She eased Pallo into a slower pace, following the well–known path toward a large fenced–in field. A girl hopped from her seat on the fencepost. Her smile faltered.
“Tira? Where is Liam?” She asked softly. Tira dismounted, handing her reigns over. She flicked a look around her.
“Hush Terjn! Someone might hear you.” She chided climbing quickly over the fence towards the ranks of children. Terjn grabbed Tira by the arm.
“Where is he?”
“He’s behind me a few yards.” Tira pulled the tight fingers away and stumbled into a run towards the stern faced fighting master.
“You’re late again.” Adam said tightlipped. “Well, hurry and join ranks.” He ordered. Tira eyes strayed around the field as she headed for the beginning of the line. Practice was almost over but, if she was good, she might still have time to beat her record. If she could get to the end of the line that was sectioned off, it’d be enough. She peeked at the weapons case with a rueful sigh. She would have to fight unarmed. She stumbled through a quick stretch before darting into the first row. She glanced at the older boy across from her. Tira sank into a fighter’s crouch. The boy locked his jaw and spun his staff in one hand. It stopped spinning with a sharp crack on the ground.
“That would be more impressive, if I wasn’t going to win.” Tira smiled.
“Not this time.” The boy lunged forward, throwing his weight behind a low hit. Tira jumped over the staff, kicking his wrist and thereby the staff to the ground. He ducked under her next jab but not her kick. He flew backwards, skidding on the bare dirt. He raised a fist. Tira bit her lip and helped him to his feet. He grinned at her slowly. “Fine, I’ll pass yea. But it’s only ‘cos yea look so nice today. I don’t particular feel like roughing yea up, Tira.” He confided guiltily. A swift blow caught him off–guard. He clutched at his new injury, glaring at the boy behind him.
“Watch your mouth Toby.” Vander growled. His voice was deeper than she remembered but it had been weeks since she’d seen him last. He merely nodded to her, his emerald eyes emotionless. Tira tore her eyes away as Vander began his next fight. Toby rubbed his new injury and nodded.
“Right, sorry Nathan.” He grumbled, using her boy’s name. He waved her past again. Tira blinked but stepped up to the next fight. Toby handed over his staff with a pointed look. His gaze was on the next fight in the line. Two of the boys were battling it out. The fight would have been close, even if they weren’t both armed.
“Thanks.” Tira took the staff with a grateful smile. She would need it when it became her turn. The match ended abruptly. The winner got passed on and the loser gave her a foul look. It was a boy she didn’t recognize but he seemed to know her. There was a smugness that Tira resented.
“Oh gods.” He groaned. His face was twisted up in scorn. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then pass me.” She snapped.
“You can’t be serious. You’re a gi–” He lost his footing and fell to the ground hard. Vander peeked down at him curiously from behind. The boy got to his feet, his nose dripping blood down the front of his tunic.
“You should take care of that.” Vander murmured blandly. The boy cursed them both but left the line. Stepping into the boy’s place, Vander grinned at Tira wolfishly. She fell into his smiling green eyes, happy and annoyed all at once.
“You're back.” Tira grinned, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. Vander shrugged.
“Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?”
“Only when you try and take out all of my opponents. Don’t you have your own fights to win?” She teased. Vander glanced back over his shoulder before shrugging.
“You didn't want to fight him anyways. Fight me.” Vander drawled in a voice soft enough for her ears only. Tira twitched at his closeness but remained smiling. She sidled back preparing for a real fight. “You always surprise me, Nathan. We both know you aren't allowed off the grounds.”
“And I told you that I can keep my secrets on my own.” She changed the subject.
“Your gratitude is overwhelming.” Vander joked. He lowered himself into a fighter’s crouch. He grinned and it caught on her face like a wildfire. She smiled despite herself.
“Well, you can’t pummel everyone for the sake of a secret.” She pointed out. Vander’s grin became wicked in a heartbeat.
“I suppose it depends on the secret.”
“No.” Tira sighed. Without warning, she launched herself into an attack. She spun but he ducked the staff. He caught it one-handedly, ripping it away from her and tossing it off to the side. She kicked forward. Effortlessly, he caught her leg. He grinned at her like a fox about to devour dinner.
“You’ll have to do better than that.” Vander smirked. Tira felt her anger surge forward. He was one of the few boys that always held back on her and suddenly it made her furious. All she wanted was to prove that she was as good as him.
“Like this?” She whispered. She threw her weight into a fall and launched him a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet, stepping back to recover his stance. She lurched forward in attack. He grabbed her punch and swung her over his shoulder to the ground. He set his foot on the base of her neck, pressing on her throat lightly.
“That’s enough, little Nathan. Now I’ll pass you.” He told her playfully, raising his fist. Tira let her anger get the best of her.
“I don’t need your charity. I can win on my own.” She panted, blowing up clouds of dirt. She raised her fist as high as she could from her position on the ground. Vander pulled his staff away from her neck and helped haul her to her feet. Both picked up their respective weapons and waited for their next opponents.
“Next time it’ll be you in the dirt.” Tira told him with a scowl.
