Post by rebecca on May 13, 2007 13:35:42 GMT 1
Right, thoroughly inspired by Taiku's amazing Hold on Hope, me is writing a book now. It is a bit weird, but hey, i like it XD. Heres the first to chapters, and i will be updateing frequantly.
Light in Shadows
Chapter One. ‘Maree Ann’
“Now, Mary-Anne, we are going to give you a hair do.”
Not seven years old. Such innocence to be, such beautiful ignorance, oblivious, protestant against anything to make herself unhappy. Not seven years old, not four foot high, with blonde hair that whished to her centre back. She is sat on the floor, her doll grasped in one hand, and a small yellow comb in the other, as she streaks the puppets woven hair with such care, such admiration. It was like the doll and her had a spiritual bond of sorts. She treated it like a human, like a roommate, on such levels of love, a sibling.
She brushes it’s hair, and places the comb down, and lifts it in front of her face, thoroughly examining the puppets hair, not one allowed out of place. Not one. She brushes down a few at the back. Her tiny face lights up as she realises how good her doll looks. She pokes it on it’s large nose and says, “Looking good Mary-Anne!” A large, beaming smile glistening, and her blue eyes wide, and delighted. “How about a new outfit?” She says.
She places her doll down carefully, as if handling a great piece of art, and runs clumsily to her small bed. She dives under it, and retrieves a shoebox, plain white, and slides it from underneath. The top says “Maree-Ann’s Out Fits” in bold pink letters with countless numbers of doodled flowers and butterflies. She opens it up quickly, the same excited expression on her face. Her hand dives into the pile of different woven clothing for her doll, all extravagant, and very girlish.
”How about this one?” She says, holding up a most unusual pink dress. She smiles, and crawls over manically to her doll, picking it up; there is a noise from downstairs. A loud, rumbling thud, and yelling. Muffled by the roof below her feet. The yells are getting clearer. She crawls slowly and carefully to her door, and closes it. Slowly. Not a sound. The yells are combined. Further thuds, rumbles. A thunderstorm was a wish in the little girls mind as she crawls behind her closet. Her doll clutched to her heart. She sat, knees pressed into her stomach. Her wide eyes closed, glistening with tears. Her smile replaced by a quivering lip of a clenched mouth. She waited.
There it was, that same noise. A sharper, higher pitched sound, then nothing at all. Until. Clumps of boots, getting louder and louder, clearer and clearer. Then the cry, the distress, the fury. It calls out.
“Susan!?!” The roaring voice, bellowing through the walls, straight into the little girls body, her nerves. She clenches her doll tighter. The doorknob is slammed and forced open, as her Father enters. Disorientated, a red mark strewn across his face from where his wife had struck him. He barked at her “Susan! Susan!” He grabs her by the brow of her hair. Tugging her up, enough to bald her weak skin. He raises his paw of an arm.
Chapter Two. ‘Division Twenty-Seven’
“You got a smoke?”
A few moments pause. So many thoughts can wonder through your mind without return. You sometimes get moments, staring at something, anything. Be it not but a butterfly, anything can set your mind into endless wonder, where you can meet any series of questions. The mind of one Drederik Young is running something like this at the moment his best friend Sam is asking, and getting impatient.
“Yo, D! I asked for a smoke.”
Drederik feebly comes back into reality, with an awing expression on his face, completely lost in the complexity of his own clockwork mind. He fumbles around in the pockets of his large coat, and retrieves his mostly empty packet of Burlin Cigarettes. He thrust it at Sam, it landed on her chest, and she opened it.
“The names Drederik. Derik if you really feel necessary.” Drederik said darkly, from beneath the combination of his black hood, and long, greasy black hair, covering any facial expression. Sam tossed the packet back, and fumbled around in her own jumper for her lighter. She retrieved, and lit it. The cool orange glow of the flame illuminating her thin, sunken face. The lid of her lighter clicked shut, and they were both hidden in shadow once more. Only seeing the smoke emerging slowly from the bowls of the shadows.
“How do you afford these…” Sam began, and then caught something, “…Derik.” She added, with a large sympathetic grin.
“I have my means.” Derik said, emotionless. He lit his own lighter, illuminating his face, except his eyes, thoroughly covered by his hair. It also illuminated his arms, which could only be described as ‘Battle-worn.’
“Derik! What happened man! Those scars are fresh!” Sam belted, in deep concern.
“They are nothing.” Derik said, hastily slamming shut his lighter.
“But dude… maybe you should go see…” Sam began, in even deeper concern.
