I
Incinermyn
Round-Robin Story Competition: Opener
Rules for Entry and Participation (Please read completely)
1.) Sign-ups for this contest begins as soon as this thread has been created. Contestants may enter at any point during a round by posting in this thread stating that they want to take part or drop out if they wish. Similar to the haiku contest, there will only be twelve slots available for participants per round. As such, sign-ups will close when all slots are filled, even if people withdraw.
2.) To compete, participants are to write a 500 to 1,000 word passage to be used as the beginning of a story that will be continued in the next round. Authors are free to write about any subject they wish, so long as it doesn’t violate the Writer’s Corner Rules & Guidelines or PokéBeach General Rules in terms of general content (i.e. PG-13 rated content is the limit, but it’s preferred you work on PG or G if possible).
3.) There will be no immediate deadline for submissions; however, it’s still expected that contestants turn their works into me via PM in a timely manner. As such, once three entries have been collected, the deadline will automatically be set at about a week from that day for remaining anyone else who needs to submit their entries. Please note that’s just an approximate, and may be extended slightly depending on the timing.
4.) Once that deadline passes or all submissions are collected, they will be randomized and posted here anonymously for the public viewing and voting. Voting will be open to all members of PokéBeach, and will be conducted in the form of a private ballot that must be submitted to me via PM. This PM only needs to include a vote for whichever entry is your favorite (Do not vote for more than one or it won’t be counted). Entrants are expected but not required to submit votes as well, but are not permitted to vote for their own since I’m the only one who will know which entry is yours. Likewise, commentaries made by contestants on any entries will not be permitted during the voting period to avoid accidental revealing or hinting of whom wrote what. Voting will run for about one week, so people have time to read through every entry.
5.) When voting is finished, the winner’s identity will be revealed first with the rest following soon after. If a tie results between two or more works, I’ll make the tie-breaking vote for which of said entries I feel is best (as such, my own vote will be withheld until the day I close voting).
6.) Lastly, the winner of each round will be asked to refrain from entering the next one. He or she will be allowed to enter the round after it, of course. This restriction is in place only to give new writers to showcase their works based on what he or she started, and to add more diversity to the continuing storyline.
In full, the contest will run for about five rounds. Depending on public interest and collaborative, it then might be restarted with a clean slate for everyone.
Good luck and Godspeed, writers!
Deadline and Public Revealing of Submissions: Wednesday, November 2, 2011 (Sometime after 3:00PM Central)
Participant List
1.) Zyflair*
3.) Syneptus*
5.) Darkvoid57*
6.) The Fallen One*
7.) Apollo*
9.) Unique Username*
10.) Xdogking*
11.) Lenny*
Note: Dropouts and disqualified entrants have been crossed out. It only applies for this round, though.
Submissions List
1.)
Dusk fell like a wet blanket, strangling out any residual light from the hot day. The forest seemed to exhale as sticky moisture condensed on every available surface. Throughout the darkness, small pinpricks of sound pulsed as insects began their choruses.
Somewhere in the middle of this forest, a large war encampment was suffering the heavy air with dutiful ignorance, despite its hot grasp squeezing the breath out of the soldiers stationed there. Torches provided the necessary illumination as soldiers mingled together, their raucous laughter easily detectable from quite a distance away. Not that it really mattered, for their enemy cared little where the encampment was placed, only for the exact amount of those stationed within. Despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, a quiet watchfulness permeated the camp, as armed sentries patrolled the perimeter and swords remained in easy reach should the need arise. One sentry, a young recruit by the name of Giles, leaned his wooden spear against a nearby tree.
“Cursed heat,” he grumbled to himself, adjusting the cumbersome and not the least bit comfortable plate armor that he wore. His clothes soaked in sweat, it hardly seemed possible that more sweat could leak out of his body, but it still dripped out of his hair like a miniature cloudburst. Giles quickly pulled a hand out of its gauntlet, to quickly squeeze the sweat out his hair.
“I wouldn’t recommend that, recruit,” a terse female voice pierced the gloom. Giles looked up in alarm, dropping his gauntlet and knocking his spear onto the ground in an attempt to grab it. General McElroy, the contingent leader, laughed harshly. Giles stopped trying to gather his equipment and quickly saluted.
“My apologies, General. What can I for do y--I mean, do for you?”
He nervously tried to keep himself together, despite being under pressure. General Amanda “Amazon” McElroy, despite being quite old, was built like a snake with a thin form that belied her strength, and was well-known for her legendary skill with the spear. She also did not respond well to those who didn’t work their hardest on the battlefield, or on sentry duty.
“At ease, recruit.” She looked him up and down, taking particular care to examine his face.
“How old are you?” Giles did his best to stand tall.
“Nineteen, General,” he said, sweat dripping into his eyes from his hair. She examined him carefully. Giles tried not to let his discomfort show.
“Liar!” her voice boomed, “How old are you really?” Giles was unable to speak for a few seconds, as he was so used to lying about his age that he had convinced himself of its truth.
“Sixteen, General!” he said humbly.
“How we let such young people join the militia, I’ll never know.”
General McElroy stared out into the darkness filling the trees. Giles leaned down and retrieved his gauntlet from the dirt, and slipped it back on his hand, and retrieved his spear. The General continued to stare out into the trees at the dark beyond the light. Giles, cowed by her insight, simply stood there uneasily.
“Do you know who or what our enemy is?” she turned to him. Giles paused a second before answering.
“Our enemies are the unclean, those who wish harm upon us, the untrue, those who would lead us to believe lies, and the intruders, the ones who force the doors of our faith,” Giles recited the first part of the warrior’s code. General McElroy shook her head.
“While heroic-sounding, it’s really very vague. Do you know what exactly you will be fighting?” she asked.
“…Not…exactly...” he responded, ashamed of his lack of knowledge. The General gave him a pitying look.
“It’s not a sight meant for the young,” she sounded sad. Giles realized what she was saying.
“I am not too young! I am not scared!” Realizing his mistake, Giles quickly shut his mouth and waited for her admonishment.
“Monstrosities, the stuff of nightmares, I have had little undisturbed sleep since I first met them twenty-five years ago. My dreams are always filled with their cries and their grotesque shapes shambling through them,” she shivered. Giles suddenly began to appreciate what he had done when he lied about his age to get into the militia. Shaking his head, he looked out into the darkness, where unknown horrors would be hiding. Amanda walked over to stand next to him.
“What keep are you from?” she asked him.
“Achtaven,” he replied, thinking about his family safely in bed at that hour, while he was out in the middle of a nightmare-infested forest with only a sharp, wooden spear to protect him.
“It’s a good place, alright. Family?” she quested further.
“Mother and two sisters, my father died in the war with the keep of Enesbor. My mother wanted me to stay at home, but I left to seek revenge. Instead of going to the front, I ended up here, with the militia.” Giles leaned against a tree trunk, running his fingers along the solid wood in his spear, his mind awash with homesickness. He looked up at the General, and was surprised to see a tear in her eye.
“My family died in a raid. All of them; my husband, my parents, my siblings, and even,” she paused, “my son.” She recovered quickly, her moment of vulnerability gone.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t go back over past events in such a way.” She turned as a robed man walked up, his boots crunching on the moss.
“The Mage detects a large number of hostile life forms approaching our encampment," the man reported.
“Ready the camp, we need to be ready for their attack!”
She sprinted into the camp with the man, leaving Giles to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. A horn sounded, and everyone in the camp snapped to attention, getting their equipment ready and checking the defenses. Giles cautiously stole back into the relative safety of the firelight, checking his armor and spear.
Somewhere in the middle of this forest, a large war encampment was suffering the heavy air with dutiful ignorance, despite its hot grasp squeezing the breath out of the soldiers stationed there. Torches provided the necessary illumination as soldiers mingled together, their raucous laughter easily detectable from quite a distance away. Not that it really mattered, for their enemy cared little where the encampment was placed, only for the exact amount of those stationed within. Despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, a quiet watchfulness permeated the camp, as armed sentries patrolled the perimeter and swords remained in easy reach should the need arise. One sentry, a young recruit by the name of Giles, leaned his wooden spear against a nearby tree.
“Cursed heat,” he grumbled to himself, adjusting the cumbersome and not the least bit comfortable plate armor that he wore. His clothes soaked in sweat, it hardly seemed possible that more sweat could leak out of his body, but it still dripped out of his hair like a miniature cloudburst. Giles quickly pulled a hand out of its gauntlet, to quickly squeeze the sweat out his hair.
