tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87145194046439928802024-03-14T03:33:23.255-04:00Grey Days to be a MuseArreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-33224037472647150992015-06-14T22:10:00.003-04:002015-06-14T22:12:47.362-04:00Petunia's Redemption<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />Petunia Dursley looked up sharply at the sound of a knock on the front door. She wasn't expecting any packages or visitors today; unconsciously smoothing her apron, she dried her hands on the dish towel folded precisely over the oven handle and went to answer the door. Vernon hadn't moved from his spot on the living room sofa-- it was Saturday, so he wasn't likely to budge until she called him for supper. Petunia patted his shoulder affectionately as she went past, and he mumbled a quick “hello, dear.”</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petunia didn't look through the peep hole before opening the door-- this was Little Whinging, after all, it wasn't like there were any bad sorts here-- and so had no warning at all when she looked out onto the stoop and saw her sister.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lily.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petunia gave a silent gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. “L- Lily?” She whispered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh!” The girl said, smiling. “And here dad told me you wouldn't know who I am. Only, are you all right? You're pale as a sheet.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petunia forced herself to take a deep breath and look closely at the red-headed girl on her step. Of course it wasn't Lily, it couldn't possibly be Lily-- aside from the fact that Lily was, of course, gone, this girl couldn't be older than ten. Lily had been years older when she had... and yet, this girl looked so very much like her. But looking closely, there were little differences-- the shape of her nose, the tilt of her eyes. This wasn't Petunia's sister.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At the sound of a throat clearing, Petunia jumped and tore her eyes away from the girl who so resembled Lily Evans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There, standing just behind the girl, bold as brass, was the boy. Only, he wasn't a boy now-- of course he wasn't, he was less than a year younger than Dudley and Dudley was married with a family. And so was Harry, clearly-- Petunia's jumbled thoughts fell into line and she realized who this girl must be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Petunia?” Vernon called from the living room. “Who's at the door?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“No one,” Petunia replied without thinking, her voice sounding hollow in her own ears. “Just from the gardeners association.” Stepping shakily out onto the stoop, she pulled the door shut behind her.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The boy spoke before she could. “Aunt Petunia, this is your great-niece, Lily.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Lily?” Petunia said again, softly, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. “Of course, of course.” She took another shuddering breath and composed herself briskly. “Well, what are you doing here?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lily replied, “Yeah, dad said you mightn't be too pleased to see us. But I know all my mum's family, and no one at all from dad's side, so I badgered him until he agreed to bring me to meet you.” She was speaking quickly, like Lily Evans always had when she was nervous. Petunia noticed the girl's hands fussing with the hem of her t-shirt, too-- just like her sister. “I hope it's not too much bother.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petunia swallowed, refusing to look at Harry-- which was all too easy, since she couldn't take her eyes off of Lily. “What else did your father tell you about us?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Little Lily glanced up at Harry quickly, then back to her great-aunt. “He told me you took him in when he didn't have anywhere else to go. He said-- well, he's famous, you know, with our lot-- oops, he said not to mention that-- but he said that growing up with you and his uncle and his cousin taught him to be humble, taught him to be just a normal person, instead of expecting everyone to fawn over him because of him being famous. He said you taught him to look at what people do more than what they say, because that tells how they really feel about you...” She trailed off, shrugging.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Petunia found herself staring at Harry, her throat and eyes burning as she took in the man he had become. Still that ugly scar on his forehead, still the same untidy black hair, and yet he had the broad shoulders of a man, and somewhere over the years he had grown taller than she was. He looked back at her steadily, returning her gaze with those eyes, those green eyes that were exactly the same as her sister's. Hesitantly, afraid he would shrug her off, Petunia took a step towards him. When Harry didn't move, she very suddenly flung her arms around him. Quite unaccountably, she was crying onto his shoulder.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. It was the only thing to say. And then he was hugging her, too, patting her gently on the back.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It's all right, Aunt Petunia,” he whispered back. After a long moment, she pulled away, wiping at the tears that still streamed from her eyes, and turned back to Lily.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Your dad was a good boy,” she said, the words spilling from her mouth like they had a mind of their own, and she realized she had waited years to say them. “He was a good boy, and very kind, and very brave. I'm so glad we took him in.” She looked back to Harry. “I just wish we had done more for him-- taken better care of him, loved him--”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It's all right,” Harry said again. He gave a slight nod, reinforcing his words.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I'm so glad you came,” Petunia whispered, pressing her fingertips to her quivering lips as she tried to hold back more tears. Harry seemed so calm, so at peace with the way she and Vernon had treated him-- she knew she shouldn't burden him by pouring her shame all over him. And yet, she couldn't help it. These were thoughts and feelings she had kept locked so tightly inside that she had barely acknowledged them herself, let alone made the colossal mistake of confiding them to Vernon. Ever since they had left Harry alone and run for their lives, all those years ago, Petunia had felt this little kernel of guilt dug in under her ribcage, lodged somewhere near her heart. Dudley had been able, that day, to find a few words-- something to ease the pain of everything they'd done. Petunia hadn't had the courage.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But maybe there was something she could do to make up for it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wait here,” she said, her voice still a little choked, and darted back into the house. Grabbing a pen and a pad of paper from the table by the door, she dashed off a few lines and slipped back outside. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Here,” she thrust the note into Harry's hand. Then, voice quivering again, she looked at little Lily. “You look just like your grandmother,” she said. “She was a brave, loving, brilliant woman, and you will be, too.” She met Harry's eyes. “Goodbye, nephew,” she whispered. Petunia Dursley walked back into the house and shut the door.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Standing out on the front stoop where he had been left as a baby, Harry Potter glanced around at the hydrangeas along the house and the little brick walls dividing yards that looked like they had been cut using a ruler. Gleaming cars, meticulous flower beds, and lacy curtains in the windows of all the tidy little houses-- Privet Drive hadn't changed a bit. Well, Harry thought with a slight smile, perhaps some things about it had changed. He looked down at the paper his aunt had pushed into his hand.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dudley, Charlotte, and Charles Dursley<br />9 Forsythia Place<br />Little Whinging<br />Surrey<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His smile widening into a grin, Harry tucked the paper into his pocket and took Lily's hand. “So,” he said, leading her back down the drive. “Are you glad you met my family?”</span></div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-65937006859446709162014-05-01T18:52:00.000-04:002014-05-01T18:52:03.840-04:00Cast of "Elise"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7Vxs76pz-E/U2LOGSoXu-I/AAAAAAAAApY/9gNPjAQhw9k/s1600/Elise+Cast+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7Vxs76pz-E/U2LOGSoXu-I/AAAAAAAAApY/9gNPjAQhw9k/s1600/Elise+Cast+2.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Using the Game of Thrones dollmaker on www.dolldivine.com, I have created a reasonable facsimile of the five main-ish characters in my current book, working titled after the main character, Elise. The characters, from left to right, are as follows: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rashid</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Alexander</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Elise</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sarah</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gregory</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It being a Game of Thrones-themed program (by the way, I highly recommend both reading the Song of Ice and Fire books by George R. R. Martin and watching the TV adaptation on HBO), the clothing options were medieval and included cloaks. However, the program works well for this because of Elise's archaic clothing style. As for everyone else, I imagine this is somewhat the styles they wore at different points in their own history-- of course, in the present, they wear modern clothes. The swords three of the characters are holding represent their combat-oriented skill sets; if you could see Gregory's right hand, you would see that he, like Elise, is holding a book.</div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-66708038606396018742014-04-28T14:48:00.000-04:002014-04-28T14:48:07.052-04:00Writing PlaylistI've spent the last year working my butt off to finish my first complete novel, and I don't know about other writers, but to me having the right music to complement my writing process is paramount. Thanks to Pandora.com's invaluable aid in finding songs I wouldn't normally have listened to, I was about to compile this playlist on YouTube. I put it on repeat every time I want to work on this book (since I've been unable to come up with a satisfactory title, for the time being we're calling it "Elise" after the main character), and I often feel as if the music writes the book for me.<br />
<br />
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDLZazNHXFD34RTAdfFifB9CP6QuVNARYArreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-23038252806704055562014-04-13T14:31:00.000-04:002014-04-13T14:31:41.765-04:00Part IV: Excerpt from "Song of the Blood"<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
By the morning of the fourth day,
Geoff was confident that Hunter approved of his treatment of the
girl. Geoff made a point of jerking her along behind him, remarking
over his shoulder to Hunter that they wouldn’t make any time if she
kept falling behind. Hunter just nodded, and when her skirts tangled
around her legs and she stumbled, Hunter caught her by her arm and
pushed her on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That night, Hunter scouted for game to
augment their rations, leaving Geoff to guard the girl. While he was
gone, Geoff grabbed the girl by the bodice of her gown and slammed
her against a tree, pinning her bound hands above her head. Leaning
down, he growled into her face, feeling the sound rumble deep in his
throat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She just stood there, her eyes fixed
on his chin and her breathing even. He could hear her steady
heartbeat, could see the regular pulse in her throat. He hadn’t
fazed her at all. Hissing in frustration, he grabbed her chin and
forced her face up until he could look into her eyes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Moments passed as he stood there, no
longer aware of the way his body pressed against hers, seeing nothing
but her dead, soulless eyes. No one was home in her head. Something
was desperately wrong with this girl.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Geoff was barely conscious of
releasing her arms, and came back to himself only when he heard a
stick snap behind him. He gasped in a breath, and with that came the
knowledge that it was Hunter, returned from his hunt—knowledge that
kept Geoff from whirling and decapitating the interloper.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What are you doing?” Hunter’s
voice, low with anger, rumbled through the little clearing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Geoff slowly looked back over his
shoulder, noting vaguely that he was trembling. The absolute
emptiness in the girl’s eyes had frightened something deep inside
him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“She,” he croaked quietly,
swallowing twice before he could get more words out. “Something’s
wrong with her.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fear in Geoff’s tone alerted
Hunter that what he said was true, and the larger man strode over,
pushing Geoff out of the way, and without missing a beat grabbed the
girl by her throat and lifted her off her feet, slamming her back
into the tree. With his free hand, he grabbed her hair, pulling her
head back and forcing her to meet his eyes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Geoff watched his companion closely as
the man stared into the girl’s eyes. Both of them were shaking, but
their eyes were locked. The girl’s bound hands were balled into
fists, and from her short, thin gasps, it seemed that Hunter’s fist
was cutting off her breath.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time passed, and to Geoff it seemed
like forever. Neither of them moved or blinked, seeming spellbound.
Finally, though, it was the girl who closed her eyes. Tears were
running down her cheeks, and she sagged limply in her bonds and
Hunter’s restraining hands.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He turned to Geoff, pulling the girl
so that she was pressed against his side. She was still crying and
shaking, and Hunter was breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. “Nothing
is wrong with her,” Hunter growled. “She’s just made a fool of
you. Haven’t I taught you enough to know when someone’s
shielding?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Geoff nodded, a little awed in spite
of himself. He had rarely seen Hunter exert as much power as it had
taken to crack this one little girl’s shield. He wondered who she
was, to be so strong—surely not a mere gypsy. She sniffled, and
almost against his will, he reached out and stroked her hair, longing
suddenly to comfort her. He rationalized that now that one of them
had finally gotten a response from her, he could treat her like a
human being, at the very least.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Abruptly, Hunter swung her away from
Geoff by her arm and slapped her hard across her face. The brutal
sound echoed through the small clearing, and Geoff gasped, choking
just a bit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What did you do that for?” He
cried. Hunter ignored his companion and raised his hand again,
threatening.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Stop witching him, girl, or it’ll
go worse for you!” The girl gazed up at him, deadpan again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Do you really believe you can
frighten me?” She asked quietly. “The fate to which you escort me
is far worse than any punishment <i>you</i> could inflict on me.”
Her voice was clear and melodious, and both men shuddered hard as
they heard it for the first time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hunter recovered first. “Look,
wench,” he began, shaking her hard. He never got to finish his
sentence.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The girl drew herself up, pressing her
body against Hunter’s. Both men suddenly felt warmth flood though
their bodies as an electric prickling swept over their skin. Her
eyes, Geoff noticed vaguely, had changed from light brown to deep
gold. His gaze was most drawn, however, to her full lips, and to the
way her gown hugged the modest curves of her body. He moved towards
the girl with hesitant, shuddering steps, reaching out to touch her
as he moved. Hunter growled possessively in response, tightening his
grip on the girl, but Geoff couldn’t stop himself. He kept moving
forward, reaching for the girl, until Hunter’s steady growl rose to
a roar and he shoved her behind him, sending her hard into the
ground.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-13901703720611554272013-03-17T11:56:00.003-04:002014-04-13T14:21:40.124-04:00Part II: Harry Potter Fic "Magical Dursley"<b>Dudley Dursley, Hogwarts, and all other characters, settings, and content from the "Harry Potter" series are the property of the J.K. Rowling estate and their respective copyright holders; don't mind me, I'm just playing with her toys.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The morning
after the Dursley family received Charlie's letter, Charlotte woke
thinking the whole thing had been a strange dream. After all, a
wizard school? What a very odd concept, and whoever heard of such a
thing? However, she </span>couldn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> put her normally level-headed
husband's behavior out of her head. It </span>hadn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> just been his
uncharacteristic hesitation and silence, or the slight tremors she’d
seen running through his hands as he read the letter—it had also
been the pasty, greenish tint to his skin as he'd trudged up the
stairs.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It had also
been that he </span>hadn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> come to bed until nearly four in the morning.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This last bit
was, in particular, why Charlotte was so surprised to find Dudley
already awake and downstairs by the time she got up. Dudley always
slept in on Saturdays, never mind going to bed at such an ungodly
hour. But when she walked into the kitchen to get the pancake batter
started, there was Dudley, fully dressed and rummaging loudly through
the junk drawer.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Good
morning, Dudley darling," Charlotte said, trying to mask her
uncertainty with cheerfulness. Dudley grunted in response. His wife
hesitated, but she </span>hadn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> been married to Dudley Dursley for
fourteen years just to let him ignore her when strange things were
afoot. She marched right up to her husband and exclaimed, "Dudley,
for heaven's sake, what is going on? We get some funny trick letter
and suddenly you're—"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Where’s
my cousin's last letter?" Dudley interrupted her. Charlotte </span>couldn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> have been silenced any faster if Dudley had put his hand
over her mouth. Her jaw snapped shut and her eyes bulged in surprise
as he, not receiving a response, turned back to the drawer. He sifted
through papers, rubber bands, a broken noisemaker of Charlie's,
paper clips, refrigerator magnets, and a few old Christmas cards,
looking for one very specific letter.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dudley had
sat by Charlie's bedside until after three in the morning, talking
with his son about the letter. Charlie had been, in turns, confused,
angry, incredulous, and finally, excited. After leaving his son,
Dudley had tossed back another strong drink, tried and failed to get
a few hours of sleep, and finally admitted to himself that if Charlie
wanted to go to </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">that school</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">,
there was nothing for it. So now, despite the fact that Harry Potter </span>hadn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> been mentioned in his house for nine years, he was searching
high and low for the last message his cousin had sent him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Charlotte
watched Dudley tear through the junk drawer with increasing
frustration, until it gradually dawned on her that she </span>wasn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> going
to get answers to any of her questions until her husband was through with whatever he was trying to accomplish. In hopes of ending his preoccupation,
she went to the study and, thanks to her uncommonly efficient
organizational skills, returned only a few moments later with the
letter in question.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dudley took
the letter from his wife with a brief nod of gratitude, and sat down
at the table with it. Looking over the birth announcement for Lily
Luna Potter, suppressing a shudder as the picture on it <i>blinked</i>,
he found what he was looking for: his cousin’s address.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Grabbing a
pad of paper in a decidedly disgruntled fashion, Dudley penned as
much of a note as he could stand:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Potter—</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is your
fault, you know.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don’t
suppose </span>you've<span style="font-family: inherit;"> got a ruddy owl I can borrow before July 31st</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
—<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dudley</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hoping Potter
would be confused by his brevity so he could, at least, get some
amusement out of this bloody situation, Dudley trudged off to find an
envelope and post the letter.</span></div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-52022477247321176792013-03-17T11:43:00.000-04:002014-04-13T14:32:54.479-04:00Part III: Excerpt from "Song of the Blood"<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It had been two days. With her hands
bound before her, the other end of that short leash always held by
one of the two of them, she had little choice but to walk. Her only
other option was to be dragged, and she had the feeling that at least
the smaller one would enjoy that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The shorter man, compact but barely a
few inches taller than she, had a loud mouth—at least when it came
to her. He said little to his companion, and those few phrases had
been respectful compared to the abuse he heaped on Sera. For her, he
seemed to hold a special hatred. She got the impression it was
because she worked so hard to deny him the sadistic pleasure of
watching her kick and scream.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It amused her, that he was so invested
in her reactions. He was like a schoolyard bully, only happy when he
upset someone else. It would be pointless for her to cry and beg, and
would only feed his sadism, so she concentrated on her plan and
ignored him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her plan, if it could be called that,
hadn’t made much progress over the two days she’d been with her
captors. For while the first man was comically easy to bother, there
was the matter of the second.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The taller man, larger built and with
long, dark hair, posed a serious problem to any plan Sera might
contrive to escape. He spoke little, but his grey eyes seemed to
notice everything. Even now, as the shorter man jerked on the rope
that bound her hands, she had barely stumbled before he was there.
His hand closed around her arm—she hadn’t realized how much
larger he was, that his fingers touched around her bicep—and he
roughly kept her on her feet. While one might mistake his silence for
stupidity, she could sense the power between her two captors. The
large man was unmistakably in charge.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
---<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The girl’s silence was starting to
grate on him. At first, Geoff had been glad not to have to hear the
usual, “Who are you? Where are you taking me?” After two days of
walking, though, it was becoming unnerving. They had removed her gag
when they were far enough into the woods, but the girl still hadn’t
said a word. She just walked obediently between him and Hunter, hands
bound in front of her and eyes on the ground. If he wasn’t careful,
he almost forgot she was there.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Geoff refused to think that she was so
quiet because she dreaded their destination. Instead, he vilified
her, convincing himself that she was trying to guilt them into
releasing her. As time went on, he began to resent her more, telling
himself that she was just pouting, that he shouldn’t give in to her
childish behavior. He refused to start feeling bad for her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In moments, however, when he was less
careful about his thoughts, he began to see that she had known
someone was coming for her. She knew what they were bringing her to,
and looked upon her fate with resigned dread. But he wouldn’t admit
that he was taking her to torment and most likely to death. He
preferred to think that she was manipulating them, and made himself
angry with her for it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To that end, he began to abuse her.
During the day, he set the pace. Hunter’s silence when the pace
became punishing encouraged him, and he would insult her when she
fell behind him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Move that ass, slut,” he hissed
on the third morning as she struggled to rise past the protesting
muscles in her legs. She didn’t even look at him, and so he went
on, refusing to admit to himself that all he wanted was a reaction
from this unflappable girl. “What, bitch, you think you’re better
than me? Well let me tell you, I’ll be there when the warlord
knocks your little pedestal out from under you, and I’ll laugh. Oh,
yeah, I’ll laugh my ass off.” She was finally on her feet, eyes
on the ground, and he turned away, grinding his teeth. He missed the
single tear that hit the pine needles at her feet.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-1555947272239308452013-03-16T16:50:00.001-04:002015-07-26T14:43:31.027-04:00Part I: Harry Potter Fic "Magical Dursley"<span style="font-family: inherit;">**<i>A Note before we begin: I understand that JK Rowling has announced that although she considered giving Dudley a magical child, she decided against it based on the principle that no magical gene could get past Vernon's DNA. That being said, however, consider this an alternate universe setting if you must, but I like to pretend, for sake of this piece, that she never said that.</i>**</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Dudley Dursley, Hogwarts, and all other characters, settings, and content from the "Harry Potter" series are the property of the J.K. Rowling estate and their respective copyright holders; don't mind me, I'm just playing with her toys.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Mr. Dursley, of number 9 Forsythia Place, was enjoying a quiet drink after work while he watched the news. In the kitchen, his wife puttered away, contentedly wiping down every appliance she had used for dinner before she prepared for bed. She talked while she worked, ostensibly to her husband, but truth be told, more often than not Mr. Dursley only half listened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Talked to your mum, who said she and your dad are coming back from Spain to visit nearer the end of holidays," she was saying, perfectly aware that she had less than her dear husband’s full attention but not particularly bothered by it. "Charlie will be so pleased his gramma and grandpa will be here for his birthday. They always bring him the best presents." Though he was only partially aware of his wife's cheerful monologue, Mr. Dursley caught enough of it to chuckle appreciatively at this last statement. His Charlie did like to get the most out of his birthdays.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Mr. Dursley was so used to his wife's chatter that he barely even noticed a slight change in her tone. "Dudley?" She called out from the kitchen, sounding for the first time a little uncertain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Yes, Lottie?" he replied comfortably, hoping that Charlotte"s conundrum wasn't something likely to require heavy lifting, and therefore something that would require him to get off the couch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Charlie got a piece of mail today…" she trailed off, seeming quite unsure how to proceed. Dudley’s mind, well-trained to suppress anything out of the ordinary, skipped uneasily as he suddenly found himself dredging up decades-old memories.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Mail?" He repeated, trying to sound nonchalant. "Not having trouble at school, I hope. I thought we'd sorted all that out."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Well," Charlotte replied, still in her apron, as she came into the living room. "I haven't actually opened it yet. I wouldn't mention it, but it's just a little unusual…" She trailed off, and Dudley, with a thrill of foreboding, spotted an envelope in her hand. Even from here, he could tell it was addressed in emerald green ink.<br />Dudley's hand shook slightly as he held it out for the letter. Charlotte handed it over, and Dudley read the front:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Mr. C. Dursley<br />9 Forsythia Place<br />Little Whinging<br />Surrey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />And on the back of the parchment envelope, as Dudley knew there would be, was a purple wax seal. Dudley, without a second’s hesitation, opened his son's letter. Charlotte read over his shoulder.<br /><br />Dear Mr. Dursley,<br />We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.<br />Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.<br />Yours sincerely,<br />Penelope Clearwater<br />Deputy Headmistress</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Dudley sat very still for several long moments. Charlotte, growing more confused and discomfited by the second, fidgeted and giggled nervously before finally saying, "But Dudley, this is some sort of joke, of course!" When her husband didn't respond, she paled. "This is a joke, isn't it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Dudley sighed heavily and heaved himself up from the couch, the envelope and its disturbing contents clutched tight in his large fist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />"Dudley?" Charlotte asked, her voice going slightly shrill. "Where are you going?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Without looking back at her, Dudley Dursley lumbered towards the staircase. "Got to go give Charlie his letter, don't I?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">PART II:</span><br />http://greydaymuse.blogspot.com/2013/03/part-ii-harry-potter-fic-magical-dursley.html?m=0Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-42547378736444755222012-07-10T13:21:00.000-04:002012-07-17T01:07:02.784-04:00Bunker ACL61<i>A note before we begin:<br /><br />Written as a prequel to my piece, "White Noise," "Bunker ACL61" takes place three generations before "White Noise." In terms of time line, this puts it fifteen years (or about one generation) after the destruction of human society as we know it.</i><br />
<br />
**************<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bunker ACL61</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
“Shut the hatch! Shut it!” Jack yells, diving through the hatch and rolling across the hangar floor. The MPs on guard hit the controls, the hatch slams, and as the heavy locks clang into place Jack lets out a victorious whoop and a shout of laughter. “Take that, ya nasty surface rats!” Exuberant, he jumps to his feet and throws his fist into the air. The MPs join in his laughter, their own adrenaline pumping from the brush with disaster. A baby coos happily, picking up on the excitement, and the hangar echoes with exclamations of Jack’s heroism. He beams, throwing his arm around Lindsey as his eyes scan the room for Jessica.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sergeant Mullen!” He whirls; Top Brass. Five of the highest officers in the bunker are standing stiffly in front of the elevator. Corporal Lindsey Hayes shrinks back, disappearing into the crowd. Jack doesn’t mind; the Brass mean business this time, he can tell, and he doesn’t want her taking a fall with him. He finally spots Jessica, Lieutenant Donohue, across the hangar, away from the crowd. She’s leaning casually against her mech, Genesis, and she’s watching him. He tears his eyes away, snaps to attention, and salutes the officers on deck.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Gentlemen!”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You’re wanted in the Commander’s office, Sergeant.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Yes, Sir!”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sergeant… what are you holding?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jack looks down, bouncing his arm slightly. The baby coos again, content despite his sharp movements to come to attention. “This, gentlemen, is the fruit of my mission.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Damn it, Jack, you can’t keep doing this!”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“With all due respect, Sir, I do what’s right.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“The hell you do! You do what feeds your ego most, and I’ve had enough of it in my bunker!”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Bu—“<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Shut your mouth, and pay attention! This is your last chance, you hear me? You either conform to the regulations of this bunker or you’re out on the surface.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Wha--?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Is that clear, Sergeant?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A stiff salute. “Yes, Sir!”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Dismissed.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sir?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What, Mullen?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“What about the baby?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Commander sighs. “Every child is a commodity; she’ll be raised here, of course. You are to be commended for bringing her down alive.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Raised by whom, Sir?”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Not you, that’s for sure. Now you’re really dismissed, Mullen. Get out of my office before you piss me off.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“You know, one of these days he’s actually going to kick you out.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jack starts, still jumpy from his surface-fueled adrenaline high, but relaxes as Jessica falls into step beside him.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“He can’t kick me out—I’m too much fun. What would y’all do for entertainment without me?” He flashes her a charming smile, which she ignores with the ease of long practice.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shaking her head long-sufferingly, she murmurs, “He’ll find a way to get by, I’m sure.” They reach the hatch to ascend to living quarters, and Jack hesitates before entering.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Jessica…” He starts, suddenly serious. She watches him warily, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “You’re right about me—as long as I flaunt the Command this way, I’m a liability. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop; I can’t close my eyes to what’s happening up on the surface. But that girl I brought down today—she’s got a chance to learn from the best.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jessica leans away from him. “Don’t ask me, Jack; you know I can’t. Even if I wanted her, I’m just an Lt. It’s taboo.” And that’s the end of it, they both know she doesn’t need to add. Taboos are laws; defiance is heresy.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But she’s talking to Jack, and Jack is a born heretic. They both know, too, where it’s going to get him. “You’re going to be someone, Jess. Everyone knows it. Once you make Captain, you can take her. CO’ll give you Captain if you ask him for it.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jessica steps forward, pressing him back against the bulkhead. “What is this girl to you?” She asks boldly, invading his space, pushing at him.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He matches her stare for stare. “She’s hope.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Captain Donohue?” The Bunker Commander looks her over consideringly. “I have no doubt who put you up to this, Lieutenant.” He sighs, then reaches to pour himself a drink. “Still, it has a certain ring to it.” He looks up at Jessica, standing at attention in front of his desk, and his eyes narrow. “Now what I can’t figure out is why you’ll risk your career for this idiot boy.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She just meets his eyes, silent, lips pressed tightly together to hide their sudden quiver. But he sees it in her chin, the sudden tightness around her eyes. He understands all that she can’t say. He knows that she is in love with Jack, maybe even understands how long she’s wanted him. And he knows just as certainly that as an officer, she will never be permitted to be with a sergeant, let alone breed with him. Taboos are laws; defiance is heresy.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Commander drains his drink in a single gulp and stands up. “Lieutenant Donohue, you are hereby granted the rank of Captain, by the authority of Bunker Commander Stephen Hall of Bunker ACL61.” Jessica salutes, expecting a dismissal, but the Commander isn’t finished. “Your promotion in rank comes encumbered with increased duty and responsibility. It is now your primary charge to ensure the behavior of Sergeant Jack Mullen. So long as Sergeant Mullen conducts himself in a manner befitting an NCO of Bunker ACL61, you retain your rank, and all the privileges that come with it. Should Sergeant Mullen behave otherwise, it is your solemn duty to carry out his sentence before he can bring further harm to the Bunker.” He pauses a moment to allow his meaning to sink in. “Am I understood, Captain?”<br />
<br />
<div>
Jessica swallows hard. “Yes, Sir.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
Jack sprints towards the access hatch, ignoring the MPs who’ve spotted him. He knows, as always, that he can make it out before the security lockdown. As he goes, he catches sight of Jessica watching him. She’s sitting at Genesis’s feet, playing with baby Hope. He winks, flashing her his charming grin.<br />
<br />
<div>
Jessica watches Jack make his break for the hatch. She’s been keeping him by, warning him to be careful, but she knows him. She knew it would come to this. She holds Hope close for a moment, feeling the little girl’s sweet breath stir the hair at the nape of her neck. Then, setting the baby down, she stands, taking careful aim. Jack has always made it clear that his priority is the children he saves from the surface. Jessica only has one option.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-27990525353826339952011-01-03T15:51:00.004-05:002011-01-19T16:46:57.575-05:00White Noise (pt I)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">"We found her, Madison. We found her."<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The words echo in her head. She strides through the corridor, barely registers the people—other pilots, support staff, ranking officers and enlisted personnel—who flatten themselves against the bulkheads to get out of her way. Jerome’s voice is a meaningless buzz mixing with the white noise filling up her mind. Only his first words matter.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">“We found her.”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">He</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s still speaking. No coordinates, but Genesis can download those from the bunker mainframe. His words fade in and out, like tuning an old-world radio. Needless, pointless sounds. </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Shouldn</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">t have told you</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> worried about you</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> not like you</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> Madison, just listen</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…”</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> Layers on layers of static in her head. White noise. Red.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Captain Donohue!</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> The Bunker Commander</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s authoritative tone barely penetrates the static and haze. She keeps walking. </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Captain,</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> he snaps again. </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">If you run off and murder Kara because you're having a temper tantrum, how is it any better than what she did? It's just another breach of discipline. Control yourself, or you're no different than her!</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> Coming from Jerome, the words cut.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Stops, spins, her lips an inch from his skin. Close enough to kiss. Snarls, </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">That. Is <b>not</b>. <i>Kara</i></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">He stumbles back a step. His face is ashen. He thinks she</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s crazy. He may be right.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Worth it.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">She</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s walking again. There</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s a hand on her arm, restraining. Jerome hasn</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">t given up. She moves it away. More hands, black leather gloves: Jerome</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s called up the MP</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s. She moves them, too. Screaming. White noise.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The hatch is in front of her. Tunnel vision, the rest of the corridor fading to red. She turns the knob; nothing. Security lockdown. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. No more hatch.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Across the hangar, Genesis rising before her. Comforting, cold titanium alloy. Genesis makes sense; it would never give and then take away, never earn her trust and then use it against her. Like Jerome. She moves his hands off her again. Like Her.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The lifts are locked down like the doors. Not a problem. Climbing</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">she sees her hands through the red haze as she looks up. Small. Delicate. Deceptive.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Like Her.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Jerome has stopped chasing her. He won</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">t touch Genesis</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">it</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s not his. Taboo. Heresy. Bunker Commander ensures and exemplifies religious devotion to military order. Taboos are laws. Defiance is heresy.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Red haze. Small, delicate hands. Covered in red. Blood.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Worth it.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Shouting. Meaningless. Genesis</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> access hatch. Inside, quiet. Calm. White noise. Red haze. Light. The hangar doors open. Smooth power-up sequence cuts through the static. She sees Jerome on the ground. His hand is on Delilah</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s shoulder; the girl is trying not to cry. She sees the struggle on the child</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s face, remembers the feeling. Unbidden, memories come. The word she never thinks about. Abandoned.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Her commander. Their daughter.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Worth it.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">She turns away. Turns past the empty dock where Revelations once stood. Turns toward the light, the open doors. She can</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">t see Delilah anymore. Nothing to see. Delilah is trained. Has the best genetics. Top ranked pilot, Bunker Commander. She</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">ll survive.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">We found Her.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Uplink to bunker mainframe. Last step. Download coordinates. Deep breath. Static peaks.</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Go.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div></div>Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-23984031973326290622011-01-03T15:44:00.003-05:002011-01-03T15:56:04.655-05:00White Noise (pt II)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">Ground rushes by. Unimportant. More white noise and red haze. The trip is long. Has been longer coming.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Worth it.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">Warning beeps. Closing in on coordinates. Slow now, stealth. Distance meaningless. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Topping a rise. Looking down.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">A small commune</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">no other word for it. Mostly civilians. Revelations nowhere in sight. Minimal armaments. Moderate defenses. Assessment complete. No match.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Feels like there should be more to this moment. Genesis and Revelations. Alpha and Omega. Beginning and end. Beginning ending end. Irony, justice, revenge, <i>something</i></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">White noise. Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Crosshairs. Trigger. Squeeze. End.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Stopstopstopstopstop</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">She has turned. Still unaware. Kneels, arms open. A girl. Barely younger than Delilah. Mouth moves.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Mommy!</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Mommy?</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Not Ma</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">am? No respect, no structure?</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Heresy.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Squeeze.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">An embrace. A little girl; that forgotten word: mommy.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Peace. They have peace.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Red haze. White noise.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">She doesn’t know how long she’s been there. Lying just beneath the crest of the hill, watching. Genesis’ sniper position is second nature. She can’t tell if the time crawling by is made of seconds or weeks. Watching.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">A small collection of surface-dwelling civilians. Not raiders; almost a community. The forbidden stuff of bedtime stories told to the youngest, the children too small still to understand. Old-world concepts, passed through the generations, of a safe life, a life without military order and the constant struggle to survive. Twisted. Idealized. Peaceful, yes. Helpless. The only reason they</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">ve lasted this long is</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">has to be</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Static peaks at the thought of Her. Her.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">She</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s holding the little girl, the little heretic, Her daughter. No rank, no order, mommy and daughter. Abomination.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></i></b></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="line-height: 18px;">How dare She?</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 18px;"> Not only to leave, but also to betray the entire system? Is She trying to end the world <i>again</i>?</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Not that She cares about anyone but Herself. She proved that. She left.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Red haze. White noise.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The little girl in Her arms. Mommy.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The child isn't much older than Delilah-- less than a year's disparity in their ages. She wonders for a moment who the father is. Could the child come from her own bunker? Is the child much different than Delilah? She shakes her head, minute movement. Invalid comparison. Delilah has all the tools she needs to survive. She and Jerome saw to that.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">And she <i>will</i> come back. She will not abandon Delilah. Not like</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><b><span style="line-height: 18px;">Warning: Forbidden thought</span></b><span style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">–</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">not like she was abandoned.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Crosshairs. Squeeze.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Pulse. Red haze. White noise.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Mommy.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">No more hesitation! The little one is an abomination</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">—</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">everyone in this mockery of a commune is! Revolution against the system. Intolerable.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">And then there</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">She has to die.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">She murmurs under her breath, solace in the official procedure, the scripted words. </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">For the following crimes against the state: incompetence of command. Desertion from Bunker ACL61, and the standing army therein. The murder of Kara Hall, and subsequent impersonation of the same. Abandoning the responsibilities and duties of command.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> <i>Abandoning me.</i></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">“</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The accused, who styles herself Kara Hall, is hereby sentenced to death.</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">”</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">No more hesitation.</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">They all have to die before their heresy can spread. For Delilah. For Jerome. For all that</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">s left of civilization. Only way to survive.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">For the child she was when she was abandoned.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></i></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><i><span style="line-height: 18px;">She</span></i><span style="line-height: 18px;"> has to die.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Her.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">But not first.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Crosshairs. Inhale, exhale. Squeeze.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">White noise.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">White noise.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 24px;">White noise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">White…<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-1428167718419927852011-01-03T15:35:00.002-05:002014-04-13T14:35:10.289-04:00Part II: Excerpt from "Song of the Blood"<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upstairs, Sera struggled to change out
of her sweat-soaked clothes with hands that shook. She loved to
dance, but it wasn’t safe and she knew it. How could she have let
herself be so stupid? She berated herself mentally as she frantically
set about packing her few belongings. She should never have stayed in
the tavern when she found out there were performers that night—it
didn’t matter how hungry or cold or tired she was! For when she
heard music, invariably it captured her, inescapable, and she was
unable to disobey until the dance had run its course. She forgot
herself completely, helpless to do anything but allow the music and
her bloodline to turn her body into a living, moving work of art.<br />
<br />
Fey-touched was the technical term for the enchantment, handed down
through her family’s lineage for generations, but she called it a
curse. The inevitability of it infuriated her, but more than that, it
was dangerous. Most of the world had forgotten that the myths about
the Duresk line were based in fact, but not all of it. Far too many
people had been in the room—someone had to have noticed the
attention she drew to herself, both with her prowess and her
reluctance. The Warlord’s spies could be anywhere. She had to leave
at once.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Donning her shawl, she slung her
backpack over her shoulder and ran for the door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Before she could reach it, the door
flew open! It slammed against the wall; two men stormed in, and Sera
gasped, letting out a shriek of alarm as they advanced on her. She
backed away, but there was nowhere for her to go—the window was
shut, and she’d never get it open before they reached her even if
she cared to brave the three-story drop.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Losing her head completely, she
dropped her bag and darted between them, fleeing for her life. Her
desperate bid for freedom was to no avail; they reached out for her,
too fast to avoid, each of them seizing one of her arms in a
vice-like grip.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sera opened her mouth to scream in
earnest, clawing at them, and found a hard cloth ball shoved between
her teeth. Working with silent efficiency and ignoring her pitiful
attempts to struggle, they bound her arms behind her, her legs
together, and the gag behind her head. Finally, they divested her of
her few weapons, searching her writhing form thoroughly, and the
larger, black-haired man threw her trussed body over his shoulder.
The smaller man picked up her bag, and they ghosted from the room.
Within a minute, no one in the outside world even aware, Sera’s
hard-won freedom had been stripped from her, and she found herself a
helpless prisoner.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-80483529450944599712010-11-09T12:30:00.002-05:002014-04-13T14:36:13.671-04:00Part I: Excerpt from "Song of the Blood"<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">T</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">he drum beat with
her heart; her bare feet sounded its rhythm on the hardwood stage.
She could feel the music burning through her veins; with every
gasping breath her lungs seared. She spun, rolling her head and
stretching her arms, then rotated her hips sinuously, sinking lower
to the ground as the thick muscles in her thighs burned.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She danced.
Deliberately and yet without thought, she threw her body to the air
and the power of the beat, letting the tones catch her and resonate
through her. It hurt: it burned, it scorched and stabbed and sliced
and she didn't want it to end. It had to, though, she knew-- and even
now her movements became more frenzied as she sensed the closing and
pushed the last of her strength into the final movements.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Finally,
blissfully, mercifully, torturously, the music ended. The last beats
were stroked from the drum, the bow eased slowly across the fiddle's
strings, and she rose from her deep curtsy with exhausted grace.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The room exploded
in applause, and Sera gasped as identity flooded her awareness and
she struggled to calm her racing heart. She had forgotten who she
was, had forgotten that she wasn't alone, had forgotten that she
performed: forgotten all but the music and her soul's command to
respond, to dance. Her eyes darted around the crowded tavern as she
recalled her surroundings, and willpower alone kept her from fleeing
out into the rainy night with all haste.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Instead, she
assumed her best semblance of serenity as she turned to the musicians
and curtsied to them as well, bowing her head in gratitude for the
dance, swept one last curtsy to the crowd as if she had meant all
along to be the evening's entertainment, and accepted a hand down
from the stage. Among the crowd, she dodged questions and admirers
and gave in at last to her panicked impulse to run.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">---</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The man in the shadows, seated at the
back corner of the tavern, watched her. His cold grey eyes noted the
lovely girl’s frantic gaze and rapid flight with interest that was
not lost to his companion. The other man, smaller, with full red hair
and a neatly trimmed beard, tipped back his tankard and watched his
friend over the rim as he sipped.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“It’s her, isn’t it?” He asked
quietly as he set the mug down and wiped his mouth.</span><br />
<br />
For a moment, he feared his partner
wouldn’t answer. Finally, however, the larger man grunted what he
took to be an affirmative. “What do you see?” The first man
demanded, his cold eyes not leaving the stairs.<br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">His companion obediently closed his
blue eyes and focused his sharp mind on the future, pushing his
energy into the Sight that was his line’s gift. The larger man
waited patiently, until the seer finally opened his eyes with a sigh.
“It’s time,” was all he said.</span></div>
Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8714519404643992880.post-88150184677886146582010-08-10T10:48:00.000-04:002010-08-10T10:55:01.747-04:00In the Beginning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It seems silly to start a blog as a muse by quoting from others, but I will not take credit for that which is not mine. We all started somewhere, and I am not ashamed to have learned from others. I do not claim to be the only one. And so, I attribute the two references in the design of my blog:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">One (at the end of my "about me" section) is from the movie The Matrix. "I can only show you the door; you have to walk through it." Morpheus is an awesome guy.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The other is at the end of the note under my heading: "So send me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free-- I lift my lamp beside the golden door." Sound familiar? That could be because these lines are from Emma Lazarus's famous poem "The New Colossus," engraved on a stone tablet beneath the Statue of Liberty in the harbor beside Ellis Island, New York.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<blockquote><div align="center" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">The New Colossus</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With conquering limbs astride from land to land;</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,</span></span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"</span></span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> -- Emma Lazarus</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What more to say have I, that has not been said? This is my little corner of cyberspace, carved out to make into a home for those who need it. This is my refuge from the cold, dark wastelands of eternity,* and there is no better warmth than companionship. So come stay a while, take off your coat, sit and warm yourself by the fire. Let us speak a bit, of things that were, things that are, and things that have not yet come to pass.**</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">*"...from the cold, dark wastelands of eternity" is a quote from Anne Rice.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">**"...things that were, things that are, and... things that have not yet come to pass" is a quote from J.R. Tolkein's Lord of the Rings.</span></span>Arreyn Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345042278888003058noreply@blogger.com0