“They are nothing!” Derik snapped, raising his voice slightly.
Not another word was spoken for some time. Sam looked into her own chest, silenced. It was not often Derik’s mood changed so rapidly. He was usually either emotionless, or kind. Not up front kind, kind in a weird way, sort of, unkind way. It was a few moments before Sam looked at his broken watch through the light of her half finished cigarette, and said,
“It’s almost nine.”
Derik nodded lightly, and came to his feet, Sam shortly after him. Derik was a good deal taller than Sam, towering a good six foot four or more, Sam at the better side of five foot. Derik slammed open the door, and emerged into the squalid, suburban streets of ‘Division twenty-Seven’. The streets were brown, filthy, except for the occasional dark red smear of dried bodily fluids. The stench was horrendous. Both Derik and Sam’s heads were bowed, with hoods over the better half of their foreheads. Sam’s hair emerged from the side of her hood in a ponytail. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her tatty, black hooded jumper. Her baggy jeans were ridded at both knees, leading to her dirt ridden white trainers. She wore hobo gloves, in dark green.
Derik’s baggy brown coat had many different pockets, containing both commendable and unspoken. His collar was raised to cheek level. In matter of fact, the only completely visible part of his entire face was his mouth, and the surrounding skin. He wore black, heavily padded gloves. Both stuffed into his deep pockets. His jeans were jet black, and baggy. One leg was completely ripped off from the knee downward, a large scar visible. His feet clumped loudly with each step of his large black boots. Sam took one hand out of her own pockets, and patted her back once, then nodded.
They moved for the cityscape, San Francisco. They lived on the outskirts, away from the bustling streets, congested, crowded, barely room to breath, how they dream of it. They dragged their feet slightly as they walked. Walking into the city, the buildings gradually became larger, louder, more impressive. They stopped in their tracks. They did not wish to go into the main city for reasons of their own. They buildings towered above them not here. He looked left and right, and saw a small village café. He nudged Sam with an elbow. She looked too, and grinned.
They both put back their hoods; Sam brushed her long ponytail from her chest and down her back. Drederik made no other move. His hair reached far over his eyes, it was thick, greasy, jet black. Conspicuous. They crossed the street, barely looking left and right, cars screeching to a halt, horns bellowing, curses exchanged. They cared not. Drederik opened the door for Sam, entered himself a few seconds later, showing class, innocence. The contents of the café were five people, plus the owner and the chef. ‘Easy’ is all that ran through both of their minds.
They moved to the counter, Sam brandishing a large grin, the shop keep blushing immediately. It was helpful having an attractive girl in situations as such. The owner was on the phone, Sam innocently wandered over to the bread shelf behind the counter, and the owner did nothing to stop her. ‘An innocent little girl’ He thought, and why shouldn’t he. Drederik retrieved his wallet, and started flicking through, giving the illusion of parenthood, perfectly executed, the shopkeeper smiled, and no other knowledge. He put down the phone, and said in a light hearted tone
“Can I help you sir?” Drederik said to Sam “Keep it within a fiver, Sam.” further increasing the feeling of parenthood. Sam nodded and smiled. Drederik then directed his attention to the shopkeeper again. “A coffee please.” He muttered, slamming a fiver on the desk. The shopkeeper was about to turn, when Sam retrieved something from her back, and held it to his throat. The steel made a shiver go down the keepers spine, the blade lightly scarring his throat, Sam snidely says “The register, and its contents please.” with a wicked grin.
Drederik turns around and draws his own steel knife, pointing at the customers, and says sharply “Any phones? I suggest you keep them away.” Brandishing a similar wicked grin, and pointing his dagger around the room slowly. The shopkeeper hastily started to empty the register into a small brown paper bag, Sam whispering “Faster.” into his ear menacingly, Such a thrill to be taken in this business, this act. Only broken by a cry of remorse, as the chef charges out with a cleaver at hand, and swipes it vertically at Drederik.
“How crude.” Drederik says, a gleam in his eyes, and a grin on his face. He takes but one step back, the cleaver misses him, and the momentum causes the chef to begin stumbling. He quickly drives his knee into the chef’s gut, the noise a combined loud thud, and meaty snap. He falls to one knee, wheezing for breath, clutching his chest. A broken rib? Probable. Drederik raises his knife, and swings, hitting not the blade, but the bottom of the handle to the back of his neck, knocking him out, putting him out of his horrendous pain, Drederik looks up.
“Anyone else?”