“Then I hope I don’t look as filthy as you.” Vander laughed, rubbing some of the grime off Tira’s nose. His laugh was loud and made Tira want to smile, even through the dirt. The sound of a cough caught them both off–guard.
“You might want to remember that you’re both men.” Liam said pointedly, uncertainty showing through his smile. Tira made a face but didn’t answer. She continued brushing herself off. Vander shrugged impassively and stepped away.
“Right. Thanks, Liam.” Vander cleared his throat, stepping forward as the other fight ended. Liam faced Tira.
“Ready?” She asked quickly. Liam crossed his arms. Something changed in his eyes and he smiled.
“Do you think I could raise my hand against you?” Liam asked.
“I was hoping you would.” Tira gave him a sheepish grin before lashing out. Liam blocked her every move. Tira locked her jaw, forcing herself to be swifter, faster. She tried to attack but Liam caught her motionless without even striking her once.
“I could never hurt my baby sister.” He whispered into her ear. Tira scowled.
“I’m not a baby. You used to fight with me.” She reminded him. Liam released her, shrugging his shoulders.
“Now I know better. So should you.” Liam told her simply. Tira felt her stomach drop. She raised a hand to her forehead.
“Don’t start that here. It’s not the place.” She murmured. Instead of answering, Liam raised his fist and waved her past. She didn’t get the chance to start a new fight because the loud clang of a bell stopped practice. Tira groaned. All the fights ended and everyone parted ways, some with smiles and promises, some with threats. The eyes meeting hers were mostly friendly, some less friendly than others. She glanced away in a hurry, heading for Adam.
“Adam!” She called and he turned with a slight frown. The field was mostly clear when she stepped over to him.
“I’ll tell you now as I tell you every week, girls aren’t meant to fight.” Adam murmured in a quiet breath. He dropped a protective arm around her. “You’re almost too old for this. You shouldn’t come anymore.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“I mean it. You’re almost a woman and a lady too. You have no business learning to fight. You should be learning to sew or something like that.” Adam reminded her with a frown. “You can come and watch but I won’t let you on this field again.”
“But Adam!” Tira looked at him, a wounded expression across her face. “I love fighting. You said I was good at it! You can’t just take it away from me.” Adam turned away from her. She grabbed his arm. “Please!”
“I already gave you an answer.” He told her flatly.
“That’s not fair!” Tira barked. “Liam, tell him–” She turned to find Liam but he was talking with Terjn. Their tones were hushed but even from where she stood, Tira could see the joy in Liam’s face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to scream with it. Finally he glanced up, noticing Tira’s eyes on him. With a few indecipherable words, he jogged across the practice grounds to her side.
“Go home with Vander. He’s said he’ll take you.” Liam told her, grinning as though he’d solved the Veld Iden maze. Tira blinked, wanting desperately to smile with him.
“What’s happened, what is it?” She asked.
“Tira, go home. I’ll be just behind you.” Liam said again. He gave her a small push to her already saddled mare before returning to Terjn’s side. He looked happy but Tira couldn’t suppress the feeling that something wasn’t right. She crossed the distance to Vander’s side as though in a trance.
“C’mon little girl. Let’s go.” He grinned, trying to take her mind off of her confusion. For once Tira didn’t argue but let herself be pulled uphill numbly. Her thoughts kept circling one thing. What was happening? And why couldn’t she know? They were nearly at the edge of the village before she found the courage to speak.
“It’s good, right? Something good happened?”
“For Liam, it is.” Vander murmured. Part of Liam’s smile seemed stuck in him. It made sense. He was, after all, Liam’s best friend. Tira peered at him carefully.
“You know what it is then?” She asked. And suddenly she was wondering how a boy so much older than Liam could be his best friend. Liam had only just turned thirteen and Vander had to be at least three years older. And she wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Vander got out of their friendship.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to say.” Vander murmured uncomfortably.
“Then tell him to explain it to me.” Tira sighed. The sound of hoof–beats made Tira glance up. She expected to see Liam riding up on her but what she saw instead scared her near to tears. Oh no…Tira’s mind screamed. Sure enough, the poised woman was sliding out of her saddle in the graceful way that only Liam seemed to have inherited. Her mother’s disapproving scowl looked down on the both of them. Vander bowed his head and backed away instantly.
“Boy’s clothes, Tirana? Commoners? Fighting?” Her mother said crisply, without a trace of amusement.
“It’s not– I can explain!” Tira stepped closer to her mother’s horse in desperation. Willa was unmoved. Her eyes flicked over Vander’s face with displeasure.
“You don’t seem shocked by this, boy. How long has she been coming here? How long have you known she was a girl?” Willa demanded. Vander glanced between the two of them hesitantly.
“My lady, I think there has been some mistake. I am deeply surprised to learn this.” He lied.
“You are either a liar or an imbecile.” Willa said scornfully and turned on Tira once more. “No, the only mistake here has been my trust in you, Tirana. Get on your horse, we’re going home.” Willa commanded. And that was the last of it. The two women got on their horses and continued back to the keep in silence.
