Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Write a story from the point of view that you find the most challenging: first, second or third person.
Try to make the story you tell match the narrative style - think about what kind of stories are told from the perspective you find difficult.
Writings
Shawn hates fishing. But here he is, sitting beside his biological father, Damian, on a bench facing a large, pristine lake. The lake is owned by Damian, and the expansive land surrounding it, and the house that Shawn slept in the other night. Damian, without a doubt, is rich, and trying to be the best father he can be for his son.
Shawn still hates fishing, though. He wants to go back home to his mom and her boyfriend, Patrick.
“Oh, my boy, I think you got a tug on your rod,” Damian gives Shawn a smile, but it slips off when Shawn doesn’t smile back, “Come one then, reel it in. Slowly.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Shawn says as he reels it in, “I want to go back inside the house.”
Damian smiles sadly and pats Shawn on the back, which he flinches from. “Alrighty then, how about after that fish gets off your line, huh bud?”
Shawn thinks for a moment, staring out into the lake and scratching his metal rod’s base. He nods and continues to reel the fish in. He hears Damian sigh, but his father doesn’t say anything, leaving Shawn to wonder why.
“I told you, Damian, not to do things that Shawn doesn’t like! You better be glad he didn’t have a tantrum because of you! Did he repeatedly say he didn’t want to do it?”
“Look, I’m sorry, Felicia, I’m sorry. You know I’m not the best at this. I’m trying to treat him like a normal kid.”
“Well he’s not normal, Damian. He’s not. But he’s still my baby and I will not have him mistreated!”
“I’m not mistreating him! I just don’t understand as much as you do! If you would just let me—“
“No!” Felicia screeches. “I don’t want you anywhere near me or in my life! Why can’t you just give your custody to Patrick!”
“Because Shawn is still me son!” Damian yells this loudly, so loudly that Shawn moves from where he was listening from the door. The boy strokes his llama onesie, relishing in the way the cotton feels against palms.
He is happy that his mother showed up but not sure whether or not he should stop the affair.
Nonetheless, he’s pleased that his llama onesie is warm and snug against his tall frame.
It’s a while before his mom calms down, and when she does, she guides Shawn to the car and tells him to wait while she gets his suitcases.
“Soulmates,” she mutters to herself, “Stupid soulmates, fuck it all. Can’t they see that we’re not meant for each other? That we have never been meant for each other?” Shawn blinks up at her and she smiles. “Oh, my baby boy,” his mom strokes his head softly, leaning over the car’s frame, “You want Landon? I’ll be right back.”
She closes the door, leaving Shawn to his own devices. He isn’t really worried about his stuffed animal—though now that she mentioned him he does want him—he is wondering if all soulmates are like this. He knows a little bit on why his mom doesn’t like Damian. Damian forced Felicia to have him, but his mom still treats him nicely. And then Damian kept stalking Felicia, even when she left him. And Shawn’s grandparents still love Damian, even though his mom hates him.
Maybe, he thinks, it’s just too complicated for me, right now. He flaps his hands and hums to himself until his mom comes back, heaving his luggage into the trunk of her van. After she’s done, she opens the door to the drivers side and hops inside. Shawn hears her breathing loudly and slowly, her hands are tight on the wheel. Shawn continues to flap and hum as she does this.
“Sweetheart,” she says after a few moments, “I love you, and I know you won’t understand this, but one day, you will have a choice….” She stops for a moment and shakes her head. “No, it’s not really a choice, but, you can choose the outcome. You don’t have your powers yet, so you don’t have to worry about it know, but it’s only a matter of time until they come. And when they do, and your soulmate comes knocking on your door, I want you to know that you have a chance to choose for yourself—no matter what this world says otherwise. Because sometimes, people aren’t meant for each other. Maybe not at the first glance like me and Damian, but maybe over time they just…fall out of love. And that’s okay.
“I just want you to know that I love you for you, and if anyone disrespects you for who you are, just know that that person isn’t good or right for you, okay.”
Shawn doesn’t know what to say, in his defense, he is only six, but he nods anyway and strokes the arms of his onesie. “Okay.”
Felicia takes a deep breath and starts her van. “Alright, let’s go. I bet Patrick’s missing us.”