“Drederik! Code red.” Sam said calmly. Drederik dove over the counter, and looked under it. There it is, the big red button, the silent police alarm.
“Did he press it?” Drederik asked forcefully.
“I don’t know, he could have.” Sam replied, a slight quiver appearing in her tone. Drederik sighed and bowed his head. He retrieved his knife, and sliced it into the rim of the button, prying it open. He examined it carefully. Sam panicking slightly, not knowing what to do, she tells all the customers and the shopkeeper to keep quiet. Drederik examines the wires carefully, and raises his knife again, snapping the green one.
“It is disabled, that is if he didn’t press it. Sam, knock him out.” Sam did as told, and sharply punched him in the temple, sending him to the floor, unconscious. “Lets go.” Drederik ordered, moving towards the kitchen, red and blue lights illuminating the room from the patrol cars outside. He moved to the opposite side, and kicked open the door, the lock cracking, and shattering. They moved into the alleyway, breaking into a run, as a voice moves to their ears,
“Stop!” Shouts the officer. They heard him giving chase behind them; they both raised their hoods once more, no more incriminating evidence. The clumps were getting louder and more numerous, not only were they gaining in distance, but in numbers. Drederik started to sweat. He slammed into a dustbin, sending it across the alleyway. Further clatters could be heard; he managed to take out some of them, but the clump of boots still pursued. They turned some sharp corners. They could not loose them so easily. One last corner, and Drederik said in a raised tone “Now!”
Sam knew what to do. Both of them ran into the wall to their left, and leapt. They hit the wall with both feet and bounded off, the alleyway narrow enough for them to jump over the right wall, into the local park. They both landed on the lush green grass with a slam, and fell back, so they leant against the wall. Both breathing heavily, Sam raises her finger, indicating quietness. They both held their breath, hearts pounding as the volley of boots stampedes past them, and into the main street, it stops, and discussion among the coppers was heard.
“Where did they go?”
“No way…”
“Try again, search the Alleyways and beyond.”
“Yes sir.”
They both needed to get back to the house, and avoid nearby alleyways. They nodded lightly to each other, and rose to their feet, keeping as close to the wall as possible, moving quickly with little sound. Cops would undoubtedly search the park, the moved to halfway, and leapt high over the four-foot gate. They ran and ran, both of their legs feeling like they could burst, as if with every step cold daggers were plunging into their limbs.
A flash of light, a gunshot.
Light in Shadows
Chapter One. ‘Maree Ann’
“Now, Mary-Anne, we are going to give you a hair do.”
Not seven years old. Such innocence to be, such beautiful ignorance, oblivious, protestant against anything to make herself unhappy. Not seven years old, not four foot high, with blonde hair that whished to her centre back. She is sat on the floor, her doll grasped in one hand, and a small yellow comb in the other, as she streaks the puppets woven hair with such care, such admiration. It was like the doll and her had a spiritual bond of sorts. She treated it like a human, like a roommate, on such levels of love, a sibling.
She brushes it’s hair, and places the comb down, and lifts it in front of her face, thoroughly examining the puppets hair, not one allowed out of place. Not one. She brushes down a few at the back. Her tiny face lights up as she realises how good her doll looks. She pokes it on it’s large nose and says, “Looking good Mary-Anne!” A large, beaming smile glistening, and her blue eyes wide, and delighted. “How about a new outfit?” She says.
She places her doll down carefully, as if handling a great piece of art, and runs clumsily to her small bed. She dives under it, and retrieves a shoebox, plain white, and slides it from underneath. The top says “Maree-Ann’s Out Fits” in bold pink letters with countless numbers of doodled flowers and butterflies. She opens it up quickly, the same excited expression on her face. Her hand dives into the pile of different woven clothing for her doll, all extravagant, and very girlish.
”How about this one?” She says, holding up a most unusual pink dress. She smiles, and crawls over manically to her doll, picking it up; there is a noise from downstairs. A loud, rumbling thud, and yelling. Muffled by the roof below her feet. The yells are getting clearer. She crawls slowly and carefully to her door, and closes it. Slowly. Not a sound. The yells are combined. Further thuds, rumbles. A thunderstorm was a wish in the little girls mind as she crawls behind her closet. Her doll clutched to her heart. She sat, knees pressed into her stomach. Her wide eyes closed, glistening with tears. Her smile replaced by a quivering lip of a clenched mouth. She waited.
There it was, that same noise. A sharper, higher pitched sound, then nothing at all. Until. Clumps of boots, getting louder and louder, clearer and clearer. Then the cry, the distress, the fury. It calls out.
