She hadn't forgotten. She never forgot. But lately, the rum had been getting the better part of her. She seemed to have settled down in a simple enough town and found that drinking, especially binge drinking, seemed to help cause the blackouts and the tremor of nightmares to stay out of her head. It rather pleased her, so she found most of her time in a stupor.
She sat, like most days, at the local tavern with a bottle before her and a mug held lovingly in her hands. Both feet were kicked up in a relaxed manner atop a table and her eyes had long since shut gloriously closed. Day dreaming about the various people she recently had begun “dancing” for, offering rolls in the hay, sometimes just curling up with some lonely sap and letting them remember the warmth of a body next to them.
The days seemed to have blended themselves together. She couldn't recall, off the top of her head, how she had met Raziel, for instance. It seemed like he always just existed. Usually at her heels, but he was always there. His eyes would watch her every move. Slowly, her lips curled into a smile thinking of his puppy like actions. Everything he did, every little movement, he did to please her. He liked to watch her dance, but unlike most men he had no desire to oogle her. He was genuinely enthralled by her movement, how the scarves flowed, how he could hear the music that wasn't even playing. He was the only person she never charged coin for watching her dance, and she was the only person he could ever imagine could ever make money with the beauty of such movements.
In the past few weeks, she had grown fond of the young man. She had told him many a time that she was old, perhaps too old for him, but she still found herself taking him as a drinking partner and then asking him to keep her warm at night instead of the other way around. Just thinking about his strapping young arms around her made her booze laden heart purr.
“Aensa,” came a far away voice, drifting in and out of the haze in her mind. She agreed with the voice. She was, indeed, Aensa. Who wouldn't want to be her? Perhaps this voice was calling out with the same desire that many men have.
“Aensa,” the voice spoke, louder this time, perhaps with an air of sternness. Sternness? Was her mother in her head? Be gone, mother! I am a good person now and have no desire to revisit your memory.
“Aensa!” shouted the voice as a sharp pain seemed to emerge in her ribs. It was enough to cause her to jump and spill from her seat much like her rum was doing from her mug. Blearily she blinked her eyes open, rubbing them with a fist before she managed to converge four priests into two.
“Kylus. 'ow good ta sees ya! To whats do I owes this pleasure?” It took three tries, but she managed to right her chair and plop back into it. Her feet had long since remembered how to properly kick back upon the table, so they informed her head that they were staying put on the floor. Her mind seemed to think that was a very good idea since the wood was trying to separate and run away and hopefully her feet could keep it in place and perhaps talk some sense into it.
The priest pulled out a chair beside her with a sigh and shook his head. “Drinking again, I see?” Drinking? Oh yes. That was what she was doing. As she began searching for her mug in her hands, the priest neatly kicked it under another table as he deftly grabbed the bottle of rum and set it behind him as well. “What a shame. It looks as though you are clear out.”
“Must be...” Aensa mumbled as she couldn't recall finishing all that nectar, but certainly she must have since it was no longer around and Dulcina knew not to clean up after her unless she was truly finished.
“You really have to stop drowning your sorrows this way, Aensa.” Lips twisted once again into a disapproving frown as the priest shook his head.
Kylus was a kind man with kind eyes and hands that had a healing touch. He was priest of the Royal Church and did his duties while wearing his heart on his sleeve. She recalled the first time she met the priest, stumbling drunk at his door step. Although she couldn't recall much of the encounter, she know that ever since then he has tried to keep an eye on her and always lectured about her use of alcohol.
“Ya know I'm not drownin' my sorrows! Ya know I jest can't stand the nightmares no more.”
“Yes yes. The nightmares.” The odor that wafted about Aensa made it plainly clear she hadn't bathed in a few days, let alone change her clothing. Kylus looked about the room for the page boy that seemed to be following Aensa around these days and saw no one. He didn't much believe her about these nightmares. “I think it is about time you sober up for a few days. I don't see your friend about to take care of you.” Which was good. That boy seemed to be more trouble than help. He hung on her every word and would happily ply her with anything and everything she wanted. Who knows how many bottles of booze the two of them put away together?
