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blog is a funny word. lol. here's a short story I wrote for English a few weeks ago (actually, it took a long time to do it) and it's already been turned in, but I'm still working on it, actually. I need to add more detail, and it needs to be proportional. >.<
The Chiolyptus and the Earthly Disease
It’s been a week since the last time I’ve stepped outside. The war field was in the condition in which the front yard could be a mine field. My best friend, my little sister had the flu, and I couldn’t go outside and find treatment or help. Winter is the worst time to be in war – It’s all I can imagine when I hear the word. People that we protect, people that protect us – we were all dying quickly of different diseases. It was disgusting. I figured it would be safe here, since we are able to camouflage with the enemy. I was in a panic, I wasn’t thinking straight – I should have expected danger, but I was only looking at the general picture. We were only safe from the disease I wanted the least, although I know that we’d never be infected, just injured. So now, my best friend, my sister was suffering.
“Mazzel, are you going to write another story?” There, her voice ended my thoughts of ways that a disease would exterminate us.
“Yes, would you like to hear it?” I kept my black ink pen between my fingers, and that hand between the pages in an unfinished journal.
“Yes, please! Your fairy tales are very interesting to me!” It wasn’t strange to see her smile while she knew her condition. Ali was the kind that always smiled, and whose smile is annoying to someone sad. I ripped a portion of paper and bent it outward to mark my place in the journal and flipped the pages back to where this new tale began.
“Heroism is a human gift that has an immeasurable number in explanations. There are many ways to see it – to one it could be the natural goodness in one’s heart, to another it could be an angel colliding into one’s soul, etc. There’s no true or real description for the idea or word; it has been simplified as it is. What is it, to save something evil? Is it profane, or is it purity? To one side, it’s heroism, but to another, it’s savage. Heroism is everywhere, good or bad. A being known to save one of malevolence only knew the goodness in itself at its “evil” doing. This knowledge is a given human sense, the lack of forethought when the present is vague. The hero of the evil only knew it never hurts to be kind. Bah! This one is cheesy!”
“No it’s not! Keep going! It’s one of those weird stories that make you think!” Ali kicked the covers of her cot and jumped into a sitting position.
“Yeah, well, that’s just because you’re a little kiddy,” I said, making faces and patting her head. She started coughing so hard, it shocked me, and every time I heard her cough, it hurt me somehow. It brought back my thoughts, that there’d be nothing I could do about it… that she’d die. Her coughs didn’t hold her back from telling me to continue.
“There’s a second world created for the tired souls and their dreams who lost their path to a place that some believed was known to be ‘Heaven’, though maybe it is Heaven, where they landed. Others believed it was a destined second chance. It would be familiar to a ‘newcomer’ by its similarities to Earth, the first world. This world is Somnir. Many souls were born into this world as different beings from before, and very few appeared to take the shape of a human body. With stereotypical beliefs, grudged, deranged souls from Earth had been heavily carried into Somnir, slowly separating Somnir into three: one land of the name Novius owned by the ‘human’, one land of no name owned by the ‘demon’, and the other, Gandeal, by the ‘inhuman’. This war began with an early king of Novius, and because of his thoughts, Gandeal grew into him, believing that all of his people were the same such that they would present themselves to be superior and oppose the cultures of the ‘inhuman’. There was no war of artillery yet, but such a multitude of judging in indifference, or racism, as on Earth, gave birth to Somnir’s Civil war, also known as the ‘Earthly Disease’.
“What must it take for the people of Somnir to recognize that Somnir is for not just the holy, the strong-hearted, good and evil? Departing Earth, did they not see that segregation, separation in skin color or physical features or whatever may lead to difference, is what is truly inferior? Here, this world, Somnir, needed a hero. Maybe a hero that could not entirely fix such a mass of problems, but someone or some-‘thing’ that may point toward Somnir’s true goal. Away with reigning the world – that is for the Earthly, the unlearned. Somnir is for the dreams – it was a dream for everyone to live with no rule, to live free. It’s time for the saviors to appear.