“I wouldn’t recommend that, recruit,” a terse female voice pierced the gloom. Giles looked up in alarm, dropping his gauntlet and knocking his spear onto the ground in an attempt to grab it. General McElroy, the contingent leader, laughed harshly. Giles stopped trying to gather his equipment and quickly saluted.
“My apologies, General. What can I for do y--I mean, do for you?”
He nervously tried to keep himself together, despite being under pressure. General Amanda “Amazon” McElroy, despite being quite old, was built like a snake with a thin form that belied her strength, and was well-known for her legendary skill with the spear. She also did not respond well to those who didn’t work their hardest on the battlefield, or on sentry duty.
“At ease, recruit.” She looked him up and down, taking particular care to examine his face.
“How old are you?” Giles did his best to stand tall.
“Nineteen, General,” he said, sweat dripping into his eyes from his hair. She examined him carefully. Giles tried not to let his discomfort show.
“Liar!” her voice boomed, “How old are you really?” Giles was unable to speak for a few seconds, as he was so used to lying about his age that he had convinced himself of its truth.
“Sixteen, General!” he said humbly.
“How we let such young people join the militia, I’ll never know.”
General McElroy stared out into the darkness filling the trees. Giles leaned down and retrieved his gauntlet from the dirt, and slipped it back on his hand, and retrieved his spear. The General continued to stare out into the trees at the dark beyond the light. Giles, cowed by her insight, simply stood there uneasily.
“Do you know who or what our enemy is?” she turned to him. Giles paused a second before answering.
“Our enemies are the unclean, those who wish harm upon us, the untrue, those who would lead us to believe lies, and the intruders, the ones who force the doors of our faith,” Giles recited the first part of the warrior’s code. General McElroy shook her head.
“While heroic-sounding, it’s really very vague. Do you know what exactly you will be fighting?” she asked.
“…Not…exactly...” he responded, ashamed of his lack of knowledge. The General gave him a pitying look.
“It’s not a sight meant for the young,” she sounded sad. Giles realized what she was saying.
“I am not too young! I am not scared!” Realizing his mistake, Giles quickly shut his mouth and waited for her admonishment.
“Monstrosities, the stuff of nightmares, I have had little undisturbed sleep since I first met them twenty-five years ago. My dreams are always filled with their cries and their grotesque shapes shambling through them,” she shivered. Giles suddenly began to appreciate what he had done when he lied about his age to get into the militia. Shaking his head, he looked out into the darkness, where unknown horrors would be hiding. Amanda walked over to stand next to him.
“What keep are you from?” she asked him.
“Achtaven,” he replied, thinking about his family safely in bed at that hour, while he was out in the middle of a nightmare-infested forest with only a sharp, wooden spear to protect him.
“It’s a good place, alright. Family?” she quested further.
“Mother and two sisters, my father died in the war with the keep of Enesbor. My mother wanted me to stay at home, but I left to seek revenge. Instead of going to the front, I ended up here, with the militia.” Giles leaned against a tree trunk, running his fingers along the solid wood in his spear, his mind awash with homesickness. He looked up at the General, and was surprised to see a tear in her eye.
“My family died in a raid. All of them; my husband, my parents, my siblings, and even,” she paused, “my son.” She recovered quickly, her moment of vulnerability gone.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t go back over past events in such a way.” She turned as a robed man walked up, his boots crunching on the moss.
“The Mage detects a large number of hostile life forms approaching our encampment," the man reported.
“Ready the camp, we need to be ready for their attack!”
She sprinted into the camp with the man, leaving Giles to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. A horn sounded, and everyone in the camp snapped to attention, getting their equipment ready and checking the defenses. Giles cautiously stole back into the relative safety of the firelight, checking his armor and spear.
2.)
Three Paths It Shall Be
All that could be heard in the deep and vast forest were the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling underneath his feet. He ran and he ran, never slowing down or looking behind himself. The crisp and chilled early November air whistling as his stride broke through it. His black coat waving in his trail, he ran towards a clearing in the distance. As he approached the clearing, he stopped and pulled the hood on his head down so it hung around his neck.
No…this can’t be!
The clearing gave way to three paths, one going straight ahead, one pointing northwest, and the other northeast. Each path was indistinguishable from the other, aside from their direction. He crouched and hung his head, his recently trimmed black hair hanging over his eyes. He let out a long sigh, and stood back up. He walked into the middle of the clearing and looked around, to his right, left, and straight ahead again. He started to walk, deciding to take the straight path, when a bush behind him started to rustle. He couldn’t turn around fast enough, and within a second, flew off his feet and landed face first in the ground before him. He screamed out in agony, as his leg started to form a pool of blood below it. Lying in front of him was a card made of metal, silver by the looks of it, which said;
William.
A masked man approached him as he lied sprawled out on the ground and picked up the card. The man grinned as he read it, and then placed it inside a pocket on the outside of his vest. The last thing William saw was the masked man's gun approaching his face.
Spies Are Among Us
“Dude, you have got to be kidding me! Nobody would be walking around in the forest in a black coat, with their name etched in a piece of metal unless their spies from down south!”
“Come on Jake, the kid didn’t even know which way to go. I highly doubt he’s a spy, especially since he doesn’t have an SSC. How about ‘you ask him yourself? Looks like he’s coming to.”
William started to wake up, slowly opening his eyelids. He tried to wipe his eyes with his hands, but noticed that his right was handcuffed to a pole next to the couch he found himself lying on. William took his left hand, wiped his eyes with it, and turned his head to see two people wearing masks standing by the couch. One was a tall, broad and well built, by the looks of it looked like he was 16. The other was roughly the same, but noticeably shorter than the first. The taller one on the right pulled a pistol out of his holster that was hidden by his long trench coat. He pointed it at William and said;
“Tell us who you’re working for.”
“I…I’m not working for anybody. Please…just let me go,” William said, trying to free himself from the handcuff around his right hand to no avail.
“Look kid, you and I both know that no one walks through those woods in a black coat with a fancy name tag like yours heading for the clearing unless they’re there to find something or someone. Now you can either tell us, or I can shoot you elsewhere,” the man with the gun replied.
“A man approached me back in my home town, he told me to go to the forest, get to the clearing, and wait. So I went, and I waited, and then you BLOODY SHOT ME!” William said, raising his voice. The man with the gun turned towards the shorter man, whispered something in his ear, and turned back to William.
“The man who approached you, his name was Fredrick. He’s a slave trader, sends people places, and has his people kidnap them and sell em’ on the black market. He’s dead now, captured him 2 days ago,” said the shorter man.
“I’m Jake, this here is Michael. We’re with a group called Freedom Corps. Ever since America’s been pushed back into the Dark Ages from the EMP China put out, we’ve been trying to stop the South from coming up to our turf. We’ve got all the oil, and the South’s got…well, nothing really, but I bet you already knew that. You got somewhere to go back to?” Jake inquired, while putting away his gun.
“No…not really. Mom’s dead, Dad’s gone,” William said, his voice cracking from the sad thoughts flooding his head.
“Well then, looks like your gonna be staying here with us,” Michael said, uncuffing William from the pole. William took his right hand and rubbed it with his left where the handcuff was. Michael and Jake then both took of their masks, revealing their faces. Michael shook back his blond hair, revealing a long scar stretching from his left eyebrow down to his lip, probably from a knife from the looks of it. Jake on the other hand had no visible scars and had black hair like William. William left the room, leaving Jake and William alone.
“You’re the new kid around here, try not to start anything. Our mom’s the doctor for the Freedom Corps stop here, her name’s Rose, we’ll get here to check out that bullet wound in your leg. No plumbing, gotta heat the water yourself, food’s cooked out in “The Pit,” the large fire pit in the center of our little town. I can show you around if you want,” Jake said.
“No…no, I’m ok, thanks for the offer. Just give me some time alone,” William replies. Jake walks out of the room and William is left alone on the couch.
What am I going to do? I have a life back at home. May not be a great one, but it’s my life. I don’t even know where I am! What am I going to do?
All that could be heard in the deep and vast forest were the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling underneath his feet. He ran and he ran, never slowing down or looking behind himself. The crisp and chilled early November air whistling as his stride broke through it. His black coat waving in his trail, he ran towards a clearing in the distance. As he approached the clearing, he stopped and pulled the hood on his head down so it hung around his neck.
No…this can’t be!
