3WW #CLXXIV
 Beacon
Grieve
Kindred
= = =
Annabelle wasn't difficult to track down. To grieve was to emanate a raw emotion so powerful, it was like a beacon to those who could sense such things, and wasn't Ocher a master of such things? Beyond master and apprentice, Ocher and Annabelle had discovered themselves kindred spirits, much to one's delight and the other's consternation. He now had to find her before her emotional emanations attracted more than just curious gawkers. The feeders would be there soon. Ocher hadn't told her about them despite the many years of training, and mentally kicked himself once again for having decided to protect Annabelle instead of educating her properly. It was a mistake he would never repeat, but might continue to pay for over and over again.
[Fiction] Friday Challenge for January 22, 2010:
 A woman revisits the neighborhood where she grew up to find that her childhood home has been condemned.
= = =
The urge came to every single student, no matter how much they might believe they had cut all ties that bound them to anything except the Guild. Ocher had seen it in each and every child who had ever passed the Doorway. He hadn't sure how Annabelle would fare, though; after all, she had already been an adult when she had been brought into his world. And yet, there it was. It was in the lower-than-usual pitch of her voice, the more-resolute-than-usual set of her expressive face, the higher-than-usual tension in her now lithe body. She needed to go home.
Annabelle lay on her bunk, body completely relaxed even as her mind whirred this way and that. She didn't understand why she would feel compelled to return, why she would still consider Ma and Pa Smith family, after all that she had learned. And yet, there it was. The vivid dreams of the last two weeks; the almost primordial longing to just see Ma's face again, to inhale the aroma of Chez Smith as they liked to call the home, to walk those squeaky hardwood floors once more. She needed to go home.
The next day, Ocher provided the opening, and she didn't hesitate: fixing the image of her old neighborhood firmly in her mind, Annabelle slipped through the Doorway and found herself back on the 700 block of North Ash Avenue. After the silence and calm of the Guild, the sheer noise of her former world assaulted her senses, but she quickly adjusted them to accommodate the din. It was sundown, and the fading light drew long shadows of trees and houses across the road. Annabelle unobtrusively skipped into the shadow of a nearby tree, and took care to remain within the network of shades as she headed north; it wouldn't do to have a sharp-eyed person notice her lack of a shadow.
The pull of home drew her feet ever forward, even as she took in the sight of once-familiar houses with rising concern. Had that scent of decay always been there? That undercurrent of imbalance? Had her training opened her senses this much, or had much changed since she had been recruited into the Guild? Annabelle frowned, disliking her train of thought. The frown turned into a scowl as she arrived at her destination.
The modest two-story white building of her memory was no more. In its place was a sooty boarded-up structure that seemed on the verge of collapse, the porch leaning out towards the fractured driveway while the bucktoothed roof sat askew, like a beret atop a cheery French lad. There was nothing cheery about the sign staked into the dried-up lawn: CONDEMNED BUILDING DO NOT ENTER screamed bright red letters.
Annabelle studied the house in the failing light, expanding her sight sense, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see the telltale green glow of ImpFlame residue, even as her nose already detected its acrid scent.
So.
Five years ago Annabelle had set aside serious concerns and suspicions in order to put her full attention on the training Ocher was determined to put her through. She was done with the training. It was now time to bring them back to front and center.
Annabelle turned around, setting her once-home firmly behind her back. Nothing for her there. Not anymore. Ignoring the most basic of portal rules, she visualised her CallStone right there on the public walkway of Ash Avenue, and stepped back into her room in the Guild.
Only to find that her CallStone had been moved. As she blinked in surprise, the floor lurched, and Annabelle with it. The briny scent of the sea filled the air. She was on a ship. Had she been Contracted out while she was gone, or had Ocher already been two steps ahead?
She would find the answer. But first, she reached for her CallStone and slipped it into the secure hidden pocket of her trousers. It wouldn't do to have it get lost at the bottom of the ocean now would it?
She recoiled from the mirror, that splotchy face and teary eyes unfamiliar, alien even. Yes, she had put on a lot of weight over the years, and yes, she absolutely loathed the sight of herself now, but all that notwithstanding, what she saw in the mirror was almost a stranger.
Reaching for the tap, cold water gushed, and she cupped her hands to catch some, to bring up to her reddened eyes, to wash away the tears.
Great, no hand towels.
Bad enough there wasn't any toilet paper either, she could have done with a whiz while she was there.
Carefully drying her eyes on her sleeve (thank goodness for the navy blue long-sleeved hoodie!), she took a deep breath, only to have it hiccup in her chest.
The tears threatened again.
"No! I am NOT crying!" she screamed silently to herself. But she could feel sobs accumulating once again in her throat, her chest, the sides of her mouth drawing down to reflect the utter desolation she felt inside, her eyes once again burning with soon-to-be-shed tears.