“When Vire was a younger boy, maybe five years into Somnir, he could never see himself in the future, wearing a cape of protection. Coming back from the other kingdom, he had found something very precious, much more precious than its own beauty, much more precious than its race. Vire could have sworn that nobody would be able to answer the question in certainty: Is it her soul that is precious, or is it something about the soul? It’s a stupid question now, but then, it was the question. He couldn’t resist her beauty – he had to free her soul. It was so sad to see such a radiant creature to be chained to the chiolyptus in unnamed land. She had already been tampered with by a fiend, and next time, instead of her arms, it could be her face.
“Chiolypti were said to be extraordinary beings. They weren’t believed to be good, but weren’t proven to be evil. They would just symbolize protection, whether the thing they protected was good, or bad. If they were destined to protect something, no matter what it was, dead or alive, stupid or wise, it would be something precious. No matter how painful it might be to bear the precious, they would never wilt or fall. However, if one who wants to take the precious away has stronger feelings of protection for it, the Chiolyptus would only trust such a being with this belief.
“Vire knew he had to take her to his kingdom. He was running faster and faster, something was tempting him to dart home. Was she speaking the whole time, over his shoulder? He heard numbers, one all the way to 1,000. One thousand long seconds, two days straight is how long it took to get home, 40 miles away from the tree. At least, he believed she was counting unconsciously. He just couldn’t stop running home. He knew, he felt, that there would trouble if he stopped. No fiends would attack if he kept running. There is no life in that forest, just dead trees, a deserted city, and many low or dry creeks. Night came as he had entered his kingdom. There was no wall border for this kingdom; that was for the human land, Novius. He neared his city when he was completely exhausted, yet, against his own will, there was this forceful thing. He couldn’t stop but his body did not want to go. It was something demonic, something angry; could it have been fear? Could it possibly be the girl? It was most likely, but when he became tangent to the garden of the palace of his father, Vire was only exhausted, not tired, like it was only running that he did the whole two days, but only. There was more that Vire had to do, other than just run. Such a demon, the combination of exhaust and hunger can be!”
“Wait, you mean he never even ate, for the whole two days? He ran and ran and never slept or ate? What about pod–” I covered Ali’s mouth before she could continue.
“Fine, fine, he stopped for that.” I can’t promise he did, but come to think of it… stress! If only he were there to tell his story, rather than leaving me to allow this girl to recognize what kind of man there used to be, and how rare it used to be.
“Oy, oy, along with the story again.”
“I seriously got the chills when I thought about that!” Ali scrunched her eyebrows and buried and shook her head between her shoulders.
“He finally stopped running at the palace gates. He noticed the guards weren’t in shift. Vire experienced strong nostalgia as he walked through the garden and into the open palace. He stood in the center of the entrance chamber and inhaled the familiar scent of home. The white ribbons that hung from the ceiling were not aged, nor any statues in the room. The tan-hide rug edge was clean as always and there was not a single spec of dust on the minotaur-shaped white marble columns. The perfect temperature remained as always before, suit for all outdoor season protection. He fell to his knees, weary, parched, and yet relieved. It must’ve been the most exhausted he’d ever been.
“The girl on his back had not awakened but she was breathing steadily, evenly. He looked at her proportional face, so perfect in shape, with cyan skin dye in the shape of three vertical diamonds running vertically from her left eye. Her hands were so warm, as if they could heal even fear. Vire could only think of the wrong thing now, that he had done, bringing her to his father’s kingdom. She was not like me, he thought, – she was human. He wouldn’t bear even the thought of torture his father would engrave into her soul.”
“Mazzel?” She looked directly up at me and had those big round eyes pierce into my heart. I knew what was coming – a monstrous inquiry I wouldn’t know how to solve.
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
“Well, what did the girl look like? And what about Vire?” I was right, these questions brought me pain. I panicked to answer, those questions aren’t something I could just ignore – after all, I knew the answers.
“Vire… He simply wore a t-shirt and grey cotton pants that day, and the girl was only wearing a crimson dress that was above knee-level and had spaghetti straps.”
“Mazzel! I mean what did they look like, their appearance – facial features… were they handsome and pretty?”