The clearing gave way to three paths, one going straight ahead, one pointing northwest, and the other northeast. Each path was indistinguishable from the other, aside from their direction. He crouched and hung his head, his recently trimmed black hair hanging over his eyes. He let out a long sigh, and stood back up. He walked into the middle of the clearing and looked around, to his right, left, and straight ahead again. He started to walk, deciding to take the straight path, when a bush behind him started to rustle. He couldn’t turn around fast enough, and within a second, flew off his feet and landed face first in the ground before him. He screamed out in agony, as his leg started to form a pool of blood below it. Lying in front of him was a card made of metal, silver by the looks of it, which said;
William.
A masked man approached him as he lied sprawled out on the ground and picked up the card. The man grinned as he read it, and then placed it inside a pocket on the outside of his vest. The last thing William saw was the masked man's gun approaching his face.
Spies Are Among Us
“Dude, you have got to be kidding me! Nobody would be walking around in the forest in a black coat, with their name etched in a piece of metal unless their spies from down south!”
“Come on Jake, the kid didn’t even know which way to go. I highly doubt he’s a spy, especially since he doesn’t have an SSC. How about ‘you ask him yourself? Looks like he’s coming to.”
William started to wake up, slowly opening his eyelids. He tried to wipe his eyes with his hands, but noticed that his right was handcuffed to a pole next to the couch he found himself lying on. William took his left hand, wiped his eyes with it, and turned his head to see two people wearing masks standing by the couch. One was a tall, broad and well built, by the looks of it looked like he was 16. The other was roughly the same, but noticeably shorter than the first. The taller one on the right pulled a pistol out of his holster that was hidden by his long trench coat. He pointed it at William and said;
“Tell us who you’re working for.”
“I…I’m not working for anybody. Please…just let me go,” William said, trying to free himself from the handcuff around his right hand to no avail.
“Look kid, you and I both know that no one walks through those woods in a black coat with a fancy name tag like yours heading for the clearing unless they’re there to find something or someone. Now you can either tell us, or I can shoot you elsewhere,” the man with the gun replied.
“A man approached me back in my home town, he told me to go to the forest, get to the clearing, and wait. So I went, and I waited, and then you BLOODY SHOT ME!” William said, raising his voice. The man with the gun turned towards the shorter man, whispered something in his ear, and turned back to William.
“The man who approached you, his name was Fredrick. He’s a slave trader, sends people places, and has his people kidnap them and sell em’ on the black market. He’s dead now, captured him 2 days ago,” said the shorter man.
“I’m Jake, this here is Michael. We’re with a group called Freedom Corps. Ever since America’s been pushed back into the Dark Ages from the EMP China put out, we’ve been trying to stop the South from coming up to our turf. We’ve got all the oil, and the South’s got…well, nothing really, but I bet you already knew that. You got somewhere to go back to?” Jake inquired, while putting away his gun.
“No…not really. Mom’s dead, Dad’s gone,” William said, his voice cracking from the sad thoughts flooding his head.
“Well then, looks like your gonna be staying here with us,” Michael said, uncuffing William from the pole. William took his right hand and rubbed it with his left where the handcuff was. Michael and Jake then both took of their masks, revealing their faces. Michael shook back his blond hair, revealing a long scar stretching from his left eyebrow down to his lip, probably from a knife from the looks of it. Jake on the other hand had no visible scars and had black hair like William. William left the room, leaving Jake and William alone.
“You’re the new kid around here, try not to start anything. Our mom’s the doctor for the Freedom Corps stop here, her name’s Rose, we’ll get here to check out that bullet wound in your leg. No plumbing, gotta heat the water yourself, food’s cooked out in “The Pit,” the large fire pit in the center of our little town. I can show you around if you want,” Jake said.
“No…no, I’m ok, thanks for the offer. Just give me some time alone,” William replies. Jake walks out of the room and William is left alone on the couch.
What am I going to do? I have a life back at home. May not be a great one, but it’s my life. I don’t even know where I am! What am I going to do?
3.)
Darkness has fallen on the world. Men, women, and children rest gently in dreams that will not be remembered when morning comes. Crickets brazenly chirp as the wind softly whispers through the trees. A rodent squeals in the night before being stifled by the owl that hunts it. As the moon rises and midnight approaches, everything slows to a quiet. There is a sense of serenity to it all, a peaceful and picturesque scene.
That is, until It awakens.
A creature of shadow, it stalks the night when all are unaware of its presence. Those who know it dare not name it. It is Eldest, none remember when it began. It slides through the night, not making a sound to break the silence. The moon is full, but no light reflects off of the rough and torn scales on its black skin. The urge to kill rises as it sees a quaint house in the fields. As it approaches it hears the quiet murmurs of sleep emanating from those who dwell within. Its mouth opens into what may have once been a smile, showing a myriad of broken teeth, still razor sharp. Deftly it slithers over to the door. Seeing that the door is old and rusting over, it spits in disgust and glides over to the nearest window. It raises a clawed hand to the glass and slowly traces a circle with one of its fingers. The hunter presses softly on one of the sides of the circle and it turns with a soft screech, leaving an opening. It hesitates, not breathing for fear that it has been discovered. One of the men in the house turns over in his bed, snoring loudly. The creature sneers widely as it removes the glass circle from the rest of the window and sets it gently in the grass. Clearly the fools within have lived a peaceful life, no fear of being hunted as many creatures are in the night. How long had this creature been asleep that none remembered to fear it?
The creature straightens itself out and lets the many spines on its back and tail lie flat. Compacting itself, it launches itself through the hole, neatly fitting through. Its claws extend and it catches itself on the wooden floor with little sound. The wood creaks slightly as it steps forward and it curses itself. Clearly it had been a long time since it had hunted in this manner. It slides across the floor, its red eyes reflecting little light, but nevertheless holding an intense and piercing gaze. The door swings open as it leaps into the bedroom, no longer needing its stealth. Its prey realizes they are not alone. Their eyes flutter open in horror as it descends upon them. Not even given a chance to scream, they die swiftly and silently. The hunter seems to smile again, and it lets itself make sound once again. Its breath is ragged and uneven, and steam emanates from its mouth every time it exhales. No longer does it need to be silent.
Once it has finished with its new found meal, it slithers up onto the roof. It rears up onto its hind legs, spines uncurling from its back and tail again, and spreading its arms wide it lets forth a piercing, eerie blood cry. Birds scatter from the trees, and animals tear through the brush, trying to flee from the source of the sound. The creature’s mouth breaks open into a hideous grin as it relishes in its return. Soon all would learn to fear the night. Its hunger could never be satiated long ago. It has wakened from an age-old sleep.
The hunt now begins.
That is, until It awakens.
A creature of shadow, it stalks the night when all are unaware of its presence. Those who know it dare not name it. It is Eldest, none remember when it began. It slides through the night, not making a sound to break the silence. The moon is full, but no light reflects off of the rough and torn scales on its black skin. The urge to kill rises as it sees a quaint house in the fields. As it approaches it hears the quiet murmurs of sleep emanating from those who dwell within. Its mouth opens into what may have once been a smile, showing a myriad of broken teeth, still razor sharp. Deftly it slithers over to the door. Seeing that the door is old and rusting over, it spits in disgust and glides over to the nearest window. It raises a clawed hand to the glass and slowly traces a circle with one of its fingers. The hunter presses softly on one of the sides of the circle and it turns with a soft screech, leaving an opening. It hesitates, not breathing for fear that it has been discovered. One of the men in the house turns over in his bed, snoring loudly. The creature sneers widely as it removes the glass circle from the rest of the window and sets it gently in the grass. Clearly the fools within have lived a peaceful life, no fear of being hunted as many creatures are in the night. How long had this creature been asleep that none remembered to fear it?
The creature straightens itself out and lets the many spines on its back and tail lie flat. Compacting itself, it launches itself through the hole, neatly fitting through. Its claws extend and it catches itself on the wooden floor with little sound. The wood creaks slightly as it steps forward and it curses itself. Clearly it had been a long time since it had hunted in this manner. It slides across the floor, its red eyes reflecting little light, but nevertheless holding an intense and piercing gaze. The door swings open as it leaps into the bedroom, no longer needing its stealth. Its prey realizes they are not alone. Their eyes flutter open in horror as it descends upon them. Not even given a chance to scream, they die swiftly and silently. The hunter seems to smile again, and it lets itself make sound once again. Its breath is ragged and uneven, and steam emanates from its mouth every time it exhales. No longer does it need to be silent.
Once it has finished with its new found meal, it slithers up onto the roof. It rears up onto its hind legs, spines uncurling from its back and tail again, and spreading its arms wide it lets forth a piercing, eerie blood cry. Birds scatter from the trees, and animals tear through the brush, trying to flee from the source of the sound. The creature’s mouth breaks open into a hideous grin as it relishes in its return. Soon all would learn to fear the night. Its hunger could never be satiated long ago. It has wakened from an age-old sleep.
The hunt now begins.
4.)
The streets of Alabaster were all but abandoned this evening as my patrolmen’s squad made our rounds through the city. Night workmen diligently lit torches as the waning hours of twilight gave into the blackness of night, and merchants finished closing up their shops for the day.
Renowned as the most secure town in the kingdom of Aros, Alabaster stood as an impenetrable fortress of stone and brick amidst what was otherwise endless fields. The city itself had been constructed around a central prefecture wherein the late Duke Drakon’s family resided and expanded out to a virtual circumference of nine miles. At that border, though, there was a massive wall that had been constructed over the past century to help protect us from foreign invaders; truly there could be no better symbol of our might, prosperity, and civilized order.
In recent times, it seems, however, that our way of life has become threatened from within. The crime rate had always been low until rumors of gangs organizing in the southern district caused panic and riots amongst our denizens. For this reason, we members of the Royal Guard were now assigned to patrol all nooks and crannies of it. Tonight, my squadron was ordered to investigate mysterious gatherings at a local tavern in the neighborhood.
“Jason,” the captain beckoned me as my five-man patrol approached the shanty redbrick building with a roof that sloped to one side.
“Yes, sir?” I responded as I went up to him posthaste.
Clad in a full suit of armor (complete with a iron chest plate, matching helmet, and a loose-fitting chain mail garb), Captain Alphonse Richardson was a hardy man who stood tall at a height of six-foot-seven. He had a full beard and head of thick russet hair. His stern hazel eyes remained focused on me as the group halted before the entrance to the pub.
“Take this pouch and hide it,” he stated, handing over a small black sack, “I don’t like the air of this place.” I knew immediately that it was his moneybag, but why give it to me when we’d need it for beverages.
Opening the door, the captain looked inside to see the place occupied by some ten or so patrons aside from the innkeeper polishing glasses at the bar stand. The costumers appeared all cutthroats and roughnecks wearing slightly tattered cloths, and at least half of them had sheathed knives on their belts with the rest likely hiding weapons on themselves elsewhere. Before entering completely, I slipped the sack into the shirt under my chain-mail vest since I now understood why the captain gave me it.
The tenants eyeing me in particular, I held my hand on the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it at any moment. Likewise, the other soldiers in the squad kept watchful eyes on the potential thieves. Frankly, it was good we all were trained under Alphonse’s command or we might be in trouble if a squabble were to ensue.
“Roderick, old friend!” the captain greeted the bartender with a wide grin.
“Alphonse, you old dog! How have you been?” the robust gent replied, his sheepskin clothes stretching as the middle-aged man chuckled and reached out his hand in greeting.
Grabbing each other’s wrists, they shook and Alphonse said, “Quite well. How’s about a round of beverages for my men?”
The captain then dropped three gold coins on the table. Immediately, the barkeeper took one of them and bit it with a canine tooth. Afterwards, he nodded, set out five mugs for us, and finally grabbed a bottle of ale from the shelf behind him to fill them with.
Each of the twenty-something-year-old soldiers in our group, including myself, took hold of our glasses and raised them for ‘cheers’ at the captain’s treat. Then we all began to drink them to our hearts content while the two friends talked.
Listening in on them, Captain Alphonse whispered, “So what information can you provide me on that group over there?”
“Aye, those be the men you were asking about before…” the barkeeper replied.
“As I thought,” our leader responded, scratching his beard.
Glancing to the other side of the room, the gang of roughnecks had suddenly moved away from us. However, rather than making a run for it, it seemed more that they were interested in starting a card game amongst each other and wanted privacy.
“You there! Boy!” one of them suddenly called, pointing straight at me. He looked to be a steely-eyed man in his mid-thirties, with a powerful muscle build and generally tall appearance. Sitting on the far side of the table he was at, though, his men had to move off to the side to make it clear he was beckoning me and not another of the young guards.
I replied, “Me?”
“Yeah, you! Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t think so…”
“No, there’s no mistaking it. You’re Delilah’s boy, Jason!” I gulped down a hard swallow of my drink. How did this man know my mother and, even more so, me?
“Get over here and talk with me for a minute, will ya?” he then demanded. Setting down my beverage, I slowly started to walk towards the group of men, but kept my hand on my sword’s hilt. If they were going to start trouble for me, I was letting know I wouldn’t be taken down without a fight.
As I approached the gentleman, I started to recognize him quite a bit. He had a brutish scar on his cheek and a familiar cowlick in his pitch-black hair. Then it occurred to me that this man was…
Renowned as the most secure town in the kingdom of Aros, Alabaster stood as an impenetrable fortress of stone and brick amidst what was otherwise endless fields. The city itself had been constructed around a central prefecture wherein the late Duke Drakon’s family resided and expanded out to a virtual circumference of nine miles. At that border, though, there was a massive wall that had been constructed over the past century to help protect us from foreign invaders; truly there could be no better symbol of our might, prosperity, and civilized order.
In recent times, it seems, however, that our way of life has become threatened from within. The crime rate had always been low until rumors of gangs organizing in the southern district caused panic and riots amongst our denizens. For this reason, we members of the Royal Guard were now assigned to patrol all nooks and crannies of it. Tonight, my squadron was ordered to investigate mysterious gatherings at a local tavern in the neighborhood.
“Jason,” the captain beckoned me as my five-man patrol approached the shanty redbrick building with a roof that sloped to one side.
“Yes, sir?” I responded as I went up to him posthaste.
Clad in a full suit of armor (complete with a iron chest plate, matching helmet, and a loose-fitting chain mail garb), Captain Alphonse Richardson was a hardy man who stood tall at a height of six-foot-seven. He had a full beard and head of thick russet hair. His stern hazel eyes remained focused on me as the group halted before the entrance to the pub.
“Take this pouch and hide it,” he stated, handing over a small black sack, “I don’t like the air of this place.” I knew immediately that it was his moneybag, but why give it to me when we’d need it for beverages.
Opening the door, the captain looked inside to see the place occupied by some ten or so patrons aside from the innkeeper polishing glasses at the bar stand. The costumers appeared all cutthroats and roughnecks wearing slightly tattered cloths, and at least half of them had sheathed knives on their belts with the rest likely hiding weapons on themselves elsewhere. Before entering completely, I slipped the sack into the shirt under my chain-mail vest since I now understood why the captain gave me it.
The tenants eyeing me in particular, I held my hand on the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it at any moment. Likewise, the other soldiers in the squad kept watchful eyes on the potential thieves. Frankly, it was good we all were trained under Alphonse’s command or we might be in trouble if a squabble were to ensue.
“Roderick, old friend!” the captain greeted the bartender with a wide grin.
“Alphonse, you old dog! How have you been?” the robust gent replied, his sheepskin clothes stretching as the middle-aged man chuckled and reached out his hand in greeting.
Grabbing each other’s wrists, they shook and Alphonse said, “Quite well. How’s about a round of beverages for my men?”
The captain then dropped three gold coins on the table. Immediately, the barkeeper took one of them and bit it with a canine tooth. Afterwards, he nodded, set out five mugs for us, and finally grabbed a bottle of ale from the shelf behind him to fill them with.
Each of the twenty-something-year-old soldiers in our group, including myself, took hold of our glasses and raised them for ‘cheers’ at the captain’s treat. Then we all began to drink them to our hearts content while the two friends talked.
Listening in on them, Captain Alphonse whispered, “So what information can you provide me on that group over there?”
“Aye, those be the men you were asking about before…” the barkeeper replied.
“As I thought,” our leader responded, scratching his beard.
Glancing to the other side of the room, the gang of roughnecks had suddenly moved away from us. However, rather than making a run for it, it seemed more that they were interested in starting a card game amongst each other and wanted privacy.
“You there! Boy!” one of them suddenly called, pointing straight at me. He looked to be a steely-eyed man in his mid-thirties, with a powerful muscle build and generally tall appearance. Sitting on the far side of the table he was at, though, his men had to move off to the side to make it clear he was beckoning me and not another of the young guards.
I replied, “Me?”
“Yeah, you! Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t think so…”
“No, there’s no mistaking it. You’re Delilah’s boy, Jason!” I gulped down a hard swallow of my drink. How did this man know my mother and, even more so, me?
“Get over here and talk with me for a minute, will ya?” he then demanded. Setting down my beverage, I slowly started to walk towards the group of men, but kept my hand on my sword’s hilt. If they were going to start trouble for me, I was letting know I wouldn’t be taken down without a fight.
As I approached the gentleman, I started to recognize him quite a bit. He had a brutish scar on his cheek and a familiar cowlick in his pitch-black hair. Then it occurred to me that this man was…
5.)
Ivory snow briskly waltzed upon a malevolent wind, its vicious caress accompanying the frantic plight of a creature traversing the harrowing wilderness. Its orange visage provided a burst of colour amidst the obsidian wild, the thatched canopy infecting the cinereal sky with its tangled black veins. The human struggled against the alabaster maelstrom, aimlessly manoeuvring betwixt hedgerows sheathed in frost. He tenderly clutched his shirt, orange fabric scrunched between frantic, trembling fingers.
“I can't believe it!” Victor Reinhardt gasped, his russet irises shimmering with vibrant zeal, “I...I just escaped from prison!” Victor was in complete disbelief, clawing at his unkempt mane to retrieve fragments of his fractured memory. He could no longer comprehend precisely how his escape transpired, nor under what circumstances. His subconscious had eradicated his memory, including who he had aided – and who he had abandoned. The convict delivered a malicious grin, regret for his depravity nonexistent in his jaded heart. An abrupt loneliness usurped his sinful reverie, a strand of wind grazing his gaunt jaw with a frigid breath. Victor suddenly realized that he was the last survivor – the prey.
A hauntingly feral howl lingered in the wintry twilight hour, a chaotic symphony of barks and snarls answering the ghostly cry. The convict clumsily slid upon the snow, glissading smoothly until his boot snared a protruding root. Victor was violently thrown asunder, smashing his back against an elderly elm. Gossamer snowflakes sprinkled onto his tousled crown, lightly embellishing his sable tresses in delicate crystal décor. Victor apprehensively yielded to bittersweet silence, breathlessly listening to his bestial pursuers. 'Wolves...?' Victor inwardly mused, his calculating gaze broken by a bewildering epiphany. 'Guard dogs...!' Victory silently gasped, his ghostly façade blanched by complete terror. The criminal awkwardly clambered into an unsteady position, his legs quivering with unadulterated adrenaline. He vigilantly observed the wintry glade, hypnotized by a pair of gleaming emerald orbs eclipsed by the onslaught of snow. A silhouette skulked beyond the midnight veil, its low snarl accentuated by a myriad of curved fangs. Victor froze, his heart thrumming as he fixated his gaze upon a massive dog. The canine aggressively launched itself against the snowstorm, its claws striking the frozen earth with a feverish gait.
“Sh*t...!” Victor instinctively began to run, his slender legs ploughing through the snow as the crosswind ravaged his left side. The dog swiftly pursued its quarry, its jowls snapping vigorously at every explosion of crystalline powder. Victor precariously descended a slippery slope, navigating the cliff until it diverged into a river. Its scintillating surface was broken into glacial fragments, thin shelves of ice clinging to the meandering shoreline. The criminal hesitantly leapt into the freezing stream, its sapphire crests hungrily licking his ankles. Victor trudged against the thick slew of ice, the chill making his teeth chatter like passionate castanets. Ice flows scrimmaged against his slender body, fetid debris prodding his thighs like pitchforks. Victor glimpsed backward, his stomach twisting in braided knots as he watched the dog splice the river with its pointed snout.
“You don't give up easily, do you?” Victor grumbled sourly, embittered by its resolve. The convict delivered a perverse sneer, reluctant to surrender to an insensate animal. Instead, he swiftly manoeuvred within the icy labyrinth, conquering the sprightly current with renewed vigour. Victor quickly arrived at the shoreline, dragging his drenched body out of the cobalt tide. The cliff was short albeit incredibly steep, carved into a masterpiece of vertical perfection. Victor suddenly recognized four jubilant splashes piercing the blizzard, reluctantly acknowledging that four guard dogs had reunited with their dominant forerunner. Victor quivered in panic, his eyes scrutinizing the escarpment for evidence of a miracle. 'Please...please give me something to - !' His swarthy gaze suddenly caught the silhouette of a serpentine root, its pronged tip like the forked tongue of a snake. Victor couldn't believe his devilish luck; it was a paradoxical albeit coveted miracle. The convict quickly accepted his debauched serendipity, grasping the thick root and hoisting his weight up the incline. The dogs viciously clawed up the rocky beach, swarming menacingly underneath his dangling body like ravenous piranha. Vicious jaws hungrily snapped at his ankles, each succession nudging closer to his foot. Victor flinched as his grip began to weaken, his fingertips sliding down the gnarled root. 'Damn...!' Victor tightly shut his eyes, 'This is the end...'
A hand suddenly snatched his wrist, wrenching his bones with a seething bite. Victor eyed the paranormal hand extending from beyond the precipice, his heart grinding to a halt. A hand just came out of nowhere. Victor screamed, wildly thrashing against the unknown vice. The mysterious entity swiftly dragged him over the bank, roughly shoving him into the snow. Victor smashed his skull on a jagged rock, rendering him semiconscious as his vision swirled with ambiguity. His perception slowly returned, languidly glancing to his saviour. Victor flinched, his breath snagging inside his throat. 'Am I hallucinating...?' Victor vigorously rubbed his eyes. The criminal mindlessly gawked at his companion, unable to avert his stare.
The man looked exactly like him.
The enigmatic entity possessed a sable mane, its wavy style perfectly mimicking his own. Victor noticed the mysterious man smirking wolfishly, his gaze possessing the same russet hue threaded within his own eyes. Victor was speechless. 'His eyes...his face...! This isn't possible! I don't have a twin. I don't even have a brother!' Victor watched in horror as the man advanced towards him like a paranormal doppelgänger, the swarthy glower tracking his every move. Victor cowered against an oak tree, pawing the bark aimlessly in the midst of the chaos.
“Who...what are you?!” Victor screamed. The uncanny replica nonchalantly shrugged, boasting his presence with a standoffish demeanour.
“I'm Victor Reinhardt.”
“Impossible...!” Victor whispered breathlessly, “I'm Victor Reinhardt!”
“I can't believe it!” Victor Reinhardt gasped, his russet irises shimmering with vibrant zeal, “I...I just escaped from prison!” Victor was in complete disbelief, clawing at his unkempt mane to retrieve fragments of his fractured memory. He could no longer comprehend precisely how his escape transpired, nor under what circumstances. His subconscious had eradicated his memory, including who he had aided – and who he had abandoned. The convict delivered a malicious grin, regret for his depravity nonexistent in his jaded heart. An abrupt loneliness usurped his sinful reverie, a strand of wind grazing his gaunt jaw with a frigid breath. Victor suddenly realized that he was the last survivor – the prey.
A hauntingly feral howl lingered in the wintry twilight hour, a chaotic symphony of barks and snarls answering the ghostly cry. The convict clumsily slid upon the snow, glissading smoothly until his boot snared a protruding root. Victor was violently thrown asunder, smashing his back against an elderly elm. Gossamer snowflakes sprinkled onto his tousled crown, lightly embellishing his sable tresses in delicate crystal décor. Victor apprehensively yielded to bittersweet silence, breathlessly listening to his bestial pursuers. 'Wolves...?' Victor inwardly mused, his calculating gaze broken by a bewildering epiphany. 'Guard dogs...!' Victory silently gasped, his ghostly façade blanched by complete terror. The criminal awkwardly clambered into an unsteady position, his legs quivering with unadulterated adrenaline. He vigilantly observed the wintry glade, hypnotized by a pair of gleaming emerald orbs eclipsed by the onslaught of snow. A silhouette skulked beyond the midnight veil, its low snarl accentuated by a myriad of curved fangs. Victor froze, his heart thrumming as he fixated his gaze upon a massive dog. The canine aggressively launched itself against the snowstorm, its claws striking the frozen earth with a feverish gait.
“Sh*t...!” Victor instinctively began to run, his slender legs ploughing through the snow as the crosswind ravaged his left side. The dog swiftly pursued its quarry, its jowls snapping vigorously at every explosion of crystalline powder. Victor precariously descended a slippery slope, navigating the cliff until it diverged into a river. Its scintillating surface was broken into glacial fragments, thin shelves of ice clinging to the meandering shoreline. The criminal hesitantly leapt into the freezing stream, its sapphire crests hungrily licking his ankles. Victor trudged against the thick slew of ice, the chill making his teeth chatter like passionate castanets. Ice flows scrimmaged against his slender body, fetid debris prodding his thighs like pitchforks. Victor glimpsed backward, his stomach twisting in braided knots as he watched the dog splice the river with its pointed snout.
“You don't give up easily, do you?” Victor grumbled sourly, embittered by its resolve. The convict delivered a perverse sneer, reluctant to surrender to an insensate animal. Instead, he swiftly manoeuvred within the icy labyrinth, conquering the sprightly current with renewed vigour. Victor quickly arrived at the shoreline, dragging his drenched body out of the cobalt tide. The cliff was short albeit incredibly steep, carved into a masterpiece of vertical perfection. Victor suddenly recognized four jubilant splashes piercing the blizzard, reluctantly acknowledging that four guard dogs had reunited with their dominant forerunner. Victor quivered in panic, his eyes scrutinizing the escarpment for evidence of a miracle. 'Please...please give me something to - !' His swarthy gaze suddenly caught the silhouette of a serpentine root, its pronged tip like the forked tongue of a snake. Victor couldn't believe his devilish luck; it was a paradoxical albeit coveted miracle. The convict quickly accepted his debauched serendipity, grasping the thick root and hoisting his weight up the incline. The dogs viciously clawed up the rocky beach, swarming menacingly underneath his dangling body like ravenous piranha. Vicious jaws hungrily snapped at his ankles, each succession nudging closer to his foot. Victor flinched as his grip began to weaken, his fingertips sliding down the gnarled root. 'Damn...!' Victor tightly shut his eyes, 'This is the end...'
A hand suddenly snatched his wrist, wrenching his bones with a seething bite. Victor eyed the paranormal hand extending from beyond the precipice, his heart grinding to a halt. A hand just came out of nowhere. Victor screamed, wildly thrashing against the unknown vice. The mysterious entity swiftly dragged him over the bank, roughly shoving him into the snow. Victor smashed his skull on a jagged rock, rendering him semiconscious as his vision swirled with ambiguity. His perception slowly returned, languidly glancing to his saviour. Victor flinched, his breath snagging inside his throat. 'Am I hallucinating...?' Victor vigorously rubbed his eyes. The criminal mindlessly gawked at his companion, unable to avert his stare.
The man looked exactly like him.
The enigmatic entity possessed a sable mane, its wavy style perfectly mimicking his own. Victor noticed the mysterious man smirking wolfishly, his gaze possessing the same russet hue threaded within his own eyes. Victor was speechless. 'His eyes...his face...! This isn't possible! I don't have a twin. I don't even have a brother!' Victor watched in horror as the man advanced towards him like a paranormal doppelgänger, the swarthy glower tracking his every move. Victor cowered against an oak tree, pawing the bark aimlessly in the midst of the chaos.
“Who...what are you?!” Victor screamed. The uncanny replica nonchalantly shrugged, boasting his presence with a standoffish demeanour.
“I'm Victor Reinhardt.”
“Impossible...!” Victor whispered breathlessly, “I'm Victor Reinhardt!”
6.)
Chapter One: The Astronaut
My name is Erich Volker. I don’t know what this place is or how I get here, but my selective memory is so vivid. This is what I remember:
October 8th, 2020
I looked myself in the mirror. Today was the day I would become, at least what my father would consider, a man. But what I saw was not a man.
I wore a blue suit, with very thin streaks of black running vertically down it, along with matching pants. I wore a tight black tie, along with an old-fashioned hat from the 1940s, which had been passed down from my father’s grandfather to my father to me.
My face was wrinkled, torn with disbelief. I was living someone else’s life. My father could never become an astronaut. He would always say he was not smart enough or he missed his opportunity, but those were just excuses. The man wanted to live a life of riches, where he could disregard the crying pains of those around him. He could never dedicate himself to something that was beyond himself. So he lived the life he never had, through me.
Nevertheless, it was time for me to face the truth. There was no point in throwing away my whole life just when I had reached the pinnacle of it. And so it’s time I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. It’s time I become a man.
Someone knocked on the door to my prep room. “One minute, Erich,” the man said.
I looked back in the mirror. I took a long look at who I was. Because when I come back, I may never be the same man again. I picked up my family photo and cherished it in my hand. I will be the man my father never was.
I turned around and left the room. I walked down the narrow hallways of an office. I passed countless rooms on my way to the second preparation room, until I finally reached my destination. I knocked on the door once, twice, three times, until I was greeted with a bear hug.
The chubby man stood before me with a half-happy, half-drunk smile. He had a lit cigar stuffed in his mouth, which was why the room was filled with smoke. I did not return the hug, simply accepted it. I shook the man’s hand politely and took a seat. He poured me a glass of whiskey, but I wouldn’t dare touch it at such a serious meeting.
“My name is Arnold von Clausewitz, head director of the German Space Program. I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” he said cockily. “But anyways, I’m here to show you the astronaut suit that you will be using in your moon mission.”
The man pressed a button under his desk. The side of the wall opened up to reveal a curtain. Clausewitz walked up to the curtains and opened them violently. Behind the curtains was the astronaut suit. To Erich, it was just a standard suit, but Arnold went on to explain the special features it had. I tuned most of his talking out, just nodded my head and gave a smile every now and then. But finally, he asked me a question. “Would you like to try on the helmet?” He placed it over my head, and that’s all I remember from that day.
October 29th, 2021
It began with me taking off my helmet, inside the spacecraft already landed on the moon. My most trusted partner, Curt Loesecke, came up from behind me and led me to the control room. A message was on the screen that read: “Collect moon samples.”
My heart raced with excitement. It was the first time I would ever step outside of the spacecraft. Curt led me to the changing room. He personally prepared the gear for me. All I had to do was put it on. I quickly changed into the astronaut suit and put on my helmet. An electronic interface activated as soon as I put on my helmet. It told me all the information I needed to know about my oxygen supply and current health. It had automatically activated sunlight protectors. “Look how far we’ve come,” I told Curt. He patted me on the back and we made our way to the exit.
Several minutes had passed, but finally, I was stepping down the stairs. I placed my first step on the surface and my body exploded from joy, but at the same time, I felt so vulnerable, so alone. If anything was to happen to me, I would be dead nearly instantly. The possibilities raced through my mind, but I trudged forward.
I looked straight at the ground as I hopped around, searching for interesting samples to take back to Earth. About twenty minutes into the search, I found a mysterious glowing-green rock, which I placed in a container with all the other samples. Suddenly, I felt a strange ripple flow through my body.
I looked up straight in front of me, only to see another astronaut staring right back at me. His suit had an American flag plastered on it. Mine had a German flag. I was struck with horror. Was this some sort of sick joke? I nearly barfed in my mouth, but the horror had only begun. The man pulled up the first sun shield. All that was between the man and the sun was the regular visor.
His face was deformed. It had cuts and bruises all over it, along with scaly bumps. One of his eyes was on his right cheek, while the other was on the left side of his forehead. He held some sort of gun in his hand, which he slowly raised and pointed at me. I looked back at the spacecraft, but what caught my eye could not have been more dreadful. Several tiny meteors were headed straight for me. And that’s when everything went black.
My name is Erich Volker. I don’t know what this place is or how I get here, but my selective memory is so vivid. This is what I remember:
October 8th, 2020
I looked myself in the mirror. Today was the day I would become, at least what my father would consider, a man. But what I saw was not a man.
I wore a blue suit, with very thin streaks of black running vertically down it, along with matching pants. I wore a tight black tie, along with an old-fashioned hat from the 1940s, which had been passed down from my father’s grandfather to my father to me.
My face was wrinkled, torn with disbelief. I was living someone else’s life. My father could never become an astronaut. He would always say he was not smart enough or he missed his opportunity, but those were just excuses. The man wanted to live a life of riches, where he could disregard the crying pains of those around him. He could never dedicate himself to something that was beyond himself. So he lived the life he never had, through me.
Nevertheless, it was time for me to face the truth. There was no point in throwing away my whole life just when I had reached the pinnacle of it. And so it’s time I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. It’s time I become a man.
Someone knocked on the door to my prep room. “One minute, Erich,” the man said.
I looked back in the mirror. I took a long look at who I was. Because when I come back, I may never be the same man again. I picked up my family photo and cherished it in my hand. I will be the man my father never was.
I turned around and left the room. I walked down the narrow hallways of an office. I passed countless rooms on my way to the second preparation room, until I finally reached my destination. I knocked on the door once, twice, three times, until I was greeted with a bear hug.
The chubby man stood before me with a half-happy, half-drunk smile. He had a lit cigar stuffed in his mouth, which was why the room was filled with smoke. I did not return the hug, simply accepted it. I shook the man’s hand politely and took a seat. He poured me a glass of whiskey, but I wouldn’t dare touch it at such a serious meeting.
“My name is Arnold von Clausewitz, head director of the German Space Program. I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” he said cockily. “But anyways, I’m here to show you the astronaut suit that you will be using in your moon mission.”
The man pressed a button under his desk. The side of the wall opened up to reveal a curtain. Clausewitz walked up to the curtains and opened them violently. Behind the curtains was the astronaut suit. To Erich, it was just a standard suit, but Arnold went on to explain the special features it had. I tuned most of his talking out, just nodded my head and gave a smile every now and then. But finally, he asked me a question. “Would you like to try on the helmet?” He placed it over my head, and that’s all I remember from that day.
October 29th, 2021
It began with me taking off my helmet, inside the spacecraft already landed on the moon. My most trusted partner, Curt Loesecke, came up from behind me and led me to the control room. A message was on the screen that read: “Collect moon samples.”
My heart raced with excitement. It was the first time I would ever step outside of the spacecraft. Curt led me to the changing room. He personally prepared the gear for me. All I had to do was put it on. I quickly changed into the astronaut suit and put on my helmet. An electronic interface activated as soon as I put on my helmet. It told me all the information I needed to know about my oxygen supply and current health. It had automatically activated sunlight protectors. “Look how far we’ve come,” I told Curt. He patted me on the back and we made our way to the exit.
Several minutes had passed, but finally, I was stepping down the stairs. I placed my first step on the surface and my body exploded from joy, but at the same time, I felt so vulnerable, so alone. If anything was to happen to me, I would be dead nearly instantly. The possibilities raced through my mind, but I trudged forward.
I looked straight at the ground as I hopped around, searching for interesting samples to take back to Earth. About twenty minutes into the search, I found a mysterious glowing-green rock, which I placed in a container with all the other samples. Suddenly, I felt a strange ripple flow through my body.
I looked up straight in front of me, only to see another astronaut staring right back at me. His suit had an American flag plastered on it. Mine had a German flag. I was struck with horror. Was this some sort of sick joke? I nearly barfed in my mouth, but the horror had only begun. The man pulled up the first sun shield. All that was between the man and the sun was the regular visor.
His face was deformed. It had cuts and bruises all over it, along with scaly bumps. One of his eyes was on his right cheek, while the other was on the left side of his forehead. He held some sort of gun in his hand, which he slowly raised and pointed at me. I looked back at the spacecraft, but what caught my eye could not have been more dreadful. Several tiny meteors were headed straight for me. And that’s when everything went black.
7.)
A large crimson arachnid crawled up through the tunnel, its violet and yellow striped legs grasping the dirt. Upon reaching the upper world, it turned back and waited for its squad. As if on cue, thirteen yellow spiders, considerably smaller than the red one, leaped out, squeaking in excitement. As soon as they touched down, the leader took off, sprinting away. The small fuzzy ones leaped behind it. The moonlight shown down upon the leader’s back, upon which there was a design that appeared to be a face.
The spiders scuttled through the brush, ignoring any creature that was still awake at the late hour. The red spider knew where he was going. He had a very specific target, a mission given to him by his commander in the colony. After leaving the wooded area and zooming across a grassy field, they reached the house. It was a deep brown color and far apart from the neighboring houses.
Luckily, the first window they checked was open. The leader swiftly climbed up the wall and into the open window. It scanned the room it entered. A medium sized kitchen, no sign of life inside of it. The red spider spewed a ball of silk out of the window with precision, a signal to his followers. Within seconds, all thirteen spiders leapt into the house, squeaking with delight. The red one jabbed a long leg into the side of the nearest spider, a warning to stay silent. The red one shut the window with his front legs and got ready to begin.
They sneaked through the still house, a mob of golden spiders following the large scarlet one. The red one knew where he was going, and abruptly stopped at the second door on the right.
“Ariados!!” it cried. Its fangs glowed a bright purple color. With one powerful movement, it sunk its teeth into the door. He threw his head to the side and a large chunk of wood flew out of the door. A hole was left in the door, large enough for the big spider to comfortably crawl through. The smaller ones jumped around in joy.
The bright red spider entered the room first, yellow ones following. Upon making its way to the bed in the center of the room, the leader crawled up the post of the bed. After making it up there, the yellow arachnids leaped up onto the bed. The red one made its way to the center of the bed, where a body lay.
She was a female of average build. She had long, wavy black hair. Her pale lips matched her pale complexion. The Ariados silently crept to her pillow and spit a string out, covering the woman’s mouth.
“Dos,” he ordered the herd of spiders. They nodded in agreement and prepared to jump.
“Joltiiiiik!” They squeaked gleefully as they leapt into the air, covering the woman’s body with electrified webs, temporarily paralyzing her. One spider, the smallest, missed the sleeping woman and hit a picture on her nightstand. Two boys who appeared to be young teenagers were on the portrait when I was one. They were all smiling, frozen in the past.
The red spider nodded at the golden spiders, admiring their work. The Ariados spun a few more webs around the woman, binding her tightly. The leader made a command and every small spider shot a web at the woman, ready to pull her back to their colony. The red one climbed to the window and opened it, wide enough to fit the woman. The leader made another command and all of the yellow ones leaped out of the window, dragging the woman with them. The red one shut the window and joined them in pulling the woman across the field back to the woods. The leader didn’t glance back at the window, where the 13th spider, the smallest, was trapped inside the house, crying at the herd.
While they were carrying the woman through the moonlit night, a successful thought crossed the leader’s mind.
“She will make the perfect queen.”
The spiders scuttled through the brush, ignoring any creature that was still awake at the late hour. The red spider knew where he was going. He had a very specific target, a mission given to him by his commander in the colony. After leaving the wooded area and zooming across a grassy field, they reached the house. It was a deep brown color and far apart from the neighboring houses.
Luckily, the first window they checked was open. The leader swiftly climbed up the wall and into the open window. It scanned the room it entered. A medium sized kitchen, no sign of life inside of it. The red spider spewed a ball of silk out of the window with precision, a signal to his followers. Within seconds, all thirteen spiders leapt into the house, squeaking with delight. The red one jabbed a long leg into the side of the nearest spider, a warning to stay silent. The red one shut the window with his front legs and got ready to begin.
They sneaked through the still house, a mob of golden spiders following the large scarlet one. The red one knew where he was going, and abruptly stopped at the second door on the right.
“Ariados!!” it cried. Its fangs glowed a bright purple color. With one powerful movement, it sunk its teeth into the door. He threw his head to the side and a large chunk of wood flew out of the door. A hole was left in the door, large enough for the big spider to comfortably crawl through. The smaller ones jumped around in joy.
The bright red spider entered the room first, yellow ones following. Upon making its way to the bed in the center of the room, the leader crawled up the post of the bed. After making it up there, the yellow arachnids leaped up onto the bed. The red one made its way to the center of the bed, where a body lay.
She was a female of average build. She had long, wavy black hair. Her pale lips matched her pale complexion. The Ariados silently crept to her pillow and spit a string out, covering the woman’s mouth.
“Dos,” he ordered the herd of spiders. They nodded in agreement and prepared to jump.
“Joltiiiiik!” They squeaked gleefully as they leapt into the air, covering the woman’s body with electrified webs, temporarily paralyzing her. One spider, the smallest, missed the sleeping woman and hit a picture on her nightstand. Two boys who appeared to be young teenagers were on the portrait when I was one. They were all smiling, frozen in the past.
The red spider nodded at the golden spiders, admiring their work. The Ariados spun a few more webs around the woman, binding her tightly. The leader made a command and every small spider shot a web at the woman, ready to pull her back to their colony. The red one climbed to the window and opened it, wide enough to fit the woman. The leader made another command and all of the yellow ones leaped out of the window, dragging the woman with them. The red one shut the window and joined them in pulling the woman across the field back to the woods. The leader didn’t glance back at the window, where the 13th spider, the smallest, was trapped inside the house, crying at the herd.
While they were carrying the woman through the moonlit night, a successful thought crossed the leader’s mind.
“She will make the perfect queen.”
8.)
Panic engulfed the Shinx's senses as it woke up, startled from its afternoon nap by the sound from some sort of explosion downstairs. It quickly looked around the room and realized its trainer wasn't around. Gravely concerned about what happened, it dashed out into the hallway and down the stairs, stopping with shock as it saw the scene of destruction: the entire living room was set ablaze, fire and smoke consuming most of what was in sight. The entrance door was knocked down off its hinges. Standing boldly on it was an alternatively-colored Charizard, a red scarf tied around its neck and a leather pouch hung around its black scales, reflecting the light of the flames dancing around it. Laying on the ground in front of it was a human girl that the Shinx knew all too well, her eyes open and blankly staring at nothing, her head turned at an unnatural angle.
"What..." the Shinx started, having trouble speaking as a torrent of various emotions swelled up within him. "Wh-what have you done?!" he forced out, growling. The stun of surprise was wearing off and giving way to a rage that ignited within him. The Charizard condescendingly looked down at the electric pup, considering him to be much more of a nuisance than a threat.
"I've done all I needed to do. The world shall soon be purged of those wicked beings in due time. Dare to get in my way and I shall not hesitate to render you harmless," the Charizard calmly responded, self-justified in its actions. It had finished his task, it no longer needed to be here, and it thus began to leave, turning around to leave the desolation he bestowed upon the house. However, the Shinx wasn't going to let the intruder off the hook so easily.
"Murderer!" it cried, sparks of electricity discharging from its cheeks as a sign of its lust for revenge. The Charizard stopped in its departure and turned around to confirm that the Shinx was serious in its challenge.
"For the Liberation," it said as the Shinx charged forward...
A morning sun woke him up, blinding him. He groaned, instinctively covering his face to shield from the sunshine. Pain, numbness, confusion... he couldn't even remember that fight. Nothing made sense. Who was that Charizard? How could he have done such horrible things? Why was he still alive? What was he going to do now that he no longer had a trainer? He wasn't ready to live as a Wild, neither was he in the mood for a new trainer.
As soon as he managed to fully open his eyes, he mentally asked one more question: Where was he? His house wasn't even in sight. Rather laying than the carpet floor, his body was cushioned on a section of bedding mostly made from grass within a cave He slowly got up, wincing as he felt the injuries from the forgotten. Step by step, he limped out to the mouth of the cave. Mere seconds later, an Absol stepped into sight from the right side of the cave. The sudden appearance startled the Shinx, causing him to cry out in surprise and fall over. If he had the strength and concentration not sapped from the constant jarring of pain, he would have tried to scramble away from the Absol.
"Settle down," the Absol replied. "I got breakfast. No need to think everyone's out to get you... well, at least don't show it."
"Wha...?" The Shinx muttered, unable to speak coherently. A small sack dropped in front of him. The string at the top was already untied so it fell apart , revealing a few berries. The Absol looked out to make sure there was no one close by.
"Get eating," he ordered. "We don't have alot of time at our disposal. The sooner we leave, the sooner we avoid nasty trouble in these woods."
"Who... who are you?"
"I go by Rafael. You probably don't really remember much, considering how senseless that Charizard beat you up. I got you out of that burning place and took you to safety... at least, it's safe for now."
"Where are we going?" The Absol named Rafael sighed. Why were the young so inquisitive?
"At the very least, out of danger. Where exactly, I don't know."
"I can't leave home!" Rafael growled, turning around to glare at the Shinx, startling him.
"You can and you will. Your 'home' is now only a pile of ash and bricks. I didn't rescue you to hear you whine, got it?" Silence ensued after Rafael's berating. Regretting it. he then added, "... if you start eating, I'll tell you more about what happened, alright?"
"... alright," the Shinx replied quietly, starting to take a bite out of a Sitrus to make Rafael talk. So the Absol got started:
"Some time ago, the Pokemon Rescue Teams have been a well-intended set of groups that would aid others in need. Just that. However, there have a flurry of problems caused by human mistreatment with both their Pokemon and other Wild Pokemon. Outraged, several of the guilds banded together to form the Liberation movement, where they vowed to rid the world of humanity."
"B-but not all humans are bad!" the Shinx protested. Rafael only shook his head in response.
"All they heard about humans are tragedies done to Pokemon by them, but that's the past. Now, when we depart, stick to me closely. Try to be as quiet as possible. There will definitely be humans looking into the woods for revenge, and if anyone around here also hears that you had the nerve to attack such a respected member of the guild on his mission, we won't be take so kindly. Finish up with that eating and let's get going."
"... um, Rafael?"
"Yes?"
"What if someone does see us?"
"... hold that thought until it becomes important. I don't want to think about it. For now, let's leave the woods to the South..."
"What..." the Shinx started, having trouble speaking as a torrent of various emotions swelled up within him. "Wh-what have you done?!" he forced out, growling. The stun of surprise was wearing off and giving way to a rage that ignited within him. The Charizard condescendingly looked down at the electric pup, considering him to be much more of a nuisance than a threat.
"I've done all I needed to do. The world shall soon be purged of those wicked beings in due time. Dare to get in my way and I shall not hesitate to render you harmless," the Charizard calmly responded, self-justified in its actions. It had finished his task, it no longer needed to be here, and it thus began to leave, turning around to leave the desolation he bestowed upon the house. However, the Shinx wasn't going to let the intruder off the hook so easily.
"Murderer!" it cried, sparks of electricity discharging from its cheeks as a sign of its lust for revenge. The Charizard stopped in its departure and turned around to confirm that the Shinx was serious in its challenge.
"For the Liberation," it said as the Shinx charged forward...
A morning sun woke him up, blinding him. He groaned, instinctively covering his face to shield from the sunshine. Pain, numbness, confusion... he couldn't even remember that fight. Nothing made sense. Who was that Charizard? How could he have done such horrible things? Why was he still alive? What was he going to do now that he no longer had a trainer? He wasn't ready to live as a Wild, neither was he in the mood for a new trainer.
As soon as he managed to fully open his eyes, he mentally asked one more question: Where was he? His house wasn't even in sight. Rather laying than the carpet floor, his body was cushioned on a section of bedding mostly made from grass within a cave He slowly got up, wincing as he felt the injuries from the forgotten. Step by step, he limped out to the mouth of the cave. Mere seconds later, an Absol stepped into sight from the right side of the cave. The sudden appearance startled the Shinx, causing him to cry out in surprise and fall over. If he had the strength and concentration not sapped from the constant jarring of pain, he would have tried to scramble away from the Absol.
"Settle down," the Absol replied. "I got breakfast. No need to think everyone's out to get you... well, at least don't show it."
"Wha...?" The Shinx muttered, unable to speak coherently. A small sack dropped in front of him. The string at the top was already untied so it fell apart , revealing a few berries. The Absol looked out to make sure there was no one close by.
"Get eating," he ordered. "We don't have alot of time at our disposal. The sooner we leave, the sooner we avoid nasty trouble in these woods."
"Who... who are you?"
"I go by Rafael. You probably don't really remember much, considering how senseless that Charizard beat you up. I got you out of that burning place and took you to safety... at least, it's safe for now."
"Where are we going?" The Absol named Rafael sighed. Why were the young so inquisitive?
"At the very least, out of danger. Where exactly, I don't know."
"I can't leave home!" Rafael growled, turning around to glare at the Shinx, startling him.
"You can and you will. Your 'home' is now only a pile of ash and bricks. I didn't rescue you to hear you whine, got it?" Silence ensued after Rafael's berating. Regretting it. he then added, "... if you start eating, I'll tell you more about what happened, alright?"
"... alright," the Shinx replied quietly, starting to take a bite out of a Sitrus to make Rafael talk. So the Absol got started:
"Some time ago, the Pokemon Rescue Teams have been a well-intended set of groups that would aid others in need. Just that. However, there have a flurry of problems caused by human mistreatment with both their Pokemon and other Wild Pokemon. Outraged, several of the guilds banded together to form the Liberation movement, where they vowed to rid the world of humanity."
"B-but not all humans are bad!" the Shinx protested. Rafael only shook his head in response.
"All they heard about humans are tragedies done to Pokemon by them, but that's the past. Now, when we depart, stick to me closely. Try to be as quiet as possible. There will definitely be humans looking into the woods for revenge, and if anyone around here also hears that you had the nerve to attack such a respected member of the guild on his mission, we won't be take so kindly. Finish up with that eating and let's get going."
"... um, Rafael?"
"Yes?"
"What if someone does see us?"
"... hold that thought until it becomes important. I don't want to think about it. For now, let's leave the woods to the South..."
So count me in! 
