Wellington Rebels

Attention all Wellington Secondary Students!  Check out these mighty literary feats by someone you know!  Tune in every week for a new post of either poetry of a new chapter of Scions of Fate.  If you have any suggestions, leave them as a message in the comment section!  Thank you very much, and see you later.

Scions of Fate (Part 2)

            Time strayed from its usual course and, for a moment, came to stop in the Innocent’s new home.  For the wounded youth, it was as if he had lived his entire life in those last few moments.  His past no longer existed; his future no longer mattered.  All there ever could be, all there ever would be was the youth’s imminent death.  As the shadows closed in on the edges of his consciousness, he remembered a fragment from the old world.  An image gently floated to the surface of his thoughts like the tattered final plank of a long forgotten shipwreck on the open sea.  It was a face, and one of stunning beauty.  That beauty spoke a warning, however, “I am mighty; I do not die; I am the consumer of souls and the comforter of kings.  I am Vanity.  May you leave me in peace or else face my broken heart.”  The memory was enveloped and pushed to the side by a lazy reminder that the youth hadn’t much time to live.  He was bleeding out, and fast.  In a drunken daze, his eyes gravitated to the center of the room; to the fissure.  It was still there, and perhaps just wide enough for him to slip through.  What else could he do besides waiting for Death to take him on a new journey?

            The youth expended precious body energy dragging himself on his blood-soaked belly towards the fissure.  Without a second thought, he wedged himself into the crevasse.  There was no cement, as is customary with customary structures, but there was some sort of volcanic rock.  As the boy fell into the crack, he noticed/imagined a greenish glow emanating from the sides.  He squeezed about four feet down when the sides disappeared and he was lost in a descent of blackness, his only companion being his fraying sanity.  His fall was cut short by the end of the crevasse.  Again, he noticed/imagined the colored glow and used it to help him find a small passage.  The passage was so small that in order to squeeze through, he had to receive a long gash in his back.  It couldn’t compare to his bullet wounds, but it still sent a pillar of fire up his spine.  His entire body cried out in anger for being subjected to this slow, painful fate and it conspired to slow the Innocent’s movements.  However, despite his seemingly mortal injuries, he was able to continue his journey.  In this foreign/familiar dimension where time and space were both irrelevant and disorienting, willpower appeared to be enough for his dying body to cling to.  He crawled on his belly and tried to rescue that old memory/hallucination from the storm of his mind, but to no avail.  He was consumed by his longing for escape.  Time had slowed to a crawl in this dungeon of sorts, and the Innocent’s thoughts became memories.  Those memories became legends and those legends quickly/slowly faded toward oblivion, like wisps of smoke.  The youth struggled on and could not tell how long time had continued on without him.  The glow left the walls and the thoughts of the Innocent left his mind.  His body dredged on for so long, he eventually forgot how long he had been there.  There was no sleep, no memory, and certainly no reason to continue. 

            For some strange reason, he decided the end of the Purgatory-like tunnel would appear soon, so, like a holy man waiting for salvation, he kept pushing onward.  Sure enough, he could see a small white light which could have been ten feet or ten kilometers away.  After more trekking, the youth approached the light.  He could now hear sounds and smell fragrances that stirred old and forgotten memories of the old world.  With a newfound energy, he crawled with all his might toward his future.  Time regained its meaning as the rays of light glanced across the youth.  He emerged from the infinite tunnel into a stream of light and warmth.  Gravity lost its worth in this new space and the Innocent drifted upward.  It was like being in the ocean, without the heaviness of water or the discomfort of salt.  With every passing moment, he got closer and closer to the bright light which had taken precedence in his mind.  He looked around and saw beautiful trees as tall as the sky, tunnels as vast as the constellations, and the glorious face which was his only true memory.  He had found Vanity in this wondrous place and he intended to speak with her. 

            The woman looked into the Innocent’s eyes; into his very soul, and spoke to him, “Hello Innocent.  Do you remember me?”  With a joy that surpassed the brilliance of the Sun, the Innocent responded, “Yes! You are my one and only! Join me in this stream of light!”  After he said those words, however, he felt a great sadness.  Their connection had begun to fade, as did Vanity’s visage.  The youth felt a burning desire to stay with her, but the greater his desire, the more she faded away.  Soon enough, she was nothing more than a shimmer in this physics-defying stream.  She was gone and someone else revealed themselves.  It was another fragment from the Innocent’s old world, one who he recognized right away.  Death had appeared; ready to take the youth far from this place of glory.  Death wore robes of kings and held a scepter of bronze.  His face was only bones and his eyes were pools of madness.   The beauty of this place soon became ugliness, the light began to fade, and the joy in the Innocent’s heart became hatred.  No one could take the sun away from him!  No one could take his beloved Vanity!  His eyes overflowed with pain and his mind was filled with dastardly plans for Death.  Then Death’s unnerving eyes bore into the Innocent and his mind became silent.  His heart silenced and was gripped with fear.  The roiling emotions within scared him, but also empowered him.  His long-forgotten wounds of the body had healed and the purity of his soul was stained.  Death reached over and took the Innocent by the hand.  Then the familiar blackness of uncertainty welcomed the youth once more, and he rested.   

Poetry or Story?

Hello cyber-world! Do you prefer poetry or stories? I am here for your entertainment, so drop a comment with your opinion! By the way, hope everyone enjoys the spring break!!

Scions Of Fate (Part 1)

Prologue

            The Innocent awakened, dripping with sweat and with a gaze of terror upon his face.  “What ominous vision is this?” asked the Innocent aloud.  It appeared that he had fallen asleep in some twentieth-century classroom which could be no older than a year.  There were no signs or posters in the instructional space to proclaim a hint as to what subject he should be learning.  No other desks adorned the floor but the Innocent’s own, old and dilapidated, in the center of this strange area.  The only other object in entire room was a single chalkboard which lay on the wall, held squarely by two rusted metal screws.  The Innocent pondered his settings for hardly a moment before rising slowly out of his chair and hobbling painfully toward the board.  Blood from his left leg dripped and splashed on the floor like water from an underground stalagmite.  As he walked he could feel the hole into which the 9mm bullet had become embedded.  The youth, puzzled by his leg injury and his surroundings, was gripped with a sudden idea as to his escape route.  A broken stick of chalk lay next to the board with a small piece of unscathed parchment beside it.  The boy could not read the cryptic symbols, so he reached for the chalk instead.

            As his hand touched the chalk, he felt a small current moving swiftly through his arm.  Instead of pain, the current felt like knowledge.  It was like knowing exactly what he was put in this room to do.  Charged by the current, the Innocent began scribbling furiously on the board.  The youth’s mind was simultaneously flooded with excitement and fear as his hand stopped writing.  He took a painful step back, still favoring that damaged leg, and read the curious message, “10,9,8,7,6,5,4 3 2,1”.  During his reading he noticed a slight shimmer on the wall that could have been created by heat waves or decaying sanity.  Then, as if by some otherworldly command, a jail cell door of iron bars appeared.  The boy looked at the door but could not perceive what lay beyond it, despite the gaps between the bars.  He reached out a tentative hand and touched the cold steel.  Another current ran through his body, but this time the current of knowledge was laced with anxiety.  The Innocent recoiled back and reached into the side pocket of his blood-stained blue jeans.  To his surprise, this intuitive reach yielded a small key with a bloodied hammer emblem engraved on the top.  He examined the keyhole on the door and suspected a perfect fit.  He was correct.  The key slid in easily and the door swung open with an audible click.

            The iron came to rest against the sterile wall with a disturbing CLANG!  The Innocent’s eyes began to adjust to the pitch blackness which filled his field of vision.  He could just barely make out a cobbled, descending staircase which seemed to be both timeless and endless.  The youth debated taking the first step and tried to imagine what was at the bottom.  He tentatively stepped into the disorienting darkness and used his feet to feel the steps.  His hands gave him a general layout of the hall.  It was about three feet wide and seven across.  As he slowly descended, he wondered if this endless, dark passage led to freedom.  His hopes of freedom were quickly overcome by fear of what lay at the exit.  The boy began imagining Inquisition-style torture chambers and pits of venomous snakes.  Lost in his thoughts, he nearly ran into the door which marked the end of this endless hallway.  The door was identical to the previous one, except for the unnerving red drops leaking from the keyhole.  The youth put the key into the door and again, a loud click and louder clang announced his arrival.

            The bright light from the next room assaulted the Innocent’s senses as his eyes struggled to adjust.  When they did, the boy took his first step into an oddly familiar room.  In fact, the youth had entered into what seemed like a highly aged version of the room he had awakened in.  The sterile paint had all but chipped away, leaving the room looking especially haggard.  The floor was plagued by a multitude of cracks, varying in size from hairline fractures to a wide fissure near the center of the room.  The mysterious blackboard had eroded and spilt in three places, forming a mosaic of dread and regret.  The most familiar part of the room, however, was the single desk, still standing in the center of the room.  It showed no signs of further decay or age whatsoever.  In the desk sat a disturbingly recognizable youth with shoulder-length hair as dark as the depths of the sea and eyes that burned with the fires of Hell.    He also had a deep bullet wound in his left leg.  The two youth’s eyes met and the tension became like an electrical storm.  The dark-haired boy stood up from his chair and spoke with a voice like a fox’s, “Hello Innocent.  They call me Vengeful.”  Out of nowhere, he pulled out an M9 pistol and shot the Innocent squarely in the chest.  Blood spurted out from his midsection and he fell to the ground with a pathetic whimper.  Both his leg and chest bled profusely now.  As the blood left the Innocent, the dark-haired boy’s leg began to heal.  His wound closed as the Innocent’s wounds opened.

            With a satisfied grin, the Vengeful knelt beside the other youth and plucked the key out of his fingers.  Then he said joyfully, as if to a friend, “Thanks for the key… And welcome home.”  With the key in one hand, the gun in the other, and a gaze that could have frozen Venus, he opened the cell door, sauntered out and locked the Innocent in behind him.    

Fated Strikes of Inspiration

This is an ever-growing collection of inspirational and intriguing poetry and short stories. Feel free to comment on your thoughts and/or ideas. Thanks!