“Quit the questions, my dear, I was about to finish. That night, none of them were fair-haired!” I succeeded to bring silence to the child’s inquiry. “Vire was about five inches taller than you, and had horns like a bull. He had shaggy black hair that ran below his shoulders, but he braided about six inches of it into one small braid behind his back. He had tan skin like gold, and blue eyes, like a warless sky. He had pointy ears and his smile varied every time – he had a smile for sadness, a smile for anger, and even a smile for stress.
“The girl, on the other hand…” I starred at Ali, the girl with the exact same appearance, all but the eyes, “…she had golden brown hair, in loose waves, and bangs that almost covered her eyes. She smiled quite often, after she woke up. The only reason that her smile was perfect was the fact that she always smiled! She was about as tall as you, Ali. This girl was a human.” A silent pause allowed me to review Ali’s face, so worried and troubled. I thought, maybe she would look this way if I refused to tell her how the story ends, and perhaps this is my last chance to even tell her a story.
“So, did she look exactly like me, then?” This question, I could answer easily.
“No, of course not. Her eyes were so deep and dark, when light shined on them, they were violet. There, I spoiled it for you because you didn’t want to wait until she wakes up!” There were ridiculous breaks of inquiry by this girl, Ali! I didn’t think I’d ever write a story if she kept bringing up so many questions! The other girl wasn’t like this – she would just sit there and listen. “And unlike her, you can only wonder, as she could always learn.” I had pushed Ali’s face into words that spelled shut up.
“There, I’ve finished the characters. May I continue with the story?” I rushed to say angrily, irritated, and annoyed.
“Yeah, yeah you left off at the part when Vire gets into the palace.” The girl sat up in her cot and placed her pillow in her lap to lean on.
“Ah, yes. He calls help from a dear, old friend named Medicus, which was at the time, his best friend. They took the girl to the least used guest room of the palace. Once she woke up, Vire swore he fell in love with her expressionless face. He described her to be like the pedal of a plumeria in the sun under a sheer-white curtain. She spent two days in this castle, undiscovered by the king. The boy, Vire was able to smite a crown with smooth iron horns to disguise this girl. Her name had come to her, finally when she was strengthened in nutrition and emotion. Aiora was the name the girl remembered for herself.”
A sudden noise was made near the cottage, and both of us screamed in shock. The battleground was nearing our home and I knew we had to find a shelter quickly.
“Quickly, to the wine chamber!” Another boom noise was made, and this time I could hear people screaming in pain. It was near – the bombing was very near! I heard cracking noises from the sky, so this time, I quickly carried Ali and a blanket from her cot to the wine chamber, the second basement of this cottage. This chamber was very cold and humid from the shallow well in its center. We could both hear the house being crushed above us; we were frightened. The girl was shivering, even in my arms, as I held her close to my chest. She was so pale, cold, and drenched in fear. Her hands were so weak in grip, but I knew she was holding on as tight as she could. “Will you sleep now, or should I continue the story? You must be tired – I see you are in a condition in which comfort is impossible.” A sight as such caused me so much pain, but I would only trouble the girl if I showed her.
“That’s not true – please – finish the story; if there’s anything that could make me feel better, it would be a fairy tale coming from your imagination! I promise, I’m listening the whole time and that every picture and musical piece I find in your story is being inscribed into my heart!” These were unforgivably beautiful words to me. She gripped tighter onto my right shoulder and tightened herself into a little ball in my arms. The poor child was breathing quick and shallow and sometimes she was holding her breath to keep warmer air in her lungs and added air for every booming noise above us. Perhaps if I continue the story, I thought, she will loosen up and place her body in.