She unlocked the bathroom door and strode out, making it a point to not look at the table where she'd been sitting at not two minutes ago, where the other 13+ members of the so-called collective sat eating lunch; instead putting on a show of looking for her phone and taking it out as if to text or call someone as she walked out of the restaurant.
Up and down she walked, from the restaurant to one end of the strip mall to the other end of the strip mall and back again, and again. A member of the group approached her, using the age-old Asian conversation starter "Have you eaten?"; she cringes as she hears her sobbing voice brush him off curtly "I'm not hungry, thank you, please leave me alone!"
She was most definitely no longer hungry. She had been, when she had entered, together with 4 other yogis, to see the rest of the group already merrily eating away. A table was pushed to join their already long one. A table that would then provide seats for five people, perfect for her smaller group that had just walked in.
It was a buffet, and she had decided to go for the bare minimum for this trip, so no bag, no nothing with her except a fanny pack that didn't leave her waist, and therefore she had nothing to place on the table/chair to save her a place. No real need, anyway, right?
Then she stood in line, got some food, went back to the table, only to find someone's handbag on the only unsat-in seat, belonging to the mother holding her 2 year old son, who said she was sitting there, because she wanted to sit next to her husband, and there would then also be space for a high chair for the kid.
"Ummm... where did you come from? I begrudge you neither your seat next to hubby nor the space for the kid and highchair, but I'm just curious, where on earth were you just five minutes before? That should be my seat..." ran through her head, but only polite inquiry about the availability of the seat emerged.
"Maybe you can sit there, there see in the middle there's an empty space," says the mother. She stood there, stunned, disbelief growing by the minute -- you mean the chair with that black leather jacket on its back, the chair that's obviously already a seat for someone who just happens to not be at the table at this moment?? The mother then perhaps sees her error, and says maybe she can go to the other end of the table.
She can't believe she's being shunted away, can't believe that there aren't enough seats for everyone, can't believe everyone else seems utterly oblivious to what's going on, so with exasperation boiling up inside herself, she mutters "Jesus f*cking Christ!" as she stalks off, grabbing a set of napkin and utensils off a neighboring table, walking to the other end, grabbing a nearby empty chair and plonking herself and her plate at the head of the table, saying with a mouth already threatening to twist into a grimace, "I guess I'm joining you gals over here!"
New drink orders are taken from that other end of the table. She tries to flag down the waiter, but he's distracted by the girl on my left who orders some other food. So, no drink for me? Resentment not only builds, it boils, it burns, it rages. She clamps down on it, and tries to eat the food on her plate.
She tastes nothing.
Even ashes would have taste, right?
She continues to chew.
To her horror, she feels a tear slide down on either cheek. She dabs at her cheeks and eyes with the cuff of her hoodie. She desperately tries to control her features, her face, her mouth, and shoves more food into her taste-less maw.
Someone comes by to (re-)fill glasses of water.
There's an upside down glass in front of her, probably belonging to that girl on the left. She grabs it, turns it right side up, and finally gets a drink for herself. As the glass if being filled up, she hears girl-on-the-left say "Oh. But I want also." She who had a non-water drink with her, she (and everyone else at that end) who already had a mango lassi, who knew A. didn't have a drink of her own because when she sat down, the girls on the right had offered a taste but she'd said she'd get her own, thanks.
Indescribable emotions churned within. Anger, definitely. Resentment too, as mentioned before. But also anguish, sadness, disappointment. More tears fell, and she dabbed more at her eyes.
The girl on the right sees, thinks she's suffering from the spiciness, and cracks a joke: "Aww, don't cry! Life isn't that bad!" she says sweetly, jokingly, and to both of their surprise, her tears spill out again.
She set the utensils down, pushed herself away from the table, and made a beeline for the bathroom, which is where you first got on board, dear reader.
To be continued:
I look back over the past ten years, and am amazed at where my life's journey has taken me.
Yet at the same time I feel there is so much I am allowing to just slip through my fingers.
Time to buck up, willow!
Here's to a fulfilling, successful and and groundbreaking 2010!
See you on the flip side.
[Fiction] Friday Challenge for December 4th, 2009:
Include this in your story:
"I can't see anything," sobbed the figure on the floor.
= = =
"I can't see anything," sobbed the figure on the floor.
Annabelle stood silently in the corner, wrapping darkness around herself like the cape Ocher was never without. She smiled as she once again realised she had called him Ocher; no longer was he the man in the black cape: to Annabelle he was teacher, trainer, hard-assed taskmaster, mentor; a father figure she hadn't known she needed until their paths had crossed... Annabelle had thrived under his tutelage even as she cursed his name as she was subjected to lesson after painful lesson. Ocher had transformed her. Annabele was no longer sure what she was, but dull, meek, and quiet wouldn't be a valid description for her anymore.
Well, she was still quiet. In a different way.
The elf still didn't know she was there. He had been oscillating between sobbing and yelling, utterly disoriented by the darkness of the cell he'd only been thrown into 5 hours ago. She'd been there for six. If he'd had any discipline at all, his other sense would have kicked into high gear to make up for the lack of sight: yet this elf continued to fail to notice her scent, hear her breath, sense her warmth.
Either he was a really poor sample of elf, or Annabelle was ready to move on to the next stage of training. Annabelle figured it was the latter, and decided it was time: her right hand moved slowly, surely, across her body to grasp the hilt of the dagger on her belt and started to pull.
In the blink of an eye the elf was on his feet in a battle-ready stance, looking straight at Annabelle. Could he actually see her through her shroud of darkness within an already pitch dark room, or had the tiniest of sounds betrayed her location?
The elf made a show of opening his mouth and slowly tasting the air, smiling broadly, eyes twinkling. "Annabelle," he sang out, teasingly. "I see you," he continued. "I smell you. I taste you. I feel you. I hear you," he hissed menacingly, advancing towards Annabelle with fists at the ready.
Annabelle stood firm, using her sense of smell to determine the Truth: the elf may have had violent anger rolling out of him in waves, yet underneath it all, Annabelle caught a whiff of -- glee? So he was enjoying playing this part, was he? I'll show him, said Annabelle to herself as she trickled her attention into a smooth glide that brought her with dagger in hand to the left and side of the elf who continued to close in on where she had been.
Ocher later declared it a clean kill.
Annabelle moved up yet another rung of the ladder. Just five more to go.
3WW #CLXIV
Accident
Loyal
Obscene
= = =
"Why do you continue to be loyal to them?"
"They raised me, and well. No abuse, lots of encouragement."
"What about love? Did they love you? Do you love them?"
"That wasn't something said, but shown and experienced. Proof of love was in the way they treated me and the other fosters. Always respectfully. Like I said, no abuse, lots of encouragement."
"You're sounding like a broken record: 'No abuse, lots of encouragement' - doesn't that sound like programming to you?"
Annabelle bit back the sharp retort. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she did feel as if her memories of childhood were strangely distant, bland; some seemed to be in black and white, while others in vivid color.
"It's no accident that you have conflicting, inconsistent memories," declared the man in the black cape as if privy to Annabelle's thoughts. Annabelle shifted uneasily in her seat, and pulled again at the cords binding her hands behind her back. The more she pulled, however, the tighter the cord. Annabelle winced. Her captor sighed.
"Like I said, I have no wish to harm you. The pain you cause your wrists is all you."
"Yeah. It's my fault I'm trying to free my hands so I can defend myself against some dude who's kidnapped me. Sure," spat Annabelle.
The man in the black cape's face was still in deep shadow, cast by the black fedora on his head, but Annabelle thought she saw movement -- perhaps a grimace? -- where the mouth would be. So. Perhaps his professed distaste for this "assignment" was the truth?
The man in the black cape observed Annabelle scrutinizing him. He felt proud. She was standing up for herself. She wasn't cowed, whimpering, begging to be released. She was angry and scared, but instead of letting them take over, she was tapping anger and fear and using them as sword and shield. Sure, her thoughts were leaking, but the quality of the thoughts. She certainly had potential.
If only she wasn't so old.
His students were experts by the time they hit puberty. How was he going to start teaching a twenty-something woman? It would be a waste of time, he knew it, but his employer had paid an obscene amount of money to counter every objection, reason and excuse he had put forth. Had he compromised his principles for the money?
A strong change of emotion resonated through the room. While the man in the black cape had been deep in his thoughts, he hadn't been paying attention to Annabelle's. She now sat with head bowed, shoulders slumped, the very picture of a defeated and broken captive. Opening his senses to her, the man in the black cape staggered as waves of sorrow, fear and regret crashed against his psyche. What the hell?
Leaning in to get a closer look at her, the man in the black cape was greeted with a violent headbutt that almost made contact -- he had sensed the hypervigilant steel underneath the roiling emotions just a split second before Annabelle's head would have tried to stun him. He stayed where he was, just a hairs' breadth out of her reach, and was rewarded with a snarl of anger, fury written across Annabelle's face.
Ah. She definitely had potential.
This was going to be interesting.
|
Blog Directory ID: 428
Blog URL: http://noweepingallowed.blogspot.com/
Google Pagerank: 2
Blog Description: Willow Tree is the name, and ranting about my past WAS the game. This site quickly evolved into an outlet that also explores my life journey *and* helps me flex my writing muscles. Please drop by, have a seat, in the shade of my weep-free willow tree.
Blog Category: Development & Growth Blogs
Blog Owner: Willow Tree
Blog Added: June 21, 2007 09:02:16 AM
Audience Rating: Not Yet Rated
Blog Platform Not Selected
Blog Country: No location given.
My Yahoo! 
Report Blog Listing - 
Refer Blog Listing - 
Print Listing
Total Visits: 5
Blog Rating: 2.99
Rate Blog: 