“Susan!?!” The roaring voice, bellowing through the walls, straight into the little girls body, her nerves. She clenches her doll tighter. The doorknob is slammed and forced open, as her Father enters. Disorientated, a red mark strewn across his face from where his wife had struck him. He barked at her “Susan! Susan!” He grabs her by the brow of her hair. Tugging her up, enough to bald her weak skin. He raises his paw of an arm.
Chapter Two. ‘Division Twenty-Seven’
“You got a smoke?”
A few moments pause. So many thoughts can wonder through your mind without return. You sometimes get moments, staring at something, anything. Be it not but a butterfly, anything can set your mind into endless wonder, where you can meet any series of questions. The mind of one Drederik Young is running something like this at the moment his best friend Sam is asking, and getting impatient.
“Yo, D! I asked for a smoke.”
Drederik feebly comes back into reality, with an awing expression on his face, completely lost in the complexity of his own clockwork mind. He fumbles around in the pockets of his large coat, and retrieves his mostly empty packet of Burlin Cigarettes. He thrust it at Sam, it landed on her chest, and she opened it.
“The names Drederik. Derik if you really feel necessary.” Drederik said darkly, from beneath the combination of his black hood, and long, greasy black hair, covering any facial expression. Sam tossed the packet back, and fumbled around in her own jumper for her lighter. She retrieved, and lit it. The cool orange glow of the flame illuminating her thin, sunken face. The lid of her lighter clicked shut, and they were both hidden in shadow once more. Only seeing the smoke emerging slowly from the bowls of the shadows.
“How do you afford these…” Sam began, and then caught something, “…Derik.” She added, with a large sympathetic grin.
“I have my means.” Derik said, emotionless. He lit his own lighter, illuminating his face, except his eyes, thoroughly covered by his hair. It also illuminated his arms, which could only be described as ‘Battle-worn.’
“Derik! What happened man! Those scars are fresh!” Sam belted, in deep concern.
“They are nothing.” Derik said, hastily slamming shut his lighter.
“But dude… maybe you should go see…” Sam began, in even deeper concern.
“They are nothing!” Derik snapped, raising his voice slightly.
Not another word was spoken for some time. Sam looked into her own chest, silenced. It was not often Derik’s mood changed so rapidly. He was usually either emotionless, or kind. Not up front kind, kind in a weird way, sort of, unkind way. It was a few moments before Sam looked at his broken watch through the light of her half finished cigarette, and said,
“It’s almost nine.”
Derik nodded lightly, and came to his feet, Sam shortly after him. Derik was a good deal taller than Sam, towering a good six foot four or more, Sam at the better side of five foot. Derik slammed open the door, and emerged into the squalid, suburban streets of ‘Division twenty-Seven’. The streets were brown, filthy, except for the occasional dark red smear of dried bodily fluids. The stench was horrendous. Both Derik and Sam’s heads were bowed, with hoods over the better half of their foreheads. Sam’s hair emerged from the side of her hood in a ponytail. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her tatty, black hooded jumper. Her baggy jeans were ridded at both knees, leading to her dirt ridden white trainers. She wore hobo gloves, in dark green.
Derik’s baggy brown coat had many different pockets, containing both commendable and unspoken. His collar was raised to cheek level. In matter of fact, the only completely visible part of his entire face was his mouth, and the surrounding skin. He wore black, heavily padded gloves. Both stuffed into his deep pockets. His jeans were jet black, and baggy. One leg was completely ripped off from the knee downward, a large scar visible. His feet clumped loudly with each step of his large black boots. Sam took one hand out of her own pockets, and patted her back once, then nodded.
They moved for the cityscape, San Francisco. They lived on the outskirts, away from the bustling streets, congested, crowded, barely room to breath, how they dream of it. They dragged their feet slightly as they walked. Walking into the city, the buildings gradually became larger, louder, more impressive. They stopped in their tracks. They did not wish to go into the main city for reasons of their own. They buildings towered above them not here. He looked left and right, and saw a small village café. He nudged Sam with an elbow. She looked too, and grinned.
They both put back their hoods; Sam brushed her long ponytail from her chest and down her back. Drederik made no other move. His hair reached far over his eyes, it was thick, greasy, jet black. Conspicuous. They crossed the street, barely looking left and right, cars screeching to a halt, horns bellowing, curses exchanged. They cared not. Drederik opened the door for Sam, entered himself a few seconds later, showing class, innocence. The contents of the café were five people, plus the owner and the chef. ‘Easy’ is all that ran through both of their minds.
They moved to the counter, Sam brandishing a large grin, the shop keep blushing immediately. It was helpful having an attractive girl in situations as such. The owner was on the phone, Sam innocently wandered over to the bread shelf behind the counter, and the owner did nothing to stop her. ‘An innocent little girl’ He thought, and why shouldn’t he. Drederik retrieved his wallet, and started flicking through, giving the illusion of parenthood, perfectly executed, the shopkeeper smiled, and no other knowledge. He put down the phone, and said in a light hearted tone
“Can I help you sir?” Drederik said to Sam “Keep it within a fiver, Sam.” further increasing the feeling of parenthood. Sam nodded and smiled. Drederik then directed his attention to the shopkeeper again. “A coffee please.” He muttered, slamming a fiver on the desk. The shopkeeper was about to turn, when Sam retrieved something from her back, and held it to his throat. The steel made a shiver go down the keepers spine, the blade lightly scarring his throat, Sam snidely says “The register, and its contents please.” with a wicked grin.
Drederik turns around and draws his own steel knife, pointing at the customers, and says sharply “Any phones? I suggest you keep them away.” Brandishing a similar wicked grin, and pointing his dagger around the room slowly. The shopkeeper hastily started to empty the register into a small brown paper bag, Sam whispering “Faster.” into his ear menacingly, Such a thrill to be taken in this business, this act. Only broken by a cry of remorse, as the chef charges out with a cleaver at hand, and swipes it vertically at Drederik.
“How crude.” Drederik says, a gleam in his eyes, and a grin on his face. He takes but one step back, the cleaver misses him, and the momentum causes the chef to begin stumbling. He quickly drives his knee into the chef’s gut, the noise a combined loud thud, and meaty snap. He falls to one knee, wheezing for breath, clutching his chest. A broken rib? Probable. Drederik raises his knife, and swings, hitting not the blade, but the bottom of the handle to the back of his neck, knocking him out, putting him out of his horrendous pain, Drederik looks up.
“Anyone else?”
“Drederik! Code red.” Sam said calmly. Drederik dove over the counter, and looked under it. There it is, the big red button, the silent police alarm.
“Did he press it?” Drederik asked forcefully.
“I don’t know, he could have.” Sam replied, a slight quiver appearing in her tone. Drederik sighed and bowed his head. He retrieved his knife, and sliced it into the rim of the button, prying it open. He examined it carefully. Sam panicking slightly, not knowing what to do, she tells all the customers and the shopkeeper to keep quiet. Drederik examines the wires carefully, and raises his knife again, snapping the green one.
“It is disabled, that is if he didn’t press it. Sam, knock him out.” Sam did as told, and sharply punched him in the temple, sending him to the floor, unconscious. “Lets go.” Drederik ordered, moving towards the kitchen, red and blue lights illuminating the room from the patrol cars outside. He moved to the opposite side, and kicked open the door, the lock cracking, and shattering. They moved into the alleyway, breaking into a run, as a voice moves to their ears,
“Stop!” Shouts the officer. They heard him giving chase behind them; they both raised their hoods once more, no more incriminating evidence. The clumps were getting louder and more numerous, not only were they gaining in distance, but in numbers. Drederik started to sweat. He slammed into a dustbin, sending it across the alleyway. Further clatters could be heard; he managed to take out some of them, but the clump of boots still pursued. They turned some sharp corners. They could not loose them so easily. One last corner, and Drederik said in a raised tone “Now!”
Sam knew what to do. Both of them ran into the wall to their left, and leapt. They hit the wall with both feet and bounded off, the alleyway narrow enough for them to jump over the right wall, into the local park. They both landed on the lush green grass with a slam, and fell back, so they leant against the wall. Both breathing heavily, Sam raises her finger, indicating quietness. They both held their breath, hearts pounding as the volley of boots stampedes past them, and into the main street, it stops, and discussion among the coppers was heard.
“Where did they go?”
“No way…”
“Try again, search the Alleyways and beyond.”
“Yes sir.”
They both needed to get back to the house, and avoid nearby alleyways. They nodded lightly to each other, and rose to their feet, keeping as close to the wall as possible, moving quickly with little sound. Cops would undoubtedly search the park, the moved to halfway, and leapt high over the four-foot gate. They ran and ran, both of their legs feeling like they could burst, as if with every step cold daggers were plunging into their limbs.
A flash of light, a gunshot.