9 Years Later…
Shawn’s school isn’t exactly the best. It is regarded as the “school on the other side of the train tracks” but Shawn likes Palmer Highschool because it’s biking distance from his neighborhood.
He riding now, the wind blowing against his dark face and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. To anyone else, this would be peaceful, but to him, the area is loud with voices.
Humans and animals.
Yea, he can read thoughts, but that’s not all. He can do a lot of other things too. Not that it matters to him, or other people, because he ignores the rest and tells people that he only has X-ray vision.
And that’s that.
It doesn’t matter that he has telekinesis, heat vision, can shapeshift, has pyrokinesis, hypnosis, clairvoyance, teleportation, etc, etc.
None of that matters. And he hasn’t lost it yet, so that means he hasn’t met his soulmate.
Not that it matters either.
He makes it to school in one piece, chaining his bike to the bike rack for safety before heading inside. He heard that another school, one of the richer ones nearby the larger towns, has mandated everyone of their students to wear some sort of cuffs while their at school, restricting their power. That sounds painful; he wishes he had it, it would make containing all of his powers more easier. He slips up rather a lot.
The hallway is full of Black kids, and the occasional Asian or White, all chatting loudly and playing with their powers while they wait for the bell to ring. On a normal day, the hall monitor, Raina, would be out and maintaining order, but she’s not here today which confuses Shawn. It also makes his heart race, though not by a lot. It’s not a major change, only a small one, so he’ll be fine.
The bell rings just on time and Shawn hurries through the crowd to make it to his first period. He doesn’t have a class with the other kids in a the majority. Shawn leaves the building through one of the side doors and steps onto a path leading to a separate building. Shawn’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with the big building and all the loudness. Sure, most people would consider the Special Ed class to be weird and off putting, but Shawn loves the quiet atmosphere it puts off. And he also feels as though they learn more there than the normal kids do.
He makes it to the building and opens the door, a wave a plain Cleanex floating off the walls and slamming into his face. Shawn breaths it in as he walks towards his desk, waving hello to everyone who’s already there.
Shawn is here, he hears his teacher, Mrs. Jones think, alright, good, now time to start class on schedule.
Shawn only has four other classmates: Hadley, a short girl with Down Syndrome, Jerome, a boy whose even more autistic than Shawn is, King, who sees and hears things that no one else can, and Evan, who Shawn isn’t sure what’s wrong with yet. Evan’s new to the system.
But Shawn shuts down his telepathy, as best he can, and focuses on Mrs. Jones. The bells rings and all continues to go as he knows it will. He’ll deal with his parents later, and Damian; of course now’s the time he’s thinking of Patrick and Damian’s fight.
As he said before, he’ll think about it later.
(This was inspired by and set in the same world (mostly) as Jewelie Rain’s Soulmate Series. Now look, I know it wasn’t good because I am terrible at writing in 3rd person. But thanks for reading and have a great day!)
Hey, so, I won’t be writing as much because I’m taking a hard class (that actually gives me homework) this semester. I’ll try to work on some stuff, but yeah. WAR is definitely going to be the first thing I write when I’m on here. Thank you all!
I also was really surprised at the likes that my love poem to Honey Bear got. 🙃 That surprised me.
Love you all! Have a great night/day! ❤️
Author’s Note: If you know Piglet, then this is a rewrite of the plot I made at the start of this year. I didn’t really want to throw my characters away, so I made significant changes. Ballari’s heart is normal (but if I actually make a book out of this, Imma give her back her faulty heart because it made a good conflict.) She also is a Noord shepherd (btw, I created my own world called Sekain; the Japanese word for world (世界)with an ‘n’ on it.) Now let’s get to the story.
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•Chapter 1•
Ballari knew she was being watched. From where, she did not know; it made no sense since all there was around her was grass. But she knew someone was watching her. It tickled at the edge of her mind; a faint prickling sensation that took all of her attention. But for now she would ignore it—she had more important things to worry about at the moment.
Like her sheep. The girl returned her attention back to her grazing flock. She sat on top of the tallest of the Three Hills, an area owned by her guardian and elderly caretaker, MISS. The sky was clear, winds blew the cold from the Northern mountains to the hills and meadows of the Eastern Noord, and the air was alight with the smell of flowers. The grass was a nice, cheerful green, and floral danced along the tall greenery with the wind leading them. Ballari’s wooden crook laid above her crossed knees in a passive way, but Ballari was prepared if anyone sought to attack her. MISS had trained her to protect her flock at all costs and she would.
For now, nothing foul was occurring except that person watching her. Ballari took one quick scan of her flock—they seemed fine enough, grazing ignorantly and getting fat on grass—then closed her eyes to tap into to her senses.
Ballari didn’t tell MISS that she could sense things around her, but she suspected the old woman knew. Nothing could be hidden from her; Ballari knew that from trying to sneak in a choco bar during fasting week. MISS called it her “knowing”, so that’s what Ballari called it too.
Now, Ballari listened. She directed her attention to the eyes that peered at her so intently. She heard them take a breath. She felt them trying to breathe softly, even as their heart raced with some strong emotion. Regret? It was a girl, a year older than Ballari herself. She was strongly built, a fighter definitely. She heard the girl’s muscles tense as though she was to strike, but then she relaxed. What was she—
“Ow!” Ballari hissed as she raised a hand to her suddenly aching head, the pain pushing her out of her Knowing. “What in The Almighty’s name?”
Then realization hit her: whoever this person was, they had the power to knock off her senses. Perhaps they were more foul than she thought. Ballari rose, crook in hand, and dived back into her Knowing only to have herself knocked out of it once more. She cursed and bit her tongue to drive the pain away. The girl was probably already gone from her hiding spot, so now it was time for Plan B.
“Menguen! Menguen, douton! Round up, sheep!” They listened to their shepherd’s calls but as sheep were, they moved slowly, taking bites out of the grass as they went. “Plus cepat, douton!” They moved quicker, galloping. Ballari ran in front of them guiding them toward the direction to MISS’s cottage. “Plus cepat! _Baien. _Good sheep.” Ballari sighed. At this rate they would get home by sundown, and the girl wouldn’t dare to attack her while she ran…right?
“_Ralenlambat, douton! _Slow down!” called out a strong voice. A man, most likely working with the girl. Well they weren’t getting her sheep. Not today. The sheep only listened to her, their shepherd. But suddenly, to Ballari’s shock, all the the sheep began to slow down.
What in the—. Ballari shook her head, her dark curls bobbing with her, she would think about this later, but right now she had to escape with her sheep. A loyal shepherd never left behind their loyal sheep. Ballari glanced around, she couldn’t see the man or the girl anywhere. Her heart raced with fear. This was the first real attack that she had faced in the Three Hills. Sure she knew how to fight, but she never tried it out against real dangers.
She took a deep breath. Ballari closed her eyes and thought. _Never let you circumstances destroy your mind. _She thanked MISS for her undying wisdom, even when it was as insufferable sometimes.
She could try to use her Knowing; but then they would stop it again. She could also try and call her sheep, but the man would just stop it again with his magical voice. She was still far from the cottage so she couldn’t call MISS for help either. So there was only one option left.
“Hey, I have to give it to you, you’re a really good shepherd sticking with your sheep like that.”
Ballari opened her eyes and saw the man before her. His frame was illuminated by the lowering sun, orange and pink coloring his deathly pale skin. But he looked healthy, with white, translucent hair grabbing the sunset’s colorings greedily and forest green eyes that help some sort of trickster’s pride. He looked absolutely beautiful, no doubt an illusion. But he looked strangely familiar.
“I do not need your praise, Maun Magi.” She spat, holding her crook in defensive stage. “Where is your associate?”
The unearthly man smiled, though it felt put on, as though he could not truly feel what he was outputting. “Magic Man, I like that.” He replied, ignoring her question.
She shifted her weight on her toes, and angled her weapon slightly toward the man. “I said where is your associate?”
The man raised his hands in defense. “Woah, woah, woah! I did not come for trouble, Gember…” He gave a cheeky smile. “Or perhaps I did.”
Ballari had enough. If she listened to this man speak one more time, she was going to tear out her eardrums and shove them down her throat. His voice was alluring, it was everything you wanted to hear when he opened his mouth. It was so nice, but usually it ended with a knife in your throat. She read about people like this. Ballari raised her crook above her head and charged with a cry as the sky turned dark. If she was going to die she might as well end up fighting until she dropped.
The man smiled as Ballari launched herself at herself at him. He then had a staff in his hand. “Let’s dance, Noor.”
Ballari answered him with a strike, the curled end of her crook going in a downwards arch to his neck. He easily blocked it with his staff then drove his staff to her stomach. She doubled back with a huff of air and growled when blood came out of her mouth. Ballari started to channel her Knowing then remembered what happened last time. She waited for the pain to come with her mistake, but it did not. Looking up she saw the white haired man waiting for her. She took the advantage and grabbed ahold of her power.
With her crook’s curved end to the _Maun Magi’s _chest she thrust it forward, the man blocking it effortlessly again, then dropped her crook—relishing the surprise on the man’s Diety-blessed face—and struck him in the cheekbone with her knuckles. Crack!
The night shushed. The crickets hushed. Even the sheep stopped grazing, their black eyes now watching the aftermath. All watched as blood bloomed on the man’s pale cheek. Ballari could see she dislocated his jaw; it hung at an odd angle. Though the man just stared at her with those forest green eyes, as though he was shocked that she hit him.
Danger….Danger….
Her Knowing buzzed in her head. She took a few steps back, those forest green eyes watching her like a predator. The man grabbed his jaw and shoved it violently back in place. Ballari flinched at the sound and cringed as the man smiled at her fear. Blood trickled down from his cheek to his neck in a thin line. “Hmm, you hit me.”
Danger….Danger….
The man’s eyes dulled to a dangerous dark green.
Run.
Ballari whistled high and loud gaining her flocks attention. Then she bolted around the man, crook close to her chest and ran into the darkness, her flock galloping after her with more speed than the previous attempt. It seemed that they also wanted to escape this awful man as well.
Behind her she heard the man say in a darkened voice, “Tyra.” It didn’t matter anymore because her brain rushed with blood, her lungs stretched and expanded with each breath she got in, and she just had to get escape. The man was dangerous, he didn’t seem right. Thankfully she knew the Three Hills like the back of her hand. She was almost there—she could see the cottage lights and almost feel the warmth of the stew. Usually she likes to be outside with the animals and the grass. She loved the smell, she loved the elements whether rain or shine. Now though, all she wanted to do was to get her flock safe within their fold and hole herself up in the security of her bed.
She was near the gate, her sheep bleating behind her frantically, when her Knowing gave her a jolt. She was opening the gate when a large hand pulled her back into its owner’s chest, knocking her crook from her grasp. She was screaming and writhing in her captor’s grip when the man appeared out of thin air in front of her. She was staring into the man’s captivating eyes when she went over into the darkness of her mind.
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MISS sat at the small wooden table inside her cottage, faced creased with worry and her bowl of chicken and rice stew untouched. The bowl across from her was in the same state. Where was Ballari? The girl was never late….
The elderly woman lifted her head at the sound of sheep bleating. Strange, they were frightened. But it was deep into the night, and they had never been out that late. MISS lifted herself from her cushioned chair and went to open the door for the girl. She grabbed her coat from the coat rack at the door and stepped outside into the cold night.
She snuggled deeper into her knitted wear as the winds picked up. She walked to the gate on her stone path, the lanterns she and Ballari had set up years ago illuminating her steps.
“Ballari,” she said as she neared the gate and the sheep’s cries rose, “I was getting quite worried, you little spook, I was almost going to go out there and look for you myself. Were you aiming to torture me?” MISS walked up to the gate, but heard no reply.
Ballari was nowhere to be seen. But the sheep were there. They were scared, frightened, terrified—like they’ve just seen something that none wished to see.
“Ballari…” MISS looked around, wrapping her coat tighter around body. Her breaths came in bursts, loud rattling noises. She was supposed to protect her until the time came. Unless…. MISS regained her composure and opened the gate to let the sheep in. The time had come, whether it be the end of the world or freedom for all, she did not know.
All she knew was that Bloodsong had to be reached. The world was already fading.
The sand sticks to your skin. The grains are going to scrub at your skin, revealing a red, itchy spot when you try to wash it off later. You don’t care, though. All you can think about is the water.
There’s nobody here today. The beach is empty, but you don’t mind. You like it that way, as you’ve always preferred solitude.
The wind is strong today. It whips your hair around your face. The red flag, stationed several yards away from the water is swinging in the wind, too. You wonder what a silly thing like that could be there for.
The water is cold today, you realize after dipping your toes in a tide pool. It feels refreshing. The beach always feels more surreal with a cool ocean.
The waves are rough today. Staying afloat would be a struggle for a less experienced swimmer. You know how to handle yourself better than most, though.
When your arms and legs grow heavy, you float on your back, the ocean tossing you around like a group of kids playing with a ball. You let it, though, too sleepy to do otherwise. You’re feeling tired today. You let your eyes drift shut, and the light of the sun gradually fades away.
The water is definitely getting colder. Maybe it’s time to go home. With a bit of discomfort, you slide off of your back, and let yourself plunge downwards, wanting to feel the soft, wet sand under your feet one last time before you leave. Instead you sink down, startled when the floor doesn’t stop your descent as you continue to plummet. How deep does this place go? Where’s the ground? After a moment, you open your eyes.
Water. Too much. You’ve never seen this much water. And it’s all around you. Where’s the end? You glimpse a fish. You never see fish close to shore. Where are you? You’ve never been here before. Looking down into the opaque depths, you can’t imagine where the bottom could be. You can’t even find the surface!
How could you have been so foolish? The flag was red. A red flag means strong currents. Red means danger. Red means STAY AWAY.
Your head begins to feel light. Lack of oxygen must be turning your brain into a ball of fuzz! You let out a little laugh, and a few bubbles escape your mouth before you regain enough sense to close it.
You watch the bubbles float away. So that’s up. You follow the little bubbles. Push, push, push at the water until you glimpse a bit of light.
You surface, lungs burning. You can manage one breath before a wave slams into you, pushing salty water down your throat. You cough, heaving the liquid out of your mouth.
You go under again by the next wave, struggling to resurface. Is it necessary, though? Under the water, it’s so nice and peaceful. You only have to fight when you’re above.
When you finally make your way back up to the chaos, you don’t see the shore anywhere even after searching the horizon.
There’s nobody here today. You’ve never felt so alone.
The wind is strong today. Salt stings your eyes as the winds blast them with air.
The water is cold today. It numbs your limbs, making your head feel light. It inserts an icy syringe deep into your skin, fatigue reaching your bones.
The waves are rough today, you realize as you go under again, taking a mouthful of water with you.
This time, you don’t come back up.
Dark, everything was dark.
Ballari breathed in shaky breaths through her clenched teeth, trying, failing, to keep out the unruly stench of piss and blood. The metal floor beneath her was cold, freezing with thorns of ice. The walls visible to her were covered in dried blood, painted in it, and held forth thousands of thousands of taxidermy pig heads. Sweaty bodies, slick against her exposed skin—the rest covered by a thin, white slip—pushed against her roughly.
Squeal! Squeal!
The swine screeched, terrified. Their beady eyes rolled in there squished faces. Their hooves trampling one another in a desperate attempt to reach safety.
There was no safety in this hell hole.
Ballari was afraid. She knew what was coming, had seen it happen over and over and over again. This nightmare wasn’t new, but that didn’t make Ballari any less scared.
The door opened with a creak. Slowly and deliberately, he walked in. Thin, wearing a trenchcoat, and holding an axe. That was all Ballari could really see as she tried to hide beneath the panicking pigs, flattening herself to the floor.
Ballari.
The man started forward, slicing a bloody path through the pigs.
Squeal! Squeal!
Blodd spurted into the air and onto the walls. Shrieks sounded. The darkened blood dripped down the metal slowly, and Ballari whimpered as the blood slowly grew and branched towards her.
The slicing continued. He was getting closer.
Ballari!
The girl backed away, wincing as the pigs sharp hooves stepped on her splayed hands. There was blood on the floor as well, dripping from the walls, pooling at her feet. It spread its vines to her white dress, staining it as ascended up with its crimson strokes.
But the crawling did no good. He was there, suddenly, above her. Blank face, with…red hair? Ballari never noticed that before, she never had the chance to.
BALLARI!
The man raised his axe high; Ballri screamed higher. Then with a SWISH! Ballari’s head was sliced clean off, thumping on the ground to me swarmed and eaten by ravaging swines.
(Descriptions are hard for me to do now, and past tense. 😬 Anyways, thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!)
(Yes, this is in the prompt, btw. First person is my usual go to, but third person came like second nature to me back then. 😅)
Chapter 7
_Soon enough Ballari caught _up with her captors and decided to uncover information.
Why, what, and sometimes, when.
Ballari tapped lightly on Tyra’s shoulder, still wary of the girl, but calmed down when she saw that the girl’s anger had passed.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m confused.” She whispered, still wary of the Angst that Tyra had mentioned. Tyra had a bored expression on her face, her brown eyes taking a sudden turn of dullness. But Ballari was determined to find answers, she needed to if she was going to go with these two.
Tyra slowed her pace to walk beside Ballari, taking careful glances at Alistarie, as she spoke. “I guess we kinda just kidnapped ya, didn’ we.” Ballari nodded, waiting for the girl to go on. “Well just so ya’ know, the whole kidnapping thing was our original plan, but I said that it would make it difficult for ya’ to trust us, ya’ see, so I had a better idea.”
Ballari nodded, noting this, cringing when she heard the howls of nearby wolves. She then remembered what Alistarie had said before he kidnapped her, something about trying to be nice and that he wanted to do his way. “You wanted him to be nice to me…”
“Yep, though I have to say, it was very cringy to watch.”
This puzzled her a bit. “Why?”
Tyra lowered her voice down to a whisper, “Ya’ won’t believe this, but Ali hardly is ever nice. Acts like he basically owns the bloody world sometimes.”
“Really?” Ballari took a glance at the now idled Alistarie. He looked at the both of them, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
He turned to Tyra as the pair came closer. “You aren’t telling her why we need her, are you?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “No Ali, boy, don’t worry about your control, I didn’.” Tyra crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief as she passed by Alistarie, continuing down the grove.
Alistarie then looked back at Ballari, took her arm under his, and followed Tyra, trailing the still puzzled girl behind him.
Ballari still didn’t have answers, what Tyra had told her was just additional information. It wouldn’t change anything, right? But Ballari still felt that tingle of despair. He didn’t want to be friends with her. The girl sighed heavily, and slowed her pace as Alistarie tried to drag her along.
“Alistarie…” Ballari needed to know what he actually wanted her for, so she pushed all of her grim emotions aside and replaced it with curiosity. “Alistarie, what do you want me for?”
Alistarie grinned, showing his teeth, and cleared his throat theatrically, “Well, I’m _so _glad you asked, dear Ballari.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and took out a small, blue notebook with a golden star on it. He opened it, flipping through pages, until he found the one he was looking for and showed it to Ballari. She gasped as she saw her name written in it, in big bold letters, stretched across two pages. It looked like it had been written in ink at first, but as she looked closer she saw that it was written in blood, though by now it had dried into the paper.
Ballari, still staring at the book, listened as Alistarie began to speak. “I can’t tell you much right now, as you wouldn’t understand, but the world is in danger, Ballari.” He looked into her eyes. “But you're the one who's been chosen to save it, and we’re going to help you.”
Then he uncuffed their arms and left Ballari to her own senses.
Though right then, they had all left her in the dust.
❥ ❥ ❥
By the next morning, feet thumping with pain and eyes sore, they arrived at the walled city of Sanfor, the city of Light, Love, and Peace for Humanity.
Ballari held in a gasp, all pain and fatigue disappearing, as she took in the scene laying before her eyes.
Clothed in lush, green rolling hills, each having a house or lodging of some sort on it, Sanfor was a blend of ancestral folklore that was predominant to the whole city: the houses a mix of Reds and Bright Navy—flags as well, hanging delightfully on the city's walls—, apparently the city's colors, and different carvings of naked winged fairies on the tall wooden walls. And that’s all she could see from the outside.
It seemed like a lovely place! Ballari clasped her hands together in sheer excitement, she wondered about the tales they would have, the exotic food that they would cook, the—
Alistarie coughed and made a face at the girl's eagerness. “Remember the plan, Ballari.”
Ballari stuck out her lips and pouted. Tyra was right when she talked about Alistarie’s control problem; he’d probably die without the feeling of being in power. But regardless, she went over the plan again in her head.
Despite its lovely appearance: Sanfor in the past had several wars and disputes with neighboring provinces, therefore its likeness for strangers was very low. Alistarie, though, had friends within the royal court and therefore he could get Ballari in. The problem was that she’d have to play as his wife.
“I told them I was off searching for a wife before I left, so they wouldn’t ask questions. Sanforer’s are very serious on the topic of marriage and believe that anyone has the right to marry whoever they want whether a beggar or a hybrid.” Alistarie waved a hand absently, closing Ballari’s mouth. “No, I don’t know why they’re like that, Ballari.”
Tyra snorted. “That’s surprising, you always know everything,_ _Ali.”
“Well I don’t know that; I don’t know everything,” Alisatrie regained himself and gave Tyra a smug look, “But I do know a lot.”
The two quieted as they approached the massive golden gates that controlled who went in and out of the city. They saw two pairs of guards on either side of the gate, and one pair opening and closing it. Ballari looked up at the walls and saw more guards and several archers lining them in the brackets. She swallowed.
Let’s hope they believe this, she thought. Alistarie held out his arm, Ballari accepting it, and held the girl close to his side. “Now follow my lead,” he whispered as Tyra stepped in front of them like a shield. Ballari could see that a pair of guards were leaving their posts to approach them. “And don’t cause too much attention to yourself; you’re a pretty thing, you know.” He muttered, saying the last bit so softly that Ballari hardly noticed he said that at all. She quickly returned to the present at hand, and as the guards neared, she shrank back against Alistarie, acting as though she was a shy newlywed. Which was a role she could do with ease. Ballari felt a sharp pain in her chest but pushed it away; she couldn’t mess this up.
Tyra, acting as Alistarie and Ballari’s personal guardian, inclined a bow of her head to the guards who returned the gesture.
“Name?” asked the first one. Ballari could hear a female characteristic of the voice, then looked at the first guard's body, though covered with armor, had curves and thickness. The other guard, no doubt her partner, was definitely male.
Tyra groaned. “Do we _really _need to do this, Opal?”
“Yes, Tyra. It’s protocol, also, my brother has never seen who you keep.” Tyra made an exasperated noise, but obeyed.
“Tyra, Keeper of Lord Alistarie of Hickory,” she gestured towards Alistarie, Ballari could see a smile—though it was more on the mocking side of recognition on the second guards face, then continued, “and of newly converted Lady Ballari of Hickory.” She tilted her head towards the girl.
Another stab in her chest.
“Ahh, Lord Alistarie,” the second guard sneered, “we’ve heard about you and the chaos you caused at the castle four months ago with the young prince’s birthday party; the nobles will be glad to see you.”
Alistarie made a sharp grin back. “I think so too, but I would be equally happy to meet them if they would let me eat guards…especially ones that get on my nerves.”
Alistarie flicked his tongue out like a hungry wolf and watched with a face full of glee as the male guard flinched. Opal sighed and tugged the second guard behind her.
Once more, this time deeper and harder, carving into her veins. Ballari winced as she tried to keep silent. Shy and silent.
“I’m sorry, my Lord, Jan can be a bit childish sometimes.”
Jan made a face at his sister. “Childish? I’m not childish, Olap!”
“Yes, you are—ah—don’t give me that face, Jan. You’re wasting the Lord’s time, you leuma.” She elbowed Jan in his stomach behind her. “Now, if you follow me, we’ll get you all inside.”
Stabbed right through her poor heart with the pain.
Olap paused. “Oh, umm, my Lord, is your Lady okay?”
Alistarie blinked and peered down at Ballari who was holding his arm tightly. “Ballari, are you alright?”
Ballari took in a shuddering breath. “I’m fi— .”
Then she blacked out.
(Couldn’t fit Chapter 8 because it would be over 2,000. Now, in response to lostmoon, the next few chapters are where the story gets good. Mostly the flashbacks—you’ll see what I mean.)
Grace stared at her hands. They were shaking again. Even when it came to family she couldn’t keep her composure. A deep breath filled her lungs in an attempt to calm herself. After making the decision to tell her grandparents today, Grace’s thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. What would they say to her? Surely, they would be angry as they were both raised strictly catholic. Would they try to forbid her from leaving the church? She shook off the thought with a sigh and corrected her posture. Now was not a moment to break down. Grace walked towards her grandparents, who were both sitting in the living room. Nervously, she sat down on the couch and, with her heart pounding in her chest, asked in a faint voice, “I need to tell you both something, can we talk for a minute?”. Grace’s grandfather looked over at her grandmother, waiting for her approval. She nodded at him silently. “Sure”, her grandfather answered, shifting in his chair, “What is it?”. He crossed his arms, awaiting her response. It was always like this with them. Grace’s grandfather was at the forefront of their marriage but her grandmother was always the one who was truly in control. “Well”, Graces voice broke. She couldn’t believe she was this scared of them. Sure, they had always been strict with her but she had made this decision months ago and was just waiting for the right moment to tell them. If she was being honest with herself, the Catholic Church never fit her ideals and she simply no longer wanted to squeeze herself into that box. All those stuffy old priests and scandals, not to mention the way they used people for money. She was of the opinion that not much had changed about this church since medieval times. She didn’t know if she believed in god but she knew she didn’t want to support such an organization anymore. “I know you guys are very religious”, she continued whilst staring at the floor, “and that this family raised me to be the same. But that just isn’t who I am”, Grace sucked in a sharp breath, as if to brace herself, and looked up at them. Her grandfather was already scowling while her grandmother merely watched her intensely. She decided to hold eye contact with her as she finished her statement. “I don’t believe in the teachings of the Catholic Church and what they stand for so I have decided to leave the church”. Her hands clung to each other in an effort to comfort herself. Keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, she waited for her grandparents’ response. As if this conversation itself wasn’t difficult enough, the silence that ensued threatened to deafen her. After what felt like minutes, the grandfather breathed in and out heavily before stating sharply, “I am deeply disappointed by this”. Grace’s heart sank in her chest. Even though she had prepared for this scenario, it felt like he had just torn a hole into her stomach. Of course, he would react this way. But couldn’t he have a little bit of compassion? Couldn’t he see her point of view? A well of tears was about to burst from her eyes. Maybe she should never have told them. Choking on her tears, Grace bitterly whispered “Thanks for listening”. She stood up and left the room. Closing the door to the bathroom behind her, she sank against it, finally releasing the tension that had built up. There she stayed for several minutes, sobbing on the bathroom floor. After she was finished, she wiped her face dry and looked in the mirror. The woman she saw was so far away from the woman she hoped to be. But at least, she thought, this was the first step to becoming that person she so desperately longed to live as.
She said they’re done.
Oh, really?
Yep. It’s true.
And he? Did have something to say too?
He said he said he loved her, but the story had to end.
She said they could never be anything more than simply awkward distant friends!
She said he said that it would never work.
He said she said she called him a blatant loser and a dork!
No.
No?
No. She said she never said those words, he said she said.
Oh. Did he say that she said much else? Like maybe go and fu-
He said she said he said she did, but I’m not quite sure.
Well, we can ask her when we get there, you know?
She is a gossiper.
He said she said you’d say that!
(😵💫)
Her arms dangled out through the hard metal bars, watching the guard as he walked down the way. “Lights out in five” he said as he walked, watching and holding onto the gun on his belt. Lacey just watched as she squinted her eyes, counting the days until she was done.
She tapped her fingers to make a small noise, as though she was bored with something to say.
The guard looked her way as he came to her cell, stepped in closer and told her “get back and in bed” he said with a stern voice as she stood up straight and hit her fist on the bar.
“You got two seconds to get your ass away from the door. Your man ain’t comin around this time.”
Lacey just grinned and said “Fuck you” as she flipped him off and went back on her bed.
The guard then glared with a grin on his face. “You need me to take you down the way, closed off for good?” he finished, watching her lay there flat on her back as she stared at the ceiling with nothing to say.
“One more word, you’ll wish you were dead” he said, then stepped back and began to walk to the cell next door.
Just when he got there, a loud shreak filled the silence and he started to run. When he came to the source, there was blood on the floor swimming out from under the woman lying dead in her cell. The girl next to her was screaming and jumping like a wild chimpanzee, blood on her clothes and in her blond hair.
On the floor, the guard saw a knife next to the woman he knew was dead. With the blond still screaming, he yelled “Shut up!” as he pointed the gun straight through the bars. “Shut up or your next!” he finished, as the blond began crying and sat on her bed.
He opened the cell to see the dead woman, her eyes still open but nothing was there. Two more guards had come running through yelling “Get back!” to all the other women leaning through their bars to see what had happened. The chatter was loud and some were laughing until one guard pulled his gun in the air and silenced the ward.
Everyone stopped as the guards took one key and opened the cell where Elizabeth laid. