Medallion Part 1

The sun glinted off of his golden medallion, engraved with runes and symbols of languages long gone, before fading from view behind a cloud. His dark brown eyes were locked with her glinting green. They betrayed only her determination. His men cast their glares to her troops. Opening his mouth, he shouted at the top of his lungs:

“The Skoropi Gang will fall!”

It was met with a fearsome:

“Then you shall burn with us!”

The two gangs crashed at each other under the cloudy New York sky. Shouts enveloped him as his eyes searched for the red-haired sharp-tongued leader of the Skoropi Gang. The breath rushed out of him as he crumpled to the ground. ‘I forgot how strong her kicks are.’ She had found him first. Acting on impulse, he stood, facing the witch, wearing a medallion like his own.

“You wanna fight like--” His words were cut short by a swift punch to his nose. He fought back the usual rush off panic as blood spurted out of his nostrils.

“Yeah.” She replied sarcastically. “Exactly like that. With me winning and you losing.” Her foot slammed down on his windpipe. Panic lit his terrified eyes.

“That’s against-against rule 49-6 of the Caleb Proclamation--” He chocked out. “’No bringing death to other leaders in territory disputes’”

“I suppose you’re right, for once. But rules never say I can’t get a close as I--” Her words were stalled by his henchman: Wolf.

She flailed her legs and let her teeth sink deep into Wolf’s arm, and relished is his howling as she felt warm blood rush out of her mouth.  He threw her away in a vain attempt as dislodging her from his veins. Her teeth dragged and his flesh tore into deep scars. “Medic!” He howled as she withdrew her daggers. “Me--” He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound in his back.

“RETREAT!” Their leader shrieked. “RETREAT!”

She waved innocently good-bye. “Until the next scent post, Jaul.”

“Until the next scent post.” He didn’t want to, but gang-law forced opposing sides to exchange ‘friendly’ good byes while carrying their wounded back to the bases. It was odd though, as it was also said at ceremonies of the dead. The ‘scent post’ was a reference to the posts that gangs rubbed scent and paint on to identify their territory.

She walked toward him for the customary hand-shake. He shrank down into the postures of submission, although it was practically instinct to submit to the taller female. ‘How I wish I could grow, and collect better gang members, that’ll show her.’ She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Until the next scent post.”

His knees nearly buckled. He wished more than ever to jump in a hole and not come out until all the terror of the Earth was gone.

Fishing

The boy rubbed his hands, frozen finger numb from the biting cold of the arctic winter. His line was cast into a rare, un-iced patch of water. ‘The Gulf,’ he thought ‘The Gulf never freezes, so it is a good place to fish for northern salmon, and the occasional seal. He was snapped out of his daydreams to the sound of line-on-ice. He gasped as he tugged on the weighed pole. “Big fish!” He muttered to himself, planting his feet firmly onto the ground as he drew the fishing-pole’s tip past his pale, frozen face. The tip kept going, past his vanilla-blonde hair, hidden roughly by a bright red cap. It stopped a quarter-foot above his head.

His feet slowly dragged in the powdery snow as the unknown fish of immense size threatened to haul him into the icy waters. The boy knew that falling in meant almost certain death. A large shadow swam strongly, quickly, taking the line with it. The boy gasped in awe. He could he the dim light beneath the surface, followed by the fish.

“And angler-fish…” He had never seen one up close; they were revered in the settlement, after one of the children was saved from drowning several years back, when the temperature actually went above freezing. “Don’t be silly.” He chided himself. “It never gets above freezing in New York.” He laughed at the thought, the old, evacuated city, frozen under ice and teeming with disease from the War of the Plague, in 2100.

Even after 7 years, those genetically engineered anthrax viruses were still going strong. No one was allowed there anymore. He barely remembered the city anyway. He was only three when it had happened. The Evacuation. He still remembered the screams of his mother, her skin a violet-blue from the newest one dropped:  Blue Anthrax. He still remembered her face, screaming his name, telling him to run, run to safety. A tear froze as it dropped, clinking against the permafrost under the snow.

The sound brought him back to reality. He looked down, seeing the water only inches from his toes. Startled, he gave a sharp jerk, unbalancing himself, letting the fish take the final blow. It tugged with all its strength, wanting to be free of its captors. There was a dainty splash as the boy flew, headfirst, into the frigid water.

The coldness knocked the breath out of his tiny body as he flailed. His muscles exhausted as the vicious current dragged him away from the shoreline. He took a breath of water and felt the clutches of death. He closed his eyes, remembering his mother for the last time. ‘What was her last word? Run? No, that’s not it…’ Instantly; a memory seared itself into his mind:

“Rameul! Don’t forget! I love you!”

He only heard ‘Rameul’ before the memory was lost. Tiny bubbles streamed from his mouth as his unmoving body sank to the bottom. The angler saw the bubbles and frantically nudged the boy for any signs of life, but, alas, its efforts were in vain. The boy’s last thought had been the memory of his mother, his protector, before his heart had frozen over and stopped. Before his veins froze. Before his neurons stopped firing.

The boy had died before he reached the bottom. He wasn’t even 11.

Book Review: Cinder:The Lunar Chronicles

The first book of the Lunar Chronicles is titles Cinder. It is a twist on the classic tale Cinderella. In the story, the main character, a cyborg names Cinder, is living in New Bejing after the end of World War 4 (I'm going to call it WW VI) with her stepmother, Adri. Cinder was adopted by Adri's late husband and is thoroughly hated by her stepmother, who blames Cinder for her husband's death. There is a cyborg draft, as they are seen as 'lesser humans' and are needed to assist in finding a cure for the plague of letumosis.

Cinder is a renowned mechanic, though she never lets it get to her head. Even the prince, named Kaito, visited her to repair his android, which has valuable information concerning the looming threat of war between the Earthlings and the Lunars. Lunars are a species of human that developed from colonies on the moon, They have mind-controlling abilities, although sometimes, 'shell' or Lunars without powers, are born. Her sisters, Pearl and Peony, are incredibly snooty, mostly Pearl, though. Close to the beginning, Cinder and Peony are at the junkyard, looking for materials to salvage, when Cinder notices a bruise-like rash on Peony's neck. Cinder realises at once the her sister has caught the deadly plague. Cinder calls a hover to take Peony to quarantines, and Cinder is tested for the life-threatening pathogens. She doesn't have it.

When Cinder arrives at her apartment, the family has already been notified. Adri volunteers Cinder for plague research and Cinder is taken away. Later, we find out the Adri (shocker) blames Cinder for Peony's illness. Pearl and Cinder grow ever distant while Cinder and Prince Kaito grow closer. The Emperor falls ill with letumosis and the wicked queen of the Lunars tempts Kaito to create a marriage alliance with the cure.

I give this book a ****/*****(4/5) because although the plot is strong, the end felt weaker, as if it was rushed to be finished. A good book feels strong all around, especially the end. Also, the characters' description was rather weak, and a better vision of the people in the book may have been necessary. All in all, this is a book that deserves reading.

Recommended for: Strong readers with a love of fantasy or science-fiction.

Chapter 4 Masked Shriek

Sweaty bodies pressed against Jaron. "You -hic- like bad girls?" An obviously intoxicated woman asked. Her hips swayed to an unhearable tune. "'Cause I got what ever you need right here." Jaron cringed and turned away.

"Diane, must we be here? It's so...rough," He chose his words carefully.

"It's a tavern." She promptly replied. "Have a beer, dance a little, loosen up Jar-Jar."

"Dianna Wolfe, are you drunk?" Jaron used her full name, meaning that he needed her attention. "Don't call me Jar-Jar and how many drinks have you had?"

"Just a few, like seven." Diane laughed. "Jar-Jar, you're being stuck up again." She scolded.

Jaron sighed and looked back at the crowd. 'It smells horrible!' His eyes strayed to a young girl sitting alone at a table. 'She looks normal, I guess.' "Diane, lets go, we really should be on our way." That earned him a sigh as the young bandit stood up.

A while later, they were rummaging through Diane's clothing.

"What's this?" Jaron held up a dark blue glove. "This is mine!"

"Not anymore. I rigged it so," Diane slipped it on to demonstrate. Inch long claws slid out. "I use it for climbing, zipping down lines and attacking." She said. Diane put the other glove on. "They're my favorite pair."

~~~

Sorry for the lack of updates.

Masked Shriek Chapter 3

I am a devil. I just act like one.

~~~

"My Prince?"  the swordswoman asked, gently rasping on the door. "Prince Jaron?"

Silence. "My prince, I am entering." She opened the door but saw nothing. "Prince Jaron? Your servant claimed you would be here, your lunch isn't even touched..." The woman closed the door. Realzation swept over her. The prince, heir to the throne, has been kidnapped by the shriek, maybe on the verge of death. "I must tell the king and queen." She quickly walked to the throne room where they sat.

---

"Jaron." I hissed. "Your hair. It's obvious you're a royal." I was talking about how only royals bound their long hair into buns.

"Then cut it off." He snapped.

"Don't snap at me." I muttered and sliced off the bun. His brown hair fell onto his shoulders. I had cut it ragged on purpose. "Now you look better." I claimed.

"This is so uncivilized." He said, which earned a hearty punch in the arm from me. "You're not royalty anymore. You're a runaway, like me, Sal, and half the kingdom." Sal was his dog that was beheaded for running away from him. "You don't have servants, it's just you, yourself, and Jaron." How old was that expression? I don't even care anymore.

An hour later, a young boy with a strong build and what looked to be his girlfriend strode into town. A gang of men hounded on the girl. "Surely, you must think I'm better looking than him." Basically, that's what everyone said. I laughed. I started to run. Jaron followed me, us climbing like monkeys to the roofs. He hopped like frogs out of town and started running as soon as our feet hit the ground.

I cursed my ethereal laugh.

NEW CONTEST!

Now announcing the 'Hello, how are you!' Contest!

Goal:
 Write a persuasive letter about whatever you want.
 Prize:
 Your letter will be featured and you can have a link to your site/blog in the links for 1 month.

GOOD LUCK!

Glaceon

Pokemon,
A sport for all.

"Glaceon, Icy wind!"
Countered with a rock tomb.
Grimace as she takes damage.

Desperate times.
She can't go on much longer.
"Blizzard."
She keeps fighting.
It lands.
Critical hit.
Type boost.
The battle's over,
Foes pokemon knocked out.

Glaceon pants,
Still weak.
Call her over.
Heal her up.

She deserves it.

***

Dedicated to anyone who loves their pokemon.

I am Not

I am not a flunkie,
Doomed to live in your basement.

I am not a hooker,
All my money spent on birth control.

I am not a follower,
Spending hundreds on what's 'in'.

I am not a model,
A public display of myself.

I am who I am
And not who I'm not

I am not anerexic,
Expelling life-giving nutrients from my body.

I am not a drug addict,
Harming myself in more ways than one.

I am not a criminal,
My face on wanted posters.

That is not me,
Clear as can be.
I am myself,
And that is me.

I am not pregnant,
Awaiting abortion.

I am not stupid,
learning my letters.

I am not spiteful,
Plotting ways to harm others.

I am not a rapper,
Cussing as I speak.

I am not a talker,
All voice, no thoughts.

I am not a servant,
Here to take your order.

I am me
And that's all there is to it.

***

I like to quote myself. Especially on that last line.

Cage the Wind

Run
Run fast

I am fast as the wind
Faster.
No one can cage the wind

Take off,
Hear it roar
As you race
Faster.

Feel it,
Rush past,
As you stop,
Laughing in it's freedom

No one can cage the wind.
I am not the wind.
I am caged.
No one can cage the wind

No one can cage the wind.