Thursday, March 8, 2012

Sometimes I Write Fantasy. . .

*Points up at the post title*  Today I decided to share some of my fantasy story Rider Of Pure Motion.  Yesterday I started writing it after a couple months of absence, and really enjoyed myself.  I may be dropping out of my "poetry mood" and back into my "book writing mood".  *Happy bounce*

Though I prefer to write poetry, I do love my book. ( It's not that great, but hey, I enjoy it. ) I'm currently working on the second draft.


I hate you. I hate the world. I hate the world that couldn't understand me, the world that tried to make me just like them. I hate the world that took from me those I love. I'm drowning in my hatred, but you don't care, do you? Of course you don't.

I'm just one girl.

All I have in this world is me. I look out for myself, keeping my fury submerged. A smile plastered on my face. I can fight. I just usually choose not to.

But not anymore.

From now on I will fight to keep everyone away.

I'm hidden now, far from all their taunts and sideways glances. I'm hidden, but I haven't forgotten. I never forget. I never forgive.

I don't plan on starting now.

Chapter 1

Dead. Dead. Dead. The words scream through my mind in blackened horror.

I claw to escape. My hands snatch forward and-


I jerk upright in my sleeping bag, my body cold with sweat, yet warm with energy. The comfortable weight of a dagger is in my clenched fist. My arms tingle and I suddenly realize where I am. Safe in my cave. I also realize what I have done.

With a moan I sheathe the dagger I must have grabbed in my sleep, and kindle the dying fire with a flick of my mind. For a moment I am blinded, but my eyes quickly adjust. I look over to the rough shelves that I just blasted and sigh.

My few belonging are scattered over the uneven cavern floor. The fire creates dancing shadows that seem to laugh at me. Somewhere deeper in the cave water drips and a small animal skitters.

Wiggling out of my sleeping bag, I move to my knees, then my feet. As I shuffle over and begin to pick everything up, I mutter to myself, “It was just a dream, Anza, just a dream.” I push my long curly hair back from my face and try to block out the images that still play with my mind.

It's more than a dream, I know that. It's the fear of being found. It's the knowledge I am alone. It's the taunting reminder that those I care about are dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. The words- his words- mock unmercifully, just as they did that night. Hatred washes over me.

I need to go out.

Grabbing my sword from where it lies next to my pallet and hastily belting it around my waist, I spin towards the cave entrance. Striding down the short passageway, the shadows are replaced by the moonlit night.

Cool. Calm. Quiet. The night is stark contrast to my emotions.
I almost want to hate the night too but that is immature. There are more important things to hate in this world, and I have a long list.

The dew that covers the ground of early spring touches my bare feet in a cool caress. Above me, the mountains of North Carolina loom as cold shadows. Silently, I turn and stalk off into the night.


The moon is starting to sink beyond the trees and the mist is clearing. I've been walking for a while now, but I don't feel like going back. What's the point? I've got as much here, out in the woods by myself, as I do back in the cave. Nothing.

I stop suddenly as I come to a sheer cliff face with an overhang about twenty feet above me. A strange longing fills my body, and before I can think it through, I am clambering up. My hands grasp handholds easily; this isn't the first time I've climbed like this. The rough rocks dig into my bare feet, but I only grip harder with my toes.

When I have climbed about ten feet the longing grows into a definite pull, and I suddenly recognize it. Though it is considerably stronger than usual, this tug is a familiar thing. I've never followed it before, but now I let it lead me higher.

I scrabble another fifteen feet up, and three to the side, and there it is; another cave nestled in the mountain. After hoisting myself onto the ledge, I stop for a brief moment to rest, ignoring the tug that calls me into the cave. I don't let anything, or anyone, not even a simple tug, take me where I don't want to go.

From this height I can just see the part of the mountain that my cave is in. As I stand looking out over the quiet scene, I notice the ledge curves around and descends. One climb is enough for this night.

I turn and walk into cave. Its entrance is smaller, and I have to duck slightly to miss scraping my head. Dry leaves rustle around my feet, probably blown in by the wind. As I move deeper inside, it quickly turns pitch black.

Turning a corner, I see something glowing up ahead and freeze. A bright beam of light flashes in my face and I instinctively drop to one knee and draw my dagger.

“Oops! Sorry about that!” A young female voice laughs.
I slowly rise and the light follows, resting on my chest. As my eyes adjust, I see a girl about my age with laughing blue eyes and brown hair that reaches slightly past her shoulders. Her dirty pants are big and poofy, and the Darth Vader shirt, the source of the glowing, isn't much cleaner.

Whatever I want is behind her in the shadows.

She seems as surprised to see me, as I am to see her, but doesn't act flustered. In fact, she acts like this is a completely normal situation. “Hi, I'm Francesca! What's your name?”

Part of me wants to turn and walk out now. However this girl got out here, alone in the night, isn't my problem. . . But the something is still calling, and somehow I don't want to leave without it.

“It's such a beautiful night, isn't it?” Francesca motions with the flashlight, casting the beam haphazardly around. A ragged backpack is illuminated by the light, and peeking out from under it is a polished, oblong stone. Its sapphire gleam reflects the light in a bright flash. I am drawn to its strangeness, though whatever is calling me still lies out of sight.

“What is that?” I finally speak, pointing with my dagger.

An almost protective look crosses her face. “That's nothing.”
“Nothing?” I take a step forward.

She moves in my way, effectively blocking me. Her eyes lock on my dagger, but she winks nonchalantly. “It's only my grubbish backpack.”

“That's not-”

Something grasps my shoulder hard. Acting on instinct, I jab backwards sharply with my elbow. The fingers loosen.


I roll to the ground, spring back up, and whirl, arms outstretched. Without thinking, I let energy flow from my body and harden into a force.

Francesca's flashlight wavers over my shoulder.

I look with shock into the face of a young police man. His eyes are wide, and I feel him trying to struggle under my force. What have I done?

Hearing a rustle of leaves, I spin around and see Francesca. She has gone completely motionless, as if stilled like the man.

“I-I.” I clamp my mouth shut, immobilized with horror.

She finds her voice and chokes out, "What the hippo?!"

The man's radio squawks, and I hear the sounds of more people approaching.

My heart plummets in my chest. This is going from bad to worse.

Francesca's voice breaks through my frantic thoughts. She looks at me with evident awe, “What the hippo did you do?”

“Freeze,” a deep voice barks. Blinding lights flash on- keeping me from getting a good view of the enemy.

There's no time to plan or think; I dive forward, past Francesca, and grab the stone under her back pack. Momentum carries me into a roll, and I stop directly behind her. The flashlight beams are already swinging towards me as she spins around. The light darts over me and I see them: more strange stones right next to me.

I shift to a kneeling position and curl my body over the stones. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. The loud shouts and bright lights begin to fade as I carefully gather energy around me. Colors dance in my head, forming and reshaping. At any moment I expect to be dragged to my feet, but I focus all my concentration on the picture forming in my head.
There. Done.

The energy flows outward in a wave, and the colors solidify. Just as I am being pulled away, something lands heavily on top of me. It doesn't matter though, I'm already gone.

( Do you have any comments, advice, or tips? )

copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

PS, If any you know why the post decided to lighten and darken bits of text at random, please let me know. :P  *Thwacks blog* (I don't know why it does this to me. . . . )

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