The Lost Heroes

The eight heroes were the only survivors of the Fall of Valor. Eight out of the hundreds of defenders of Valor and it's allies. Through sheer luck and the grace of their late king these eight heroes of old and young had survived the massacre. The eight heroes were-

Horace, a wily old warrior who served Valor when King Lucius was only a newborn. Drake, a boy barely past manhood but wielded the pike with ease and skill. Caria, a female hunter who acted as scout and spy. Jan, quick of foot and quicker of blade. Sir Losarch, a knight whose heavy great-sword spelled doom for any enemy. Mord, a sorcerer of dubious arts but certain loyalty. And lastly, Oriad and Sadria, twins who were the youngest of the heroes but most certainly not the least in swordplay.  

The eight heroes were commanded by their dying king to flee Valor and gather those who would follow. While their walls would fall today, Valor would never truly be vanquished even if only one soldier of Valor still stands as ordered King Lucius as he lay dying on his throne. Slain by the Valor's dread enemy the Corrupt. 

Sir Losarch and Horace had led the rest away. No one else in Valor heeded their call to flee. They cursed the eight heroes for abandoning the king and Valor, labelling them cowards and traitors and defectors to the Corrupt. Some stood in their way, and it was on that fateful day that Valorians slew one another. 

The eight, when safely out of reach of the terrible battle, each swore by the crown and sword of their late king and by their ancestors, they would one day return and erase the Corrupt threat from not only Valor, but from all the land.

Those eight oaths were destined to be fulfilled, but not all of them.

Drake pulled off his helmet and scratched his stubbly chin. He sat on one of the rock outcroppings and sighed. Eighteen long years it had been. Eighteen years of hard training and journeys fraught with peril. Eighteen years since Valor had fallen. Eighteen years since he slew his best friend in front of the sacred statue of Bodin, Valor's patron god. Now, he and his friends were close to the end. There was one last obstacle to their goal.

Horace stood on a small hill that allowed him to survey the outlying land in front of him. While his beard was white and his gait slow, he was still the warrior he was so long ago. His strong eyes looked back at the seven others that he had journeyed with. Each had scaled, or in Mord's case, levitated onto one of the many pillars that dotted the ruins that were once Bodin's temple. Drake remained content in his place of the small rock outcropping. They were close, so very close.

Jan stood on the foremost pillar and had a clear view of the land. He enjoyed the cold wind on his scarred face. It soothed him so, calming him. The wind jingled his sword and it slapped him gently on the thigh. The movement led Jan to tighten his sword straps. The small adjustment served to take his mind off the next daunting task ahead of him and the rest of the Valorians. 

Mord knew from reading his many scrolls that the place before him was the Valley of Strength. Once it housed the barracks, arena, smithy and other military places of Valor. Now, it is a shade of its former glory. Mist still clung to Valley of Strength. Ghostly shapes of ruins and looming shadows faded in and out of his vision. Even with a spell of enhanced sight Mord could not pierce the mist. This is not good, this will not go well, thought the sorcerer.

Caria, as always, had her bow strung and ready for her to loose an arrow at any ambusher foolish enough to attack the heroes. While her keen sight did not detect any immediate threat, she could not see what lay beyond the mist. It troubled her greatly. She called to Horace, "We must proceed with caution! I cannot see and I think even Mord could trace a path through this mist!" Horace nodded an acknowledgement while Mord let out a dismissive snort. Caria turned back to face the mist and frowned. 

Oriad commented to his sister, "Sari, we have come far." Saria agreed, "Aye. Losarch and Horace have led us well." Oriad was tossing his knife and catching it, a nervous habit. Saria asked, "Ori, what is wrong? Is something troubling you?"  Oriad caught his knife one last time and sheathed it. He smiled to his only family and said, "I'm fine, Sari. We can only do our best in the coming storm." 

Sir Losarch stroked his beard thoughtfully. If the message was correct, the Guardian was not one, but seven in the Valley. Perhaps the twins could take one while the rest of us fight the others one-to-one, mused the knight. He shook his head. That was foolish. The message did not mention who or what the Guardians were. To wander blindly into the mist would be foolhardy. Should he send Caria and Mord into the Valley? No, that would not work either if one or two of them were lost. Sir Losarch looked towards the mist again. 

He stared for a moment longer when he paled. The Valley of Strength did not have structures as tall as the towers of Valor.  Yet he spied shadows that were just as large as the towers. He had a feeling he knew what the Guardians were now. Horace must know about this, resolved Sir Losarch. To Hell with the consequences of sharing the contents of the message with the others. This was vital to their quest. The knight hurried towards Horace.

From WriteWorld

http://roboto-kun.deviantart.com/art/warriors-80905102

Keep Running

Lieutenant Harris King looked away as the body of the young girl was taken away. He picked his way among the rubble of what moments ago used to be the headquarters of GeoCorp, the most powerful and richest of bio companies in Destine. Rumors that GeoCorp controlled the ruling body had been spreading like wildfire lately among the networks of Destine, and the destruction of their headquarters seemed to have added truth to that claim. As what the mysterious message that had been sent to him hours before the explosion had said. He looked up at the rain-filled sky and wondered about the seeming conspiracy involved in this chaos. Norman, what have you done? thought King

Two hours earlier...

Upon the rooftops of the towers and flats of the Highrise district, in the setting sun, two lithe figures ran, ducked, rolled and jumped from roof to roof. One had a duffel bag slung across his chest. The other carried nothing but a heavy heart. Both were clad in tank tops and track pants. Worn running shoes sped the two figures towards the tallest building in the district, the headquarters of GeoCorp. 

The two figures came to a stop atop a residential block. They panted as they caught their breath and waited for their contact to arrive. The roof access door opened and introduced a tall, middle-aged man. He was similarly clad to the two figures. He too carried a duffel bag. The two figures straightened and nodded to the man. The fading sunlight enveloped their faces and the man could see their features clearly.

A younger man, in his twenties. A strong jaw and determined eyes. Wary brown eyes constantly searched the area. The wind tousled his wavy raven hair. Six 'o clock shadow covered his chin. His name was Norman. 

The girl next to him looked barely out of her teens. Her golden brown hair was shoulder-length and was held together by a dirty white bandanna. Electric blue eyes shared the same expression as Norman's, but the man could see that hers were tinged with worry. Her tender face could have been mistaken for a common schoolgirl, not a Vagabond who lived in the streets. She was known as V. No one knew her real name.

The man returned Norman and V's greeting and shouldered his bag. He said to them, "Let's go." The three turned to face the GeoCorp headquarters and ran. 

As the trio sped towards GeoCorp, the man was saying between breaths, "I still have my doubts of this Norman. Bringing your young one is a bit risky for all three of us."

Norman shook his head and replied, "No. V comes with us, or I'm staying behind." The man scoffed, "Ha! You'd sooner jump of a tower than remain behind for today!" Norman sighed and continued running. V offered no reply. 

They were getting close. Sensors showed the three Vagabonds racing towards him and his assets. He nodded to his operators. The operators quickly started typing orders for the Destine Security Association, murmuring confirmations and counter-orders in their headsets. The main objective was:

To eliminate the Vagabonds.

The GeoCorp headquarters loomed ever closer. The man was panting more heavily than the younger Vagabonds, who only gasped lightly and occasionally. Norman asked the man, concerned, "Are you sure you can go on? V can carry the bag just fine you know." The man waved him away, retorting, "I have hid for  eighteen years just for this moment, and you're asking me to back out?" 

Norman tried to say more, but the man said, "Enough. We continue, the shift change for the guards is nearly time." That subject closed, the man sped up, leaving the two young Vagabonds to catch up.

As the man landed on the roof of the next building, a sound was heard. A sound that seemed as if the air was being sliced by a wide-bladed sword. Only one thing could make that noise. 

The man fell on his back in surprise as a Destine Security Association personnel chopper rose into the open. The DSA trooper who manned the side guns fired. The other trooper who held a sniper rifle also fired. Both the trooper's target was the older Vagabond in front of them. 

V screamed as the rounds tore into the man's body. With a cry, the man flung his duffel bag back. He flopped to the ground. He craned his head towards the two younger Vagabonds and mouthed, "Go" 

His head fell back, blank eyes staring at them. 

Norman grabbed hold of V and dragged her away from the body and the chopper, which turned to pursue them. V was crying silently. Norman said to her, "He's gone we can't do anything. If we want GeoCorp gone we have to keep running." V's tears continued flowing but she wrenched her hand free from Norman's grip and continued to run apace with him. The chopper continued to pursue them. The racket of sirens emanated from the murky darkness that was the streets of Destine. The sun had just set, so it should be harder for the DSA troopers to spot them. But how do I get rid of the chopper? thought Norman desperately.

Bullets ricocheted on the roofs, antennas, pipes and cranes that were Destine's rooftops. The last two Vagabonds swerved left and right as they tried to avoid the troopers' shots while attempting to make their way towards the GeoCorp headquarters. Unfortunately, with the chopper actively after them, the quickest route to the menacing tower was cut off, unless the two Vagabonds found a way to destroy or disable the chopper. 

Norman started to feel his pace falter. V looked exhausted, turning corners more sluggishly than normal. Sooner or later they would tire, and the chopper would crush them. GeoCorp would never be destroyed, and the fifty-odd Vagabonds would have died for nothing. Norman kept running, pulling up V as she tripped over a cable. Seeing the long, sinewy cable gave Norman an idea. A crazy, daring idea. If it worked, he and V would get to GeoCorp in time for the shift change.

Norman grabbed V on the shoulder and steered her through a roof access door. He pulled the door shut as more shots pinged off it. He said to V, "Crazy idea time." V stared at him wide-eyed and gasping. She nodded desperately. He pulled her closer and whispered quickly. Outside, the chopper landed on the roof and dropped off several DSA troopers. The commander in the chopper shouted, "We ain't lifting off until you  idiots kill those two troublemakers!" The troopers shouted affirmative as they got into formation, ready to break down the door. 

As the lead trooper reached for the door, it suddenly burst open, bowling him and a few of his teammates over. The two Vagabonds knocked down the remaining standing troopers. That would only keep them stunned a few seconds, but that was all Norman and V needed. They jumped aboard the chopper and V kicked out the gunner onto the rooftop. Norman was wrestling with the commander. He shouted to her, "Get the pilots!" Already the chopper pilots had lifted off in desperation, stranding the troopers on the rooftop. They fired at the chopper in a futile attempt to get it to land as it flew away.

V squeezed into the cockpit with the two pilots. One of them noticed her and rose from his seat, hand reaching for his sidearm. V swung a punch but the pilot ducked. Her fist connected with a small locker and she cried out in pain. V doubled over as the pilot stepped forwards and grabbed her by the hair. She screamed in pain as he dragged her out of the cockpit. V kicked and struggled as the pilot pulled her along. She heard Norman call her name as he continued fighting the commander. 

His desperate call fueled her with determination and she went limp. The pilot pause for a split second as he registered the sudden lack of resistance. He muttered, "What the h-" A foot kicked him in the back, propelling him forwards. He nearly fell out of the chopper but he managed to grab hold of a railing. V kicked out again, but the pilot stubbornly maintained his grip. He tried to aim his sidearm at V and stopped as a body collided with V and pushed her forwards. 

V hit the pilot, and he fell screaming to his death. V would have joined him until a hand caught her arm. It was Norman who had collided with her when the commander won free of a headlock and kicked him away. With one arm holding onto the edge of the chopper and the other holding on to V, the two were in dire straits. 

Norman looked up as the bruised DSA commander gazed down on him and sneered. The commander drew his knife and crouched. He waved the point at Norman's face. Norman managed to spit at him. Now angry, the commander barked, "You should have just ran home when you had the chance, boy." He raised his knife

And was kicked away as V swung up into the chopper when Norman boosted her up with his arm. The knife clattered away, its owner following it soon after, screaming curses as he plunged down. V helped Norman up and they limped towards the cockpit.

It did not take long to force the second pilot to submit, who was less braver than his copilot and his commander  He reluctantly guided the chopper towards GeoCorp, his own sidearm pointed at his head. Norman, who was holding the gun, smiled at V as she leaned against a bulkhead, watching the chopper's progress. It would not be long now. 

"Um, we're approaching the tower." the pilot reported. Norman grunted an acknowledgement. V tensed. The towering headquarters of GeoCorp loomed above them. Yes, it was that tall. The chopper had been flying at an altitude that dwarfed every building in Destine. They were not even at half the height of GeoCorp.

The evening brought clouds to Destine. The tiny chopper compared to the tower crept closer to its bulk. As the chopper neared, an alarm sounded in the cockpit. Norman shouted, "What's going on?" The pilot nervously replied, "W-we're being targeted! By GeoCorp's anti-air defense system! Please, I can't go on! Just give me a parachute!" The pilot shut up as Norman dug the gun into his head. V could see that the pilot's hands were shaking in fear. 

The alarm shrilled as puffs of smoke were spotted on the tower. White dots streaked towards the tower. The pilot screamed and tried to run, but Norman clubbed him on the head with the gun. The pilot fell unconscious as Norman pushed him away and grabbed hold of the controls. V yelped as a missile barely missed the chopper. Norman yelled, "I'm going to fly up and into the damn tower, V! Brace yourself!" V grabbed hold of a bulkhead and did as she was told. Her wide eyes tracked the chopper's elevating altitude. 

Norman was calling, "Al..most...there!" A flash of red flew past and V gulped. The chopper could never hope to outrun the missiles. Norman was swerving the chopper left and right like a maniac. With the constant moving and bumping, the unconscious pilot somehow slipped and fell out of the cockpit, into the personnel area and tumbled out of the chopper. An explosion served to tell V and Norman that a missile had impacted the pilot. V was about to yell Norman's name when all hell broke loose.

Norman cried in triumph as he smashed the chopper into the windows of GeoCorp. At the same time, two missiles hit the chopper, one in the tail and the other in the underbelly. V's vision was cluttered with flames and shrapnel as she was thrown free of the chopper. She hit her head on something and everything went dark.

V woke to someone shaking her on the shoulder. It was Norman. He breathed a sign of relief as she smiled at him. He whispered, "You're hurt." V laid a bloody hand on his grimy face. She replied hoarsely, "So are you." It was the first sentence he heard her say other than her grunts, screams or whoops. Her voice managed to be musical in such a situation. Norman said, "Say it again." V groaned in pain and whispered, "We're both hurt." 

Norman tore off his tank top and bound V's midsection where most of the shrapnel got into her. His body ached as the burns and shrapnel shifted on his tired body. V wrapped up his bleeding head with her bandanna. He lifted her up, cradling her body in her arms.  V whispered to him, "The charges...are they?"

Norman nodded his assent. He murmured, "They're still intact, but the detonator's gone." V stirred and asked weakly, "What?" Norman looked down at her soft face and replied, "They must be detonated manually." 

V was too weak to rise as Norman laid her on the ground. It had started raining. The rain pattered into the wrecked lab. V did not have eyes for the mangled chopper, nor for the sad bodies that were clad in lab coats, or even her own wounds. She could only look at Norman's bloody, grimy yet handsome face. V said, "You can't." Norman shook his head sadly and patted her head gently. He reassured her, "You'll be fine. Remember the charges's blast are focused in a single direction, so both of us will be just fine after the explosion, except for our wounds." 

V protested weakly, " But you don't know how strong the charges are. They could be too powerful. What if the reactor overloads too much and kills us both?" She had to stop as she was rocked with a wave of nausea and she fell back coughing. Norman said, "It doesn't matter, what matters is that GeoCorp would be gone soon. We're doing this for everyone in Destine. So help me and shut up." V fell silent as he kissed her on the forehead. 

As Norman got up, he felt V grab hold of his arm. He leaned down so V could whisper into his ear, "I'm not a kid anymore, but promise me that you'll come back." Norman clasped her hand and replied, "I will. Hang tight, V." V shook her head and said, "No, its Viola."

Norman limped down to the heavy steel doors that led to the reactor. He punched in the codes and waited as the doors slid open with a metallic groan. He walked inside, doors closing behind him, clinging the duffel bag as if he would die if he let go. He gingerly walked across the walkway that connected the reactor to the doors. He quickly got out the charges and wedged them into the reactor. He fiddled with the wires and chips as he tried to activate them. As he neared completion, a booming voice sounded from speakers hidden in the darkness.

"So you, Vagabond, have come to destroy my life's work. You'll find that I have the entire top ten levels rigged to blow at a push of a button. That includes the level you and I are trapped on. No elevator, no stairs, no escape whatsoever. I would rather have both of us dead than only me. Igneous, your explosives are. A directed blast, straight into the core of my reactor. I wish you the best of luck, you cannot find it here. All of us shall die."  warbled the voice. 

Norman held up the last two wires and muttered, "This is for Destine and Viola." The wires sparked as he twined them together. 

A flash of light and tremendous heat, and time and meaning ceased to exist for him.

Viola managed to prop herself up and she was slowly, ever so slowly, edging towards the reactor room. Her sides, her legs, basically everything cried out in pain. She gritted her teeth and plodded along. She had this ominous sense that something bad was about to happen. She crept closer, and closer. The steel doors greeted her as she neared the reactor and Norman. Viola heard a muffled thump and a rumble spread across the floor, the entire tower. 

Viola fell to the floor. She felt a giant wave of heat and force overwhelm her. She only had time to whisper, "Norman." before she was thrown back, far, far back. Back out of a window, and into the storming night. She fell as clouds of fire and smoke enveloped the top of GeoCorp. The rain was a comfort, washing away the blood and grime from her exhausted body. She clutched Norman's tank top, still wrapped around her body. At least all the Vagabonds can celebrate the downfall of GeoCorp together. 

Viola closed her eyes as she plummeted down into the warm embrace of the darkness-shrouded ground thousands of feet below. The rain kept her cool on her last journey. She gripped the chain her late parents gave her. I'm going home. Viola's last thoughts were before she hit the wet ground, rain plastering her body.

Keep Running

Inspired by Mirror's Edge

Letters To A Soldier-With Love, Your Sister

First Letter (Sheila)

Hi, Jake. Its me your sister! I hope you're doing alright on the field. I hear it got pretty nasty lately from the news. Mom and Dad don't say it, but they're as worried as I am. I really, really hope that the war doesn't sound as bad as it did on the news. My friends in school are writing to their brothers too with me. Remember Kris? Her brother Niles is in your division, don't know whether you've seen him yet. If you have, Kris and I do wish for you two to look out for each other. If you've not seen him, do look for him. Kris is terribly worried for Niles and is desperate for news. If you know anything that has happened to him, please write back to tell us.

Just to update you on home, Colin caught a mouse today and freaked mom out. Dad had to calm her down with his 'look me in the eyes' thing. This proves yet again that you got me a great cat. I got a pair of rollerskates from Dad for improving in Spanish. Wished that you were here to teach me how. Asking around school to find a teacher.

Nothing much in school, just that the football team are losing. Again. I overheard the football coach telling my coach that he might resign if this continues. As far as I can tell, no one in the entire school likes him anyway, including the other staff. Good riddance, I would say.

The Johnsons are still borrowing tools from Dad at a steady rate. Dad isn't really happy with this. He still hasn't gone around to fixing the SUV's noise problem so I don't know why he has to be so pissed. Mom's still cooking your favorite dishes every night. While I love you dearly Jake, I'm actually getting tired of Mom's cream of chicken soup. Mom says to stick with it until you come back. I hope you do, Jake. We all miss you so.

P.S I'm thinking of picking up guitar too, what do you think?

From your loving sister,
Sheila

Away

Sheila. A name for a girl, right? To most, yes it is. To me, to I, its more than that. Sheila is, was, my sister. And my deepest regret. She was sweet, full of life. She died at seventeen. She died alone and afraid. She died without saying goodbye. She died because of me. 

Sheila was born when I was three. My hair was brown from my dad, but she inherited my mom's honey blonde hair. Her eyes were dad's though. Such a deep-sea blue that it pierced through any lies and concealment. Sheila's blonde hair grew longer and faster than most girls I knew, and she had a knack for sports. I taught her how to score a goal. Dad taught her how to run a marathon. Mom taught her how to fire a bow. We nurtured her, raised her, taught her the good things in life. But for all our teachings, Sheila still fell victim to the one thing that can overpower everything: Love

Sheila grew up to be a beautiful young woman. At sixteen, she was a great athlete in her track and field school events. While her results were not the perfect, she always performed above averagely. She came to see me off when I was shipped out to Iran. A smiling, tall shape of sisterly love. A hug and a kiss on the cheek was the last show of love for me. I never saw her again until her funeral. What I will do now is to read the letters first Sheila, then my parents sent to me while I was in Iran.

The Circus of Tricks

Jess pulled Quentin along. "Come on, Q! The show's about to start." Quentin let himself be dragged despite his reluctance to visit the new circus that popped out last week.

Behind the young couple followed three of their friends. Sebastian, whose nickname was Bass, and his brother Nick were laughing and punching each other. Janet, whose braid resembled a hornet and so was dubbed 'Hornet', smiled slightly as the two brothers told each other jokes. The five friends were only a small part of the crowd that were on the way to the Big Top. Quentin, Jess and the others queued up to give their tickets to the clown who was at the entrance collecting tickets and doing small acts to liven up the already excited atmosphere. The line moved rapidly, a sign of just how much anticipation the town had for the upcoming show.

As the friends finally moved up to the clown, Quentin blanched at the clown's too-wide grin and its closeness to Jess. He held out his hand for their tickets. The monkey on his shoulder bared its teeth. Quentin edged away. The monkey's appearance seemed unnatural. Its fur stood on end, its teeth more resembled fangs, the whites of its eyes were too prominent. In other words, the monkey did not look like a monkey. The clown barked a comical laugh which made Quentin jump as he took their tickets. He bawled, "Enjoy the show folks!" He pinched his bright red nose which of course let out a trumpet's sound. Jess laughed and this time Quentin pulled her inside the Big Top.

They settled down on the bleachers. All around there were excited murmurs and whispers from the audience. Quentin only had eyes for the Ring. Yellow floodlights were trained on the sandy Ring. They made a circle for a single person to stand in so everyone could see him. The rest of the Ring was shrouded in darkness. Quentin could only make out the red and white fence that separated the Ring from the audience if he squinted.

Why was he such on edge tonight? This was not his first circus visit, he enjoyed the last one too. But there was this nagging feeling of trouble in his head that told him "Get out of here!" Quentin could barely hear Jess at his side chattering with Bass and Nick behind them. He looked to his other side where Hornet was. She looked tense, staring at the Ring with wide eyes. She was muttering something which Quentin could not make out. Hornet abruptly relaxed and turned to him, smiling. She said to him, "Aren't you excited, Q?" Quentin merely nodded, surprised at the sudden change in his friend. He thought nothing of it, maybe it was just the light playing tricks on him. He felt Jess' warm hands stroke his arm and he turned to her, forcing a brave smile. She beamed at him and asked, "Want some snacks? Bass is going to get some." Quentin shook his head politely. Hornet leaned forward and asked for popcorn. Jess giggled and told Bass what they needed.

Quentin went back to staring at the circle of light on the Ring. That bad feeling was growing stronger, but he had to stay on for Jess' sake.

A drum-roll. The audience quieted down. It continued until it reached a fever pitch, then ended in a clash of cymbals as a tall figure strode into the Ring into the circle of light. Quentin could tell that this was the Ringmaster. He wore knee-high boots, had on a turquoise suit with its coattails flapping behind him. He held a whip with gloved hands. His black top hat shone. He stroked his medium-length beard and laughed a merry laugh. He announced

"Ladieeesss and gentlemen, boys and girls. Welcome one and all to the Circus Extraordinaire of Tricks and Gimmicks! Welcome to the Circus of Circuses, on this Night of Nights. Tonight, I and my friends bring to you  the most famous, the most jaw-dropping, the most amazing circus of them all! We are the most astounding, the most impressive, THE MOST AMAZING CIRCUS ON EARTH!" He continued in his rich and cultured voice. He told them the acts tonight. Did amazing maneuvers with his whip as he talked and stroked his beard and smiled graciously. He finished with lassoing his own top hat and bringing it to his hand.

With that, the Ringmaster spread out his hand and took a bow, and behind him out tumbled out various men, women and children clad in blue-and-silver jumpsuits. The acrobats. They tumbled, spun and leaped. Some even did their tricks among the audience, much to their shrieking pleasure. They pulled out hoops of different sizes, and took turns in leaping through them. There were Oooohs and Ahhhs as the acrobats finished their act and as one, bowed and jumped backstage out of sight.

Next came a troupe of dancing horses. Two men dressed, ridiculously enough, as ballerinas led them in twirls and splits. How a horse can do splits, Quentin did not know, but these horses could and make it look graceful. The band played relentlessly, shifting their tempo as and when. The horses and two men always managed to keep the rhythm. The cheers and applause were raucous. The two men led the horses away and the Ringmaster strode in again. He announced the next act, and steam started to seep into the Ring.

Quentin could barely follow the acts' progress with all the cheering and music and chaotic noise. His eyes started to feel heavy. He fell asleep.

Quentin felt a hand shake him awake. It was Jess, and she had a frown on her face. She chided, "Really, Quentin? You're ever the energetic one, why did you sleep through the first half? Its already the intermission." Quentin could not stifle his groan in time. Jess crossed her arms and glared at him. Quentin said apologetically  "Sorry babe, don't know why I'm just so-o-o tired tonight." He raise his hand to cover his mouth as he yawned. Jess said, "Well, Mr. I'm-so-tired. I'm going out with Nick and Bass to get more snacks. Do you wanna come? You too Hornet." Hornet, who was still reeling from the amazement of the show, shook her head. Quentin said to Jess, "Well if Janet ain't going, I'll keep her company then." Jess let out an irritated huff and went outside.

Janet looked guilty. She muttered, "Sorry." Quentin shrugged and told her, "No man should leave a girl alone here. There's hardly anyone around now." Even as he said it, Quentin spied four other people scattered around the bleachers meant to hold hundreds of people. Some were reading, others looked to be sleeping. Quentin laid back and relaxed. He was really tired. Janet seemed similarly fatigued. He meant to ask about her when smoke started to roll in.

Quentin sat up. That's weird. Was the show about to start again? Everyone just left. He noticed the smoke was tinged green. Maybe the show was starting again. He sat up to get Jess and the others. A great force pushed him down, slamming him so hard on his seat that Janet turned to stare. No, you will not leave. Quentin looked around wildly. He said, "What is go-" A roar shook the Big Top. The six audience members who stayed behind were startled to full attention.

A dark figure strode out of the smoke and into the spotlight. At first Quentin thought it was the Ringmaster since the figure was also clad in a turquoise suit, but there the similarity ended.

The stranger's attire, which may have once been beautiful and eye-catching, were torn and mud-stained. A little crooked top hat rested on his head. His whip was barbed. His hands that wielded the whip was burned so badly that Quentin could see charred bone and muscle under the ruined skin. The stranger's face was hidden by a broken mask smudged with sot. The mask was that of a smiling visage. It was creepy. Parts of the mask had been chipped off, so Quentin could see part of a burnt scalp with several sad strands of hair sticking out. A chin, also badly burnt. The stranger spread his hands and bowed, mimicking the Ringmaster. Quentin saw that tendrils of white mist seemed to curl from the stranger's back. He looked more closely and shrank back in terror. The tendrils of mist had faces. Faces that were horribly scarred with burns, screaming in pain and terror.

The stranger straightened and turned his mask towards each of the six audience members, giving each a gaze strong enough to make them budge in discomfort. He spread out his arms and announced, "Welcome to the Circus of Smiles."

Prologue-The Circus of Smiles

They called it the Circus of Smiles. A famous circus which travelled the world, bringing smiles to every member of the audience. The performers which caught the audience's eyes were the beautiful sword swallower Natalie, the amazing fire-breather Zohan, the intimidating strongman Hercules and finally, the dashing ringmaster and magician Major Warhol. They were just four of the many performers that made up the Circus of Smiles but everyone would agree that these four and their acts were the best they have seen. Until the Circus of Smiles fell victim to a jealous rival circus. At the dead of a night, after a particularly splendid performance, several performers from a rival circus set alight the tents that were the Circus of Smiles. None survived. Police discovered most of the charred, sad bodies of the best circus in the world. Strangely, the total tally of bodies and parts did not match the full cohort of performers. There were estimated four bodies missing but the bodies they had were too shrivelled to identify who was missing. The case was closed, associated with a freak accident. It was thirty-three years later that the Circus of Smiles was mentioned again and it came about in a most morbid manner.

A Red Rose

I don't want to play anymore, kids. I am too tired. Go to sleep. Let us all sleep. A lullaby, its words forgotten, wafts into my ears. Loved ones fall asleep, one by one. This time, they do not scream as I lay them to sleep. No blood. They look so peaceful, except for their physical state. The woman sweet of face but bereft of her skin is there again. I am grateful that she does not shriek at me this time. The little ones seem happy in their sleep. So full of life. So innocent. And their candles were blown out so easily.  I weep at their loss. My loss. The man. The twisted man, neck broken until his head was twisted a full 180 degrees. His arm was missing and his body was a steaming open mass of organs and bones. None of it was moving. His torso's missing flesh draped his sides like flaps from a box. As I watched them sleep, another figure faded into my view.

It was me.

My carbon copy smiles at me. His easy smile reminds me of happier times. Times that would have gone longer if not for my actions. That smile is forgotten. He makes a finger gun and points it to me. He says, " Don't worry, it'll all be over soon." I ask, "Are you telling the truth?" He chuckles and replies, "I am you, why would I lie to you, William?" I hear a click, a bang and I wake.

I sit up. I stare at my empty cell. Only my bunk and the bars which served as my window existed. I looked out. I see only yellow light but no sun. The cell is pitch black despite the light. The bars that were the cell door let me see out into the gray block. Strange, where is the cell opposite? I hear whistling and relax slightly. Frank must be in a good mood today. The looming shape of my constant prison guard stands in front of my cell. His voice sounds different. It sounds like he is in a cave and I at the cave's entrance. An echo. " Here now, you're awake. Good. Your third round's today. If you win, we'll let you off for two weeks." Two weeks. They can pass so quickly. Time is relative. I grasp at this lifeline however and nod. Bars clang open. I slowly walked out, taking care not to move my cuffed hands too much. As I walked out of the darkness and into the white light of the prison, I glance at Frank's face and blanch.

The guard's face was freshly flayed, leaving a reddish skull covered with muscle grinning at me. The gruesome sight chuckles and teased, "What? My face to much for scum like you? Ha!" He pulls me along. While we walked, or in my case, dragged my feet, the mutterings return.I pay no attention, until the mutterings evolve into shrieking. I yell and I am backhanded by Frank. I quiet down, but my eyes shift wildly at the many cells I pass. The shrieks belong to the woman. Hands reach out to me and Frank. They were in various stages of decay but all of them had one thing in common. They wear the ring that the woman wore. Faces emerge from the shadowy cells. Faces like Frank's, or features that were taken away leaving smooth surfaces. Skulls and demonic in nature. We pass the cell where I saw the eyes that were mine. A man lopes into view. It was the same man in my dream. Myself. He smiles and makes a finger gun. I shudder. The Door opens and my handcuffs fall away.

I stumble into the Room. I look at my much-abused wrists. They had been rubbed down until I spy a hint of white bone under the bloodied skin. The physical pain is nothing. The Other Door opens and a man falls in. He gets up and brushes his prison clothes. He sits and smiles at me.

He is me.

I stare aghast at him. What is this cruel joke? My last fight and they give me my, myself? I look to the window that was not a window. I follow my movements. The Voice says, "You first. You with the bad wrists." I hold up my wrists. I do the same. Both our wrists are in the same state of abuse. We shake our heads and reach for the gun. I grab it first. He is a second too late. I aim it at my head. I look at myself. His smile has faded, replaced by a frown of concern. Yes, he, I should be concerned. I ask, " Will I die today?" He shrugs and replies, " Only the gun knows. Have faith in me." I flinch at his voice. It sounded like three copies of myself talking from deep inside a cave. I have faith. I have hope. I have guilt and shame. I pull the trigger.

A click. I lower the gun and place it gingerly on the table. My copy takes it. He does not raise it to his head immediately. He says to me, " You will not die. I won't either. Not yet. I will spin the barrel." He does so. Five remaining chambers become six again. He raises it to his head. He hums the lullaby. I sway to the rhythm. We both take a breath to prepare. He fires.

A click. He slides the gun to me. I look at him and flinch again. His face now looked as if I was seeing him through a television with static. His echoing voice now laced with static, he asks, "Well? What's wrong?" I shake my head and say nothing. Something is wrong here. I disturb myself too much. While he does not smirk like the man before, something about him makes me want to shoot him. I stop there. What I do not like about him, I dislike about myself. A clever trick to undermine my confidence. How can one lie to oneself without discovering the truth? I aim at my head. My impersonator gazes at me with pity. I fire.

A click. Four chambers left. I set the gun down and agreed with myself, "You're right. I won't die." He frowns and say, "I said yet. You and I will not die yet."I chuckle and retort, "I won't. But you will." He frowns and pick up the gun. He has already spun the barrel. He has lost his chance to save himself. Even if he aims at me, I will not die. I have seen it. I feel a shift in the atmosphere of the Room. It has grown cold. Deathly cold. I shiver. How can it be? Temperature does not change like that. The other me seems unaffected. He holds the gun in his hands, pondering his next move. I rub my hands for warmth, ignoring the smarting pain from my wrists. I look down at my ruined wrists. When I raise my head, my eyes widen as I see myself training the gun on me. I laugh. "You won't kill me! The bullet is in the next chamber!" He calmly stares me down. He simply says, "If you could see yourself, you'll know the bullet is in this chamber." I falter at his statement. I calculated the possibility correctly, didn't I? If I go first, and he spins the barrel at his first turn...my thoughts trail off. Have I made a mistake. He nods his head and says sadly, "You have made a mistake William. Rest in peace." I only have time to gape at his statement before his face completely blurs, the Room spins and the gun fires.

I hold a red rose in my hand. My wrists looked brand new. I pinch the healed skin. Nothing. I wonder what is the rose for. I stand in complete darkness except for the rose, which seemed to glow faintly. I walk forwards, the only way I think I can go. It is hot and humid but I do not sweat. I keep walking. A nagging feeling in my head tells me to turn right and continue straight. I do so, and I see a faint red glow in the distance. I continue walking. The red glow intensifies as well as the heat. I reach the source of the glow and I recoil in horror. Jagged stalactites tinged with red hung dangerously low to the ground. Pits filled with flame dotted the landscape. The horizon seemed to stretch forever. Worse, I see tortures the likes of which tyrants, psychopaths or madmen could envision. I continue forwards, trying not to look at the tortures. I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was. I bumped into a another man, one not chained or tortured.

It was me.

He wears a suit. Like I, he does not sweat in the sweltering heat. He grasps my hand and shakes it warmly. His voice was the same as before. "Ah, you have finally arrived. I have just the place for you." For some reason, this version of me scares me. I stammer, "W-what are you talking about?" He grins, revealing too sharp human teeth. He replies, "You do not know, it seems. This is my lands, you have been sent here. And I am the one who everyone fears." His form contorts, twisting and growing. The suit rips apart to reveal tough hide. Wings grow. Great horns sprout from his head. He grows taller, taller, taller. I finally recognise him. I scream, "Sat-"

Throughout the depths of Hell, a scream echoed which dwarfed all the others. Imps and demons paused in their work for a moment, then continued. The scream cut off with a terrible finality but to the denizens and the damned did not give it another thought. It was just another cry of terror like so many others.

The rose withered. It had fulfilled its purpose.

The patient had finally gone quiet. Dr. Woodsy did not know whether it was a good thing or not. He peered through the small window on the door at the patient. The patient was just as Woodsy remembered, in his straitjacket, sitting in a corner with a stony face. He had been screaming incoherently for a few days before quieting. Dr. Woodsy took down his observations and turned towards his office. He had to consult with his superior on this matter.

Dr. Woodsy hurried along, coat flapping behind him. He turned a corner and nearly bumped into a woman and her children. Woodsy pushed up his glasses and peered at the family. Recognising them, he sighed in relief and said, "Ah, Mrs Sanders. I was about to notify you of your husband's condition." The woman, Mrs Sanders, or Harriet, asked, "What happened to William? Is he alright?" Woodsy shook his head and replied, "No. He has finally stopped his screaming without our using sedatives. I am not sure whether this is good or bad so I am going to consult." Harriet asked, "May we see him?" Woodsy hesitated. Harriet pressed, "If William is quiet now, maybe he won't react so violently when I see him this time." Woodsy pondered her argument and nodded. He could not refuse this caring woman and her children staring at him with large pleading eyes. He said, "Very well, follow me please."

Harriet tensed as Dr. Woodsy pulled aside the small viewing window on her husband's cell door. She crept closer. Her children grabbed her skirt for reassurance. She saw the emotional wreck of her husband. He did not move to acknowledge her. Indeed, William was quiet. He did not scream, kick his legs or froth at the mouth. Harriet whispered, "William." He did not stir. Kate tugged at her skirt. She squeaked, "Mommy, is Daddy ok?" "I'm sure he's fine pumpkin." replied Harriet, though worry ate at her heart. Harriet edged even closer to the door. Her nose pressed against the cold steel metal. William looked paler than before. His eyes were closed and his jaw was slack. He could be sleeping, experiencing his nightmares that had plagued him six months ago. Woodsy was murmuring at her side about his condition but Harriet was not listening. There was something wrong with her husband. She looked closely at him.

His chest was not moving.

A wail. Woodsy was so startled he dropped his clipboard. Harriet sank to the ground, tears flowing from her eyes. "Mrs Sanders, what is wrong?" asked Woodsy. Harriet sobbed, "He, he is..Noooo."
Woodsy peered into the patient's cell. His eyes widened as he saw what Harriet saw. He quickly raced away, shouting, "Emergency! Medic! A patient has..." His panicked voice trailed away as he went to get help from the orderlies. Harriet's children stared at their grieving mother. Danny asked, "Mommy, what happend?" Harriet did not seem to hear her son, instead continued to cry, this time louder. Affected by the intensity of her tears, Kate and Danny started to cry as well. They felt soft, shaking arms close around them and pull them closer to their mother. Harriet whispered to them between sobs, "Your father, has gone to sleep. It will be...a long sleep." She kissed her children and hugged them closer. They were alone now. The medics arrived but were too late to save the patient.

Woodsy wiped his brow again. He said, "Shall we hand over your husband's, erm..." his voice trailed away. Harriet stared at his desk with hollow eyes. She whispered, "Just do what you need to do doctor." Woodsy hesitated. He said nervously, "Very well, we shall make the arrangements and I shall inform you when we are ready." Harriet nodded slowly.

It is horrifying how a good man can crack so easily. One of the best men, a great dad, a promising employee. And he suddenly snaps. Went mental. Tried to kill his own family. His wife still forgave him. Said he was stressed. Only sent him away to an asylum after the police started asking questions. A shame. His original state of mind was buried deep into the recesses of his new, twisted mind. He was too far gone.

A shame. I quite liked him.

The Metallic Beast

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A Brass Bullet

Vision blurred.Head pounding.Where am I?Is anyone there?I hear something.I wonder who it is?

Grabbed on the shoulders and hoisted up.Fell.Dragged by rough hands.Smell of sweat and smoke.Clanging and yelling.Head still hurts.Can't see properly.Where am I?Vision clearing slightly.See walkways sided by bars.Hands reach out.Yelling,no jeering.What are they doing?Darkness.Pain.Hear voices.So clear,those voices.Not like the others.

"Not so tough now huh?"

"You're gonna love this punk."

"Hey,I'm talking to you!"

"Leave off,Frank,I think he got hit too hard."

A snort."He wasn't hit hard enough."

Sudden brightness.The jeering fades.The voices stop.Can see clearly now.White washed room.Table and two chairs.A large wide window where nothing could be seen except myself.Another door.Manhandled into a chair.A click,and I see handcuffs fall away.Bloody stripes on my wrist.Hurts when I rub them.A door slams.I am alone.Only then do I see the gun on the table.

The other door opens.Another man enters.He looks haggard.Defeated.He is set down on the other chair roughly.Handcuffs go off.He does not look up.The guards leave.A voice laced with static sounds.The voice was full of authority and arrogance.Its tone reminded me of a dictator I once saw on television.

"Alright cons do you know what is Russian Roulette?" The man opposite me swallows and nods.I shake my head slowly.A growl was the response.A mutter,"There's always one." The voice continues. "Russian Roulette is simple.You two take turns shooting yourselves with this six-shooter on the table until one of you dies.Since both of you are on death row,it hardly matters eh?Now,the gun only has one bullet in the barrel.One of my guys has spun the barrel already.You with the bloody wrists,you'll go first.Take the gun,point it to your head and pull the trigger in under twenty seconds." The voice pauses.I look down at my wrists,blood still oozing from the chafing they received from the handcuffs.The other man raises clean wrists for me to see and says nothing. The voice called,"Alright there are two other things.You can spin the barrel again,but you can only do it once in the entire round.Also,you can shoot your opponent,but like the spin, you can only do it once.Now begin."

I pick up the gun and hovered it near my head.The other man finally raises his head and stares at me.His eyes contained a mixed set of emotions.Fear,anticipation,disgust.His lips move,and I realize he was silently mouthing, "Not me.Please not me." over and over again.I pity him.I will not die now.I close my eyes and pull the trigger.

A click.The barrel rotates to give way to another chamber.I place the gun down and slides it to the other man who uttered a strangled cry when it came within his reach.I hid my shaking hands under the table.Sweat coated the back of my neck.Tense as a cat.We stared at each other for a few moments,drinking in the fact that I had survived.There are five chambers left.The man shakes his head and asks accusingly, "How can you be so calm about this?This,this is wrong." I motion with my eyes to the gun.He looks at it, and slowly,deliberately he picks it up and aims it at his head.He whispers,"God help me." He is beyond God's reach now.He left Him when he sinned,like me and so many others.He yells and pulls the trigger.

A click.The man throws it down on the table,panting.His expression was wild.Eyes wide, he stares at me expectantly.I pick up the gun.His eyes follow my hands' movements fearfully.I look at the gun.Four chambers left.I shift my gaze to the man,then to the gun and back again.He notices my wandering gaze.He holds up his hands,"No wait, you can't be serio-" I snap up the gun and shoot him in the head.

The man and I fell back.The recoil shook the now smoking gun out of my hands.I look at the man,whose head was tilted backwards so all I could see was his neck and chin.His upper body was splayed.I look at the wall behind him and my eyes widen as I saw a mess of blood and gray matter splattered on it.I dropped the gun.It clattered mournfully on the floor.I hug myself and rocked.The voice came back and announced,"We have a winner." Doors open.Handcuffs are snapped back on.Dragged away.I can only stare straight ahead and all I could see was the man whose life I took on purpose.Silence as I am dragged back to my cell.Felt stares both in awe and anger.I did not die today.Keys jingle.Bars swing open and close.Handcuffs were still on.I lie down on the bunk.The man was right,how can I be so calm?

I hear voices,whispers,screams.Bone breaking.Blood everywhere.Crying.A flash of steel.Small,still figures.A hand in a bin.A lovely face stained with blood and tears.Sirens.A hammer falls.Bars clang.A single shot.A fountain of blood.I am a murder.

Excerpt from my book Bloodless

Rydal held Drey up by the neck, choking the younger Archwing brother. Rydal bared a feral grin at his struggling brother and growled, "You were never a match for me Drey, even when I was wingless. You refused my offer to join us true vampires. You will always be a Bloodless, now and in the afterlife." Rydal opened his mouth, fangs ready to tear out his brother's throat.

Drey knew he had lost. He had failed the Bloodless and Nathan's mercenaries who so willingly helped them. He could not even defeat Rydal, despite the fact that they had trained together since Drey was able to fight. How did he become so skilled in combat? thought Drey. He saw Rydal's fangs come ever closer to his throat. Drey closed his eyes in defeat. Mom, Dad, Diana, everyone,I am so sorry. Then Rydal howled and dropped Drey.

Drey gasped for air as he quickly backed away from Rydal's winged form. Through his emerald eyes, Drey saw a crossbow bolt embedded in Rydal's back, right where his spine was located. By all means, Rydal should have dropped dead or convulsing on the altar, but Rydal strained to reach his back and with a cry, tore the bolt from his back.

The bolt came free, ripping away scraps of flesh and blood. Rydal snapped the bolt and turned to the direction where it had been fired. Both Archwing brothers saw a lone figure crouched in semi darkness, frantically reloading a crossbow. From its attire and figure, Drey guessed that the archer was a mercenary, one of Nathan's boys. With practiced eyes, Drey could see a panicked but determined expression on a young male countenance. As the bolt slid into place, the mercenary raised and aimed at Rydal again. The head of the bolt gleamed silver. Rydal laughed mockingly and spread his arms. The mercenary spared a glance at Drey and mouthed the word Go. Drey slowly crept back further from Rydal.

When the young vampire was a safe distance away, the mercenary fired his crossbow at Rydal. While the bolt was swift, Rydal's reflexes and movements was faster by a mile. With a great sweep of his wings, Rydal buffeted the bolt back at its owner. The mercenary only had a chance to gape at the incoming bolt as it struck him in the shoulder with such force that is pinned him to a wall. With another two great flaps of his wings, Rydal sent the stone area around the Drey's savior to come crashing down on him. Drey tried not to turn back as he ran away from the sadistic laugh that belonged to his brother. But he could not forget the young mercenary's face.

Reunion

The arrow struck the lead grown-up in the shoulder,knocking it back into its small group of hunters."Nice one!But don't waste those arrows!" called Leon.Jordan nodded and slung his bow,picking up his pace.Leon followed,hefting his iron bar and the bag of scavenged supplies.As the two boys ran,the hunters surged forwards,eager to catch their prey.Leon gasped,"They're gaining on us,hurry!" Jordan said nothing,but his already astounding pace increased again,forcing the tiring Leon to speed up.They just had to meet up with adults, and not just any adults.The two boys were being chased by running adults who could track them by their scents.This was bad,very bad.Unless they had perhaps five other fighters the two boys may never get back to their hiding place.In Leon's thoughts,he wondered again if there really was a God.In Jordan's he worried for Jackie living alone with two other boys and an insane girl.Just as Leon felt a cold hand brush his shoulder,a barrage of rocks and sharpened sticks struck the grown-ups behind them.

The onslaught of projectiles brought down three of the hunters and injured more of them.The remainder of the adults shrank back from the ambush and fled,howling in pain and anger.Leon shuddered at the sight.These adults were smart too,knowing when to retreat.Smart runners who could track?Wonderful.Hopefully this grotesque development would be contained within that particular group.He turned to face he and Jordan's rescuers.It was a group of kids who looked as hardened as Jordan.There were seven of them.Four boys and three girls.The kids wielded a wide range of weapons which fell into the ranged category.Leon counted four sports bows much like Jordan's,slingshots both makeshift and authentic,sharpened bamboo poles which could be used as spears and carving knives thrust into belts and pockets.He did not recognize most of them,but the lead boy was familiar to him.He whispered,"Elias?"

Jordan,Leon and Elias settled down in the void deck.Elias' kids spread out, all keeping a lookout except for his second Han,who joined in the conversation.The talk started out with many questions fired back and forth between Leon,Elias and Han,who were all from the same class.Elias and Han were well pleased that Leon,Kumar,William and Alice were still around and lamented still of the losses of Matt,Aki and the other kids who were the most noteworthy.When asked,Elias told Leon that he,Han and Mohammed were separated from the main group of students after a particularly bloody skirmish with some twenty adults.The three boys had then tried to find their lost friends but ended up gathering a new band of fighters.Mohammed had been killed only two weeks ago on a raid.The other boy and four girls in Elias' group were found scattered hiding in various buildings.Each had their own tale to tell but Elias withheld their stories 'for another time'.Jordan spoke up,"Its great you found your friends Leon,so can you and your other friends move out of my home now?" Elias and Han were shocked into silence by the coldness of Jordan.Before the silence could turn to shouting, Leon quickly said,"We'll talk about it later,I need to discuss this with Elias." He beckoned to his friend and the two boys went to a corner to talk,leaving Han and Jordan glaring at each other.

"...So he took us in,reluctantly at least."
"But I still can't believe he shot William and got away with it."
"We had no choice.With Alice's mind gone and that we were running low on supplies.."
"When someone tells you never to go into his or her room,they have something to hide,especially if its someone you don't really know.Leave Jordan." Elias finished firmly.Leon shook his head.Elias was intensely loyal to his friends,so his stand was one that Leon expected.Leon pressed,"Alice is in no fit shape to wander around like a nomad,and William still haven't recovered from his wound.At least camp near Jordan's place.I promise I'll convince him to see this arrangement's good.Until William recovers and Alice calms down long enough,alright?" Elias sighed and nodded.It was hard to argue with Leon's cool logic.They returned to Jordan and Han,suggestion at the ready.

Jordan did not take the suggestion of having Elias and his team camping nearby happily but the offer of leaving immediately after William and Alice were fit to move.The four boys in the discussion shook hands and bumped fists.Elias gathered his team and they set out to Jordan's home.