“The girl that Vire found was called Aiora. She grew to be a kind, generous soul, and like any other ten-year olds, loved bright, shiny, and happy things. Vire believed that if she loved such things as flowers and sunlight, that she should stay in the inhuman land. His visit to the human land was dull and lifeless, as everything was so clean and organized, precise and expected, while the inhuman land was full of the uncontrolled, natural happiness that wasn’t preoccupied with worry about what futures may be. Vire was happy to see Aiora happy, no matter how troublesome his own problems could be. They grew together as best friends, and secret to each other, as lovers. They even vowed to die together, side by side, at the very same time, and by old age. But one day, Vire’s misunderstanding father, the King of Gandeal, had given the job of a grown man to Vire as a young man, armor and a sword. The dear boy with horns matured so early by his wisdom and bravery, he, with his chivalry, accepted to fight the first war against the other kingdom, Novius. Aiora swore her heart was being tampered with by the king and his suspicion, but as a good son, Vire had mistaken his father to be gentle and loving. The boy had promised to come back without a scratched, but since he left, Aiora didn’t ever forgive the king.”
“Sounds like a common story to me…” Ali whispered. I didn’t know how to reply – it’s true that many war stories have this scene in some point. I tried to change it though.
“In the years of Aiora’s wait, a few times, the king could have sworn he had seen her without horns. To make sure his eyes weren’t just playing tricks, he himself and two of his knights broke into her home one late night. They found her slumbering on a sofa next to a fireplace with only ash and ember left, but what they didn’t find was her horns. ‘A human!’ all three men shouted, waking the girl into a panic. The king had kidnapped her, with no soul hearing her scream but the three that kept her. She was held beneath the waterway, which was beneath the dungeon of Gandeal’s main palace.
“This room she was in was virgin to sunlight, and could only be seen by a candle that the king would take there. Black chains, unfriendly to skin, held the girl to the walls, which were uneven and tiles on the floor were eroding. The air was humid, warm, and easy to choke on. The king visited once a week to torture her, emotionally and physically. He treated her like an immortal demon; ‘A demon that deserves something worse than death’ is what he says. ‘For falling in love with my son! For allowing my kingdom to fall in love with you! For lying!’ the man with horns whacked the child on her face with his large, heavy elbow.
“Aiora was panting and sobbing in pain. The man hit her over and over, several times before her reply seized his hand. ‘I never lied because you never asked! You never asked if I was human, and I never told anyone I wasn’t inhuman, so tell me what I lied about!’ Once more, he hit her, and sighed. His face was twitching in many places, and he stared at the being that was once beautiful… The king turned around and began to walk away with no words to answer her request.”
“Mazzel… what are you doing? You usually write about happy things… about fairy tales, not torture in a fantasy.” Ali was wrong. She didn’t see the pattern yet. She didn’t see that everything I write about, music, stories, and even my artwork was to amplify my emotions, or show my ideas.
“It’s not the ending yet… that’s probably where the happy part will be.”
“Then continue, because I don’t see how something so horrifying could end happily. Being tortured this way for so long, I don’t believe anyone could learn how to forgive the past!”
“Years were passing by, and long before, the chains had disabled the use of the girl’s hands and feet. Long before, the king had announced that Aiora had committed suicide by believing that her precious Vire wouldn’t return. Her hair was very long, and her appearance… it was no longer ‘human’. She was bony, and if she ever looked the king in the eye, he wouldn’t allow her any food or water for a month. She knew that even time had a sharp enough blade to torture her. For once, she asked if Vire had come back yet. Of course, the king would lie – a lie to her question would simply be another torture device. ‘No, he died years ago’. There, just seconds after his answer, the girl screamed so hard that it hurt her heart. She was shaking the wall behind her, and the man of torture was in shock. His candle dropped to the floor and was put out by the humidity on the ground. Pitch black… screams… the smell of rotting metals and sweat… it was the last environment for him to see. Noises of the wall collapsing and metal clinging around and dragging on the floor, noises of chains slapping around and the new being’s voice, and the last noise, the king’s scream rang through the water-lit corridors outside the room.
“Meanwhile, a man with horns was preparing for slumber. He was counting something in a journal, a musical piece titled ‘Aiora’. He finished counting at the number 486 after flipping through quite a number of pages. ‘Four hundred eighty-six measures,’ he whispered, “I want a thousand!” Suddenly, he smelled a stench that chilled his spine. He ran outside of his room to search for the putrid odor when he heard someone scream as if being slaughtered. He ran back into his room and unsheathed a sword that was under his bed to feel secure. The blade was clean and looked unused, and its ivory hilt was bejeweled with rubies and thin gold. The ivory was white enough to light the man’s hands, and could be said to glow. The rubies’ colors weren’t just ruby – they were darkened so deep in the centers, like blood.
“When he went back outside, he saw a bright light coming from the end of the corridor, where the scream was. Again, another scream, and then several others occurred when the light brightened even more. The horned man was in fear and didn’t know what kind of intruder he had in his palace. This time, he heard a woman’s scream, and finally he made his decision. He ran towards the light with his sword in front of his face. The closer he got to the light, the less color he could see from his surroundings. Finally, he looked ahead of him to what he believed at first glance was an angel, so he lowered his sword. He walked towards the figure, but kept his face in the shape of fear. He felt heat at his face, and when he closed his eyes, he saw fire, so he jumped back, shocked. Opening his eyes again, he saw blood-red smoke on the figure which was surrounded in flying embers. He threw his sword and his arm to the burning body that was scorching through the floor, but it was halted by the painful noise it made. ‘Who, what are you? What are you doing in the palace?’ The man was infuriated, and tried again to throw the sword to pierce the being.
“Only a growl was released, possibly as an answer to the man’s questions. The ceiling above began to collapse and the minotaur-shaped pillars began to fall over on their sides. There was finally commotion in the building – people with horns ran around like sheep, trying to leave through the many exits. They were panicking too hard to wonder what the being in the entrance of a hall had for business in the palace. The man backed to join the crowd in evacuation of the palace. It was attacking people with lashes of fire, and when the building was cleared, there were several bodies on the floor, some burned and some trampled on. The man with the sword stood outside in a stance, ready to protect the people that fled. He was soaked in fear, thinking of ways to defeat it, because he knew he was the only person, other than his father, brave enough to stand up to it. He was too scared to wonder where his father was, or if anyone he knew was safe. Finally the building collapsed, and a giant flair bolted out the ceiling. It took the figure of a small girl, chained to the smoke, which was shaped like a giant red tree. The stars in the sky were covered; the constellation Draco couldn’t be seen.
“The man with horns was thinking of the shape in the sky… ‘Aiora,’ he thought. Suddenly, the girl flew down and shot fire at the palace grounds below. The man ran towards where the girl would land, and when she did, it was like an explosion, but this didn’t hold him back. Soon, he met her face to face, to see that she looked exactly like Aiora as a child. ‘No!’ he shouted, angrily, although he was confused and scared. ‘Aiora’s dead, taken by the other kingdom!’ he threw his sword and staked her chest.
“The girl was hushing the fire and smoke being born from her skin. The chain that tied her left wrist to the tree in the sky rusted away, and the man’s face was tightened, as if he was suffering deep pain. ‘Fool. He said you were dead, Vire.’ Her last words were so harsh, and when Vire pulled out his sword, he felt as if he was the one stabbed in the chest. The smoke in the sky made a screaming noise, like a demon. All that was left of this place was the ruins of Gandeal’s main palace, and a man of horns, frightened white to his soul, holding a small human child with an expressionless face in his arms.
“His stress from the night put an end to himself – he decided to bring the girl to the place he found her, the unnamed wood, and chain her to a tree. There was a hole in her chest that he had to seal. He covered the hole with his hands and broke the vow. Vire disappeared, into just air, and the girl’s chest, Aiora’s heart, was sealed. That’s how it was. Sorry, I don’t think the ending is too sad. Perhaps I should write that the incident caused an end to the ‘Earthly disease’.”
I looked at the girl in my arms, very similar to the girl in the story. She was so cold, so still, and sleeping. Was she sleeping? I put my fingers to her neck, but I felt no pulse. I couldn’t smile, but I couldn’t frown either. I wasn’t sure what to feel. All I felt was cold. Ali’s arms were wrapped around my waist, and she seemed as though she could be in pain, or be in happiness. “I see,” I said. “Then I will be your Chiolyptus.”
...the end...
 Shiroi Shimi · Sat Dec 01, 2007 @ 05:33pm · 0 Comments |
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