“Come now. I'm going to take you to the church. Paetines and I will get you cleaned up and a good meal in your belly. That should sober you up at least a little.”
“Aww, Kylus. Ye've always been so good ta me. Ya sure ya don't wants a dance or a nice rolls in the hay?” A lopsided grin plastered across the woman's face as Kylus took her by the elbow and helped her to rise.
“No, Aensa. I've told you before. I'm happily married.”
“Foo. I dance fer plenty of happily married men.” Kylus rolled his eyes as he bore her weight and took her off towards the church.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Aensa: Gypsy
The stench caught her before the sights did. It was the smell of death and decay, of smoking smoldering rubble, and of a life now ruined. She had to bring her hand to her mouth to keep the wave of vomit from swimming out of her stomach like a fountain. Were all those dreams actually warnings to stay away and not calls to return home?
Yes, gypsies were nomads and would normally travel from town to town, living on the outskirts of whatever area would allow them before they were forced to move on. But there was always a place, deep in the dark wood, a secret place that they called home. This was their wood. Normally rocks were steady feet for unstable flats that, were it not for the tripod they sat on, would be washed with waves each time the rains fell from the tree tops. Each flat was now tottered on some edge, broken. The rocks had been wiped clean from under the homes, used instead as a crude instrument of distruction. Walls had crumbled like some unwanted present, torn open and then thrown aside when it was obvious the spoiled child did not approve of what was inside. Acrid smoke billowed from the shelters making her nostrils flare and her eyes burn. Dishes lay scattered and broken on the ground. Clothing, heaped high, were warm with the colors of the licking tendrils of flame. Dogs barked off in the distance, hybrids that seemed to howl in desire as much as whine in fear of what was happening.
As much as seeing her home destroyed caused her heart to weep, the tears came from picking through the dead. They lay in various states on the ground: nude, half nude, broken, beaten, clinging to each other. She swallowed hard, lips quivering, as she named each child that clung in one corner, recalling stories of so many.
Endear. A handsome man, always good with the children. She had always been certain he had fathered quite a few of them himself. But he loved each as if they were his own. She can still recall the time one of the children came to him crying because someone from town had broken her favorite dolly. He sat, night and day, carving her an entire menagerie of little animals that would watch over and protect her.
Aensa caressed over the man's beaten face. He must have fought for the children. Closing his eyes, she quickly turned away.
Tilla. Sweet old woman. She was the fortune teller of the group, though she, herself, never thought her to be any good. But she was the type of woman people expected to see in a little tent with a hand full of fortune cards ready to tell anyone who came her way when they would die and how many children they would have.
Antony. She couldn't even count the times that little scamp tried to peek into her tent every time she was giving a private show.
Kiarla. So beautiful. Everyone was certain she wasn't going to live like this forever. Out of everyone, she was the one everyone put all their hope in. She was going to be somebody some day.
Shalla. Niat. Ghrant. Faier. The faces and stories and names swept like a whirlwind through her mind.
Who could have done this? What was the purpose of ruining the lives of so many peaceful people? They never asked anything of anyone. They never stole, never spoke ill of anyone. All they ever did was entertain. They gave people something to look forward to, something to enjoy in their drab and boring lives. And this is how they were repaid?
Bile swelled again and she found herself having to excuse the anger to tumble towards the edge of the encampment to loose her last meal. She felt so hopeless, so lost, emotionally drained as she wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and slumped back to the ground. How could this all have happened?
She began to fall back, in her mind, to the stories of all those lives lost. Secret lives, lives that she didn't even fully know or understand. She was never one of them. They accepted her, but never fully allowed her in. Mechora...
Aensa sat bolt upright. Mechora! Mechora! She didn't see that woman anywhere in the piles! Certainly that is who they came for. Or perhaps they couldn't find her? Certainly this all revolved around her. She never was certain she could trust that woman. But where was Mother Mechora? Did she orchestrate this? It didn't matter. If she was alive and helped this to happen, she would soon be worse off than those who were now no more. If she was alive and tried to stop this, than she would help to avenge the death of many with her lust for blood. Either way, it seemed many answers would be found by finding Mother Mechora.
She pushed aside all thoughts of the dead out of her mind. After a few deep breaths, she tried to ignore the scent of burning flesh and wood. Rising from the ground, strength back in her step as she began to feed off her anger, hunger for it, she began to walk with purpose away from her desecrated home.
“I will find you. I will find you, whoever you are. And I will make you pay.”
Yes, gypsies were nomads and would normally travel from town to town, living on the outskirts of whatever area would allow them before they were forced to move on. But there was always a place, deep in the dark wood, a secret place that they called home. This was their wood. Normally rocks were steady feet for unstable flats that, were it not for the tripod they sat on, would be washed with waves each time the rains fell from the tree tops. Each flat was now tottered on some edge, broken. The rocks had been wiped clean from under the homes, used instead as a crude instrument of distruction. Walls had crumbled like some unwanted present, torn open and then thrown aside when it was obvious the spoiled child did not approve of what was inside. Acrid smoke billowed from the shelters making her nostrils flare and her eyes burn. Dishes lay scattered and broken on the ground. Clothing, heaped high, were warm with the colors of the licking tendrils of flame. Dogs barked off in the distance, hybrids that seemed to howl in desire as much as whine in fear of what was happening.
As much as seeing her home destroyed caused her heart to weep, the tears came from picking through the dead. They lay in various states on the ground: nude, half nude, broken, beaten, clinging to each other. She swallowed hard, lips quivering, as she named each child that clung in one corner, recalling stories of so many.
Endear. A handsome man, always good with the children. She had always been certain he had fathered quite a few of them himself. But he loved each as if they were his own. She can still recall the time one of the children came to him crying because someone from town had broken her favorite dolly. He sat, night and day, carving her an entire menagerie of little animals that would watch over and protect her.
Aensa caressed over the man's beaten face. He must have fought for the children. Closing his eyes, she quickly turned away.
Tilla. Sweet old woman. She was the fortune teller of the group, though she, herself, never thought her to be any good. But she was the type of woman people expected to see in a little tent with a hand full of fortune cards ready to tell anyone who came her way when they would die and how many children they would have.
Antony. She couldn't even count the times that little scamp tried to peek into her tent every time she was giving a private show.
Kiarla. So beautiful. Everyone was certain she wasn't going to live like this forever. Out of everyone, she was the one everyone put all their hope in. She was going to be somebody some day.
Shalla. Niat. Ghrant. Faier. The faces and stories and names swept like a whirlwind through her mind.
Who could have done this? What was the purpose of ruining the lives of so many peaceful people? They never asked anything of anyone. They never stole, never spoke ill of anyone. All they ever did was entertain. They gave people something to look forward to, something to enjoy in their drab and boring lives. And this is how they were repaid?
Bile swelled again and she found herself having to excuse the anger to tumble towards the edge of the encampment to loose her last meal. She felt so hopeless, so lost, emotionally drained as she wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and slumped back to the ground. How could this all have happened?
She began to fall back, in her mind, to the stories of all those lives lost. Secret lives, lives that she didn't even fully know or understand. She was never one of them. They accepted her, but never fully allowed her in. Mechora...
Aensa sat bolt upright. Mechora! Mechora! She didn't see that woman anywhere in the piles! Certainly that is who they came for. Or perhaps they couldn't find her? Certainly this all revolved around her. She never was certain she could trust that woman. But where was Mother Mechora? Did she orchestrate this? It didn't matter. If she was alive and helped this to happen, she would soon be worse off than those who were now no more. If she was alive and tried to stop this, than she would help to avenge the death of many with her lust for blood. Either way, it seemed many answers would be found by finding Mother Mechora.
She pushed aside all thoughts of the dead out of her mind. After a few deep breaths, she tried to ignore the scent of burning flesh and wood. Rising from the ground, strength back in her step as she began to feed off her anger, hunger for it, she began to walk with purpose away from her desecrated home.
“I will find you. I will find you, whoever you are. And I will make you pay.”
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Aensa: Dream
Into the darkness her feet slowly brought her, carefully placing each foot fall as she made her way further into the darkened room. So alone. She felt so alone as she came to a halt and stood there, arms wrapped about herself trying to shrug off the enveloping dark coldness with an embrace of her own. And yet he was there. She felt his eyes, always felt his eyes. It caused the fine hairs at the back of her neck to stand up on end.
All she could hear was her breath, her heart beat. It was so silent that she listened to it pitter and patter, jump, skip a beat and finally fall back into rhythm with her soft breathing before she tried to swallow past the hard lump in her throat.
"Hello?"
It echoed, pierced her ears like the most foul of sounds ever to come into existence, and what was worse, it was from her own lips, came back to her mocking her own voice, everything in fine print across it. The terror, the loneliness, the absolute fear rang through the echoed wavering voice as it caused her to flutter a step back, retreating. A shiver ran up her spin and back down, causing her entire body to fall into the tremor it caused, lips pressing tightly together in the fear that perused that delicate voice. She tried again.
"Hello?"
And once again, she received nothing. Not a sign, not a trace of living or word spoken back to her. But she received the notice. She was told to meet someone here, someone. Even she wasn't sure what she was getting herself into as the cold of winter once more rushed over her bones, caused her skin to prickle. If a window was open, she hadn't yet taken notice or seen it. It was so dark within the room of unknown size that it caused her to lose herself, her thoughts, and soon enough, her sanity. The embrace fell from her arms as she reached her hands out. She could touch the wall; in her mind, she could feel the wall with her fingertips.
She stepped forward, regaining her ground in the room and tried to find the tangibility that her mind so blatantly laid out before her. Terror already took its reign over her body since she received the notice, but now how could further fear be sweeping into her body? How? That's when she heard the door close behind her. Of course her mind told her it was only her imagination or possibly the wind, but whatever light was strewn and tried to battle the shadows that crept with such prestige about the room now flickered and failed, defeated in its task to try and light the way.
Her hopes failed, her body slumped, and soon her mind wavered to thoughts she never did think of before. Where was her star to wish on? Where was her angel to guide her back to the light?
In just a rushing wave of emotion, she gave up, not even knowing what she was giving up on, not even sure what she had hope for. The darkness was like a pit of despair that she was pushed head long into and now there was nothing she could do. Not a dream or a moment of shinning glory shimmered to mind. She was lost now, forgotten to herself. Perhaps, out there, somewhere, they too forgot of her and her stories.
All she could hear was her breath, her heart beat. It was so silent that she listened to it pitter and patter, jump, skip a beat and finally fall back into rhythm with her soft breathing before she tried to swallow past the hard lump in her throat.
"Hello?"
It echoed, pierced her ears like the most foul of sounds ever to come into existence, and what was worse, it was from her own lips, came back to her mocking her own voice, everything in fine print across it. The terror, the loneliness, the absolute fear rang through the echoed wavering voice as it caused her to flutter a step back, retreating. A shiver ran up her spin and back down, causing her entire body to fall into the tremor it caused, lips pressing tightly together in the fear that perused that delicate voice. She tried again.
"Hello?"
And once again, she received nothing. Not a sign, not a trace of living or word spoken back to her. But she received the notice. She was told to meet someone here, someone. Even she wasn't sure what she was getting herself into as the cold of winter once more rushed over her bones, caused her skin to prickle. If a window was open, she hadn't yet taken notice or seen it. It was so dark within the room of unknown size that it caused her to lose herself, her thoughts, and soon enough, her sanity. The embrace fell from her arms as she reached her hands out. She could touch the wall; in her mind, she could feel the wall with her fingertips.
She stepped forward, regaining her ground in the room and tried to find the tangibility that her mind so blatantly laid out before her. Terror already took its reign over her body since she received the notice, but now how could further fear be sweeping into her body? How? That's when she heard the door close behind her. Of course her mind told her it was only her imagination or possibly the wind, but whatever light was strewn and tried to battle the shadows that crept with such prestige about the room now flickered and failed, defeated in its task to try and light the way.
Her hopes failed, her body slumped, and soon her mind wavered to thoughts she never did think of before. Where was her star to wish on? Where was her angel to guide her back to the light?
In just a rushing wave of emotion, she gave up, not even knowing what she was giving up on, not even sure what she had hope for. The darkness was like a pit of despair that she was pushed head long into and now there was nothing she could do. Not a dream or a moment of shinning glory shimmered to mind. She was lost now, forgotten to herself. Perhaps, out there, somewhere, they too forgot of her and her stories.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Aensa Xenthrope: Memories
Aensa bolted upright, her breath catching in the back of her throat and her hair matted to the back of her neck in sweat. A soft crackling fire sat in the hearth, having barely burned down from where last she saw it. The glass of rum that she had steadily been draining had somehow been knocked to the floor where it sat, on its side, contents spilled and seeping into the floor boards.
She deflated back into the posh seat in front of the fire, brow furrowing. The black outs seemed to be coming at a more steady pace recently, and the dreams that came with them were becoming more and more illustrated and memorable. This greatly concerned her. She left her caravan not so long ago due to these horrid dreams. There was something she needed to find, something that drew her here. Now suddenly the blackouts were coming in greater numbers and stronger and calling her back home once again. She couldn't leave yet, though. She was close. Or at least she thought she was close.
Reaching down, Aensa picked up the glass and ringed her finger around the inside, licking the droplets of alcohol off as she tried to understand this latest dream. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Puppets, strange men, golden cubes, churches, even her own family.
Leaning back, lightly twirling the glass in her fingertips, she thought back to her family. Her mother and father were always of the mind to teach her how to be a proper lady. They taught her the proper way to sit, to eat, to speak, to interact with others, to dance, to dress. They even taught her the proper way to do nothing at all. It had nothing to do with being a princess, for she heard in many stories that this was just the proper way for princesses to be raised. It had nothing to do with wanting their daughter to marry a young prince and become a princess herself. They merely couldn't stand that she was born with the heart of a tomboy.
The look of shock and disgust on their faces when she told them she was going to run off with the gypsy caravan to dance for coin was enough for them to declare she was never allowed to return to their home. Of course, Aensa liked this just fine as she was happier with the free-willed new family that took her in. She finally felt like she could be herself.
Rolling her head along her right shoulder only to prop it up to view the ceiling and count cobwebs in the rafters, a frown sat on her lips. She missed that chosen family. Why was she here? Why didn't she just leave and return back to her old home? If only she could remember what it is that brought her here.
She deflated back into the posh seat in front of the fire, brow furrowing. The black outs seemed to be coming at a more steady pace recently, and the dreams that came with them were becoming more and more illustrated and memorable. This greatly concerned her. She left her caravan not so long ago due to these horrid dreams. There was something she needed to find, something that drew her here. Now suddenly the blackouts were coming in greater numbers and stronger and calling her back home once again. She couldn't leave yet, though. She was close. Or at least she thought she was close.
Reaching down, Aensa picked up the glass and ringed her finger around the inside, licking the droplets of alcohol off as she tried to understand this latest dream. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Puppets, strange men, golden cubes, churches, even her own family.
Leaning back, lightly twirling the glass in her fingertips, she thought back to her family. Her mother and father were always of the mind to teach her how to be a proper lady. They taught her the proper way to sit, to eat, to speak, to interact with others, to dance, to dress. They even taught her the proper way to do nothing at all. It had nothing to do with being a princess, for she heard in many stories that this was just the proper way for princesses to be raised. It had nothing to do with wanting their daughter to marry a young prince and become a princess herself. They merely couldn't stand that she was born with the heart of a tomboy.
The look of shock and disgust on their faces when she told them she was going to run off with the gypsy caravan to dance for coin was enough for them to declare she was never allowed to return to their home. Of course, Aensa liked this just fine as she was happier with the free-willed new family that took her in. She finally felt like she could be herself.
Rolling her head along her right shoulder only to prop it up to view the ceiling and count cobwebs in the rafters, a frown sat on her lips. She missed that chosen family. Why was she here? Why didn't she just leave and return back to her old home? If only she could remember what it is that brought her here.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Aensa Xenthrope
The fire is crackling happily, warm and safe and there I sit, sitting around the fire with my friends, dear friend, many lovely friends. We talk, we tell stories. But far off, deep into the woods where our fire is set, a noise comes about, traveling in the air, higher, louder than the fire, louder than our nostalgic stories and memories.
We pull straws. The long one is mine. Up out of the comfort I stand, up and away from the blanket of warmth and protection friends give you. Up away from the stories I stand and move off away from the light, into the darkness. Deep, deep darkness. Unknown darkness.
Death. Decay. Stench. My nostrils flare as I walk deeper, towards the noise, towards that unheard of violation to the woods. Things crackle, crunch under my feet. My slow, slowly walking feet. I look up; look up to see the blanket of the night, to see the mesh of stars, the canopy of green overhead. Nothing. Just darkness and dead trees.
Dead
Dead
D
e
a
d
trees.
A hit. A blow to the head and I am down. A foot connects with my stomach and my eyes close. Close as I become enveloped in the overwhelming darkness. The darkness, cool, soothing darkness. I can not breathe. Can not. Too dark. Too thickly dark to breathe.
Finally, my eyes open. I see before me stone. Cold stone. Little light. I can not move. I am bound to a table-no. Not a table. An altar. An altar surrounded with candles. Candles surrounded in a pool of their own bloody wax. Beside me another altar sits. Hand bound behind me, I turn my head to see.
A man.
A man lies upon the altar next to me and a tube, a simple tube is what connects us. Connects us through our stomachs. That stench. That stench of death and decay makes my nose flare and bile rise in my throat. Then a shadow moves. Too little light, I can't see. There, there in the darkness a blade is retracted. The shrieking silver comes down upon the other altar, upon the bare naked man, slitting open his tube, pulling it out of the way. His insides slip out, tumble from atop him down the altar. Deathly still, slow motion. The smell, the horrid odor.
I vomit. It is so quiet, so horribly quiet, and I vomit. I turn my head, close my eyes and am embraced once more by the calm, cool darkness.
I awake. Awake again, the smell of the sickness upon my breath, the shadow moving in the back ground, the man now lacking his innards lying upon the floor beside me. I stand and find myself lacking in clothes. Lacking in other things as well. The innards surround me. They are everywhere.
A circle. Perfect, happy circle. Never ending, perfect, happy circle.
My arms are bound, I can barely move, but I dance. Dance in the candle light, dance for the shadow, dance for the smells, the silence, the darkness, the man, the death, the circle. I dance. I am forever a puppet still dancing after the puppet master's death.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Terrians: Attack
There was only a sliver of a moon outside as she gazed upwards and the clouds managed to part just enough to ease her fears of the dark. The slim light that seemed to snuff out by a simple wisp of a cloud surfacing did little to put her fears at ease, though. Instead, it caused her only to strain more in the dark, eyes squinting in hoping to see better, hands and arms groping out in front of her, and many more looks upwards to check the sky above. Something was following her, and whatever it was she really didn't like it. Not only was it following her, but it seemed to be gaining on her while still keeping its distance, a distance just great enough that she couldn't truly tell if anything was there or not. But she wasn't lying to herself, she just couldn't be. There truly was something behind her, stalking her, and she just needed to make her way into town so that it wasn't able to find her alone here in the dark woods.
At first it was just a feeling, but then she started hearing things she wasn't certain she heard. It started with a soft sound deep and far away like thousands of busy little bees, but it became stronger as she continued walking. Stronger and more frightening as the humming because this mind shattering noise that just couldn't stop, burrowing into her head and not getting out no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't think any longer, couldn't do anything but continue walking and although she knew she needed to get out of the woods, she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out how to get out. That noise. All she could hear was that mind numbing noise that was turning her thoughts into goo to leak out of her ears and dribble down her jaw.
The noise grew steadily, not in pitch or volume but in mass. It caused the woman to stumble, fall, collapse onto the forest floor where she clutched at her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks, just wishing the noise would go away. Or, at least, she would wish it to go away if she were able to collect a single thought instead of shreds seeming to drift in the flow in her mind right now, no two fragments seeming to fit together in any form of intelligible thought. Her lips parted and a scream formed in the back of her throat as she continued to roll on the ground, clutching her ears, seeming unable to do anything else but grasp and gasp and cry.
Suddenly the noise stopped altogether, as if whatever it was that the noise was coming from suddenly darted in the other direction, fleeing for its life. Hands slowly pulled away from ears hearing the buzzing disappear as wide eyes opened onto the forest, staring upwards into the canopy above. But the thoughts didn't seem to congeal in her mind and the puzzle pieces of sanity had been fragmented to small and shaken so extreme that she couldn't even begin to place them back together again. Grabbing knees in her arms, she hugged them to her breasts and began to rock.
“The song was doo doo. Find a time for the woman. Find a song for the word. Run away and sleep another day.” Burying her face within her knees she began to cry. She knew something was missing. She knew she would never be the same woman again. And that knowledge would only last her another few minutes before that fell apart as well and left her to drift into a mindless lack of sanity.
At first it was just a feeling, but then she started hearing things she wasn't certain she heard. It started with a soft sound deep and far away like thousands of busy little bees, but it became stronger as she continued walking. Stronger and more frightening as the humming because this mind shattering noise that just couldn't stop, burrowing into her head and not getting out no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't think any longer, couldn't do anything but continue walking and although she knew she needed to get out of the woods, she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out how to get out. That noise. All she could hear was that mind numbing noise that was turning her thoughts into goo to leak out of her ears and dribble down her jaw.
The noise grew steadily, not in pitch or volume but in mass. It caused the woman to stumble, fall, collapse onto the forest floor where she clutched at her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks, just wishing the noise would go away. Or, at least, she would wish it to go away if she were able to collect a single thought instead of shreds seeming to drift in the flow in her mind right now, no two fragments seeming to fit together in any form of intelligible thought. Her lips parted and a scream formed in the back of her throat as she continued to roll on the ground, clutching her ears, seeming unable to do anything else but grasp and gasp and cry.
Suddenly the noise stopped altogether, as if whatever it was that the noise was coming from suddenly darted in the other direction, fleeing for its life. Hands slowly pulled away from ears hearing the buzzing disappear as wide eyes opened onto the forest, staring upwards into the canopy above. But the thoughts didn't seem to congeal in her mind and the puzzle pieces of sanity had been fragmented to small and shaken so extreme that she couldn't even begin to place them back together again. Grabbing knees in her arms, she hugged them to her breasts and began to rock.
“The song was doo doo. Find a time for the woman. Find a song for the word. Run away and sleep another day.” Burying her face within her knees she began to cry. She knew something was missing. She knew she would never be the same woman again. And that knowledge would only last her another few minutes before that fell apart as well and left her to drift into a mindless lack of sanity.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Terrians: Hunger
The wood cracked and fell away in chips, falling in a pattern to the forest floor below before the next handful fell away a few inches before the first. The falling chips were accompanied by a maniac giggling chitter that could barely be discerned as to the direction it was coming from. The noise seemed to buzz and hum and come in from each direction as it echoed throughout the woods in a terrifying and never ending loop. Another glittering of bark and leaves floated towards the ground before a cracking was heard overhead in the trees. The source of the chattering was soon seen: a large charred creature with a tail so long that it could hug the entire tree and nails so sharp that they tore deep into the very heart of the oak. The tree seemed to groan in protest to the claws that dug into its flesh and the tail that strangled its arms, crying out in the only way it knew how.
The odd creature feel to the forest floor with a soft whump of a sound, mulch of the floor crunching between fingers and toes, if fingers and toes was something it even had. The tail lashed back and for the as bone white teeth gleamed in a terrifyingly painful grin against the pitch black of the dead flesh the reeked and flaked with each movement. The chittering sound seemed to come from deep in the creatures gullet, resonating through the bones and muscles of the animal as it stood in place with hungry eyes searching one way and then the other. It didn't seem as if it were scanning the forest so much as passing its penetrating gaze deep into the shadows, watching the very movements of what it sensed with flaring nostrils. It stared long and hard, laughing away like some lunatic who had lost all sense of sanity, watching as whatever it saw seemed to continue to move further, continuing in a line until eventually it hit and surpassed the horizon of what the animal could view. The grin only grew as a massively muscular tongue managed to swish behind the teeth, as if desperately wanting to lick its lips if only it could figure out where its lips were.
There was only one thing, if anything, on the creatures mind. It had instructions and a one track mind to finish the task on hand before returning, but there was only one simple problem with that. It was hungry. Very hungry. The creature's head flashed quickly to one side as the chittering that had died down to at least a rather pleasant hum of a noise started back up to a bright and powerful insanity that buzzed and brimmed with a power so frightening it could tear directly into the brain. Eyes of coal flicked to follow another movement far off in the trees, one that could near be heard rustling through the leaves about half a mile off, if one had good hearing.
The steps were slow, languid, muscles moving gracefully under the charred flesh that cracked and flaked every now and then. The Terrian never ran for its food. It stalked it. And then got back on task.
The odd creature feel to the forest floor with a soft whump of a sound, mulch of the floor crunching between fingers and toes, if fingers and toes was something it even had. The tail lashed back and for the as bone white teeth gleamed in a terrifyingly painful grin against the pitch black of the dead flesh the reeked and flaked with each movement. The chittering sound seemed to come from deep in the creatures gullet, resonating through the bones and muscles of the animal as it stood in place with hungry eyes searching one way and then the other. It didn't seem as if it were scanning the forest so much as passing its penetrating gaze deep into the shadows, watching the very movements of what it sensed with flaring nostrils. It stared long and hard, laughing away like some lunatic who had lost all sense of sanity, watching as whatever it saw seemed to continue to move further, continuing in a line until eventually it hit and surpassed the horizon of what the animal could view. The grin only grew as a massively muscular tongue managed to swish behind the teeth, as if desperately wanting to lick its lips if only it could figure out where its lips were.
There was only one thing, if anything, on the creatures mind. It had instructions and a one track mind to finish the task on hand before returning, but there was only one simple problem with that. It was hungry. Very hungry. The creature's head flashed quickly to one side as the chittering that had died down to at least a rather pleasant hum of a noise started back up to a bright and powerful insanity that buzzed and brimmed with a power so frightening it could tear directly into the brain. Eyes of coal flicked to follow another movement far off in the trees, one that could near be heard rustling through the leaves about half a mile off, if one had good hearing.
The steps were slow, languid, muscles moving gracefully under the charred flesh that cracked and flaked every now and then. The Terrian never ran for its food. It stalked it. And then got back on task.
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