Has it really been so long since my last post? I'm sorry for abandoning y'all, but exams seem to loom ever closer on the horizon that is Year 12 with each passing second (hey, that was almost poetic...or not). So, I haven't had the time recently to update, or really the inclination (nothing's really inspired me...or someone has, but you don't want to hear about that ;) )
So here's a double post for you. Yes you. I'd pass you a cookie, but as already stated (all the way last year) I cannot bake cookies nor would they taste particularly nice before they got there if I could.
*Squints* Hey, I could even do four posts tonight...but I'll keep my promise at two just in case.
Onto the good (I hope) bit:
So in my contest entering frenzy a few weeks ago, one of the contests I entered was a picture prompt contest. I'll post up the picture soon, but in the mean time here's my entry. It didn't win, but the two people who did definitely deserved to as there were some excellent stories:
T.S Elliot was wrong. For the world did not end with a whimper - no, mankind's own stubborn determinedness would never allow that - but with a great number of bangs. The world did not end with society's eventual collapse into anarchy, but in perhaps its greatest moment, when finally people were learning to love others unconditionally for what they were instead of hating them for what they were not. The world would not go quietly, but burn on through a symphony of tortured screams.
My eyes fluttered open to look at the midnight sky streaked through with careless strokes of orange and grey as I sucked in air desperately, moaning at the fresh shoots of agony which spiked through my lungs as I did. I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. I needed water. Now. I rolled over, trying to get up and ignore the pain from what I assumed were fractured - perhaps broken - ribs and failing, crying out hoarsely.
No-one would hear my cries. I knew that. I was "lucky" to be alive after all of this: the earthquakes and the tsunamis; the blizzards and tornadoes; the floods and fires. A single, salty tear rolled down my cheek. Yeah, I was "lucky". I'd be lucky if I made it through the night. I couldn't see any other survivors - who would be just as injured anyway. I was alone.
I sank back down, watching one of the fires rage on, its deathly tendrils sending elaborate patterns of smoke into the sky and throwing shadows onto crumpled buildings. My eyelids weighed down and my eyes started to close once more. But not before I saw the impossible. Not before I saw the man walk out of the flames. Unscathed.
Flames licked my arms and carressed my face and I sat there, watching the fires consume everything. This was perhaps the best entertainment I'd had in years. Such a shame it was dying down now. No, fire didn't kill vampires any more than cute little bunnies or hastily muttered curses did. It was our "curse". The thought made me chuckle; I'd been immortal for the last seven hundred years and was still loving every second of it. That's one uninformed curse.
A muffled cry came from somewhere nearby and I sighed. No play without work I guess. I couldn't care less for whatever idiot was dying loudly, but my brother would. Damn you, brother. I heaved myself up out of the flames and moved towards the sound. I guess it was in my favour after all - what else would entertain me more than watching a few humans try to rebuild their shattered world? And they would. Because despite their mortality, they just would not die.
I lingered for a second, reluctant to move and glancing around for a view of the whimpering survivor, catching a glimpse of buttery yellow hair and pale skin as she sank to the ground. She was pretty, for a human. Not exactly my type though. I could never understand why my brother cared for the weaker race as anything other than a plaything - I'd always found pleasure in pain, although the latter generally came from others as pain was something I rarely felt. There was a word for that... "schadenfreude".
She was dying. I could tell that. It would have been obvious to anyone, but more so to people like me. If you could call us people at all. Usually I'd take the time to watch gleefully as the short melody of their life faltered and ended, yet this wasn't a time for pleasure. This was a time in which taking that pleasure would kill me sooner rather than later and I wasn't ready to die yet. I'd just pick her up, make sure she didn't die and dump her on my brother's doorstep. If he loved them so much he could look after her.
I walked towards the girl as her eyes flickered closed. Perhaps she saw me, perhaps she didn't, it didn't matter. There wasn't anyone around for her to tell. As light as she was, it was child's play to scoop her up though she stiffened as I touched her before starting to shake. She'd seen me then and she was terrified.
This, I'm aware, doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But I was just glad that I was able to spend time with my favourite OC (though he's not my favourite at the moment, the darn stubborn idiot.)
If you want to read more then...I guess you'll have to wait until I get to this scene in my on-going book project. Which might be in a few years time (don't worry, you'll see this character in a different mental state soon. Kinda.)
His name is Zayn.
Which on retrospect makes for a good title for this. Better than "Bitter Flames" which is what I'd previously dubbed it (and JustAGirlHere told me didn't make any sense as flames can't be bitter...)
See ya...in about five minutes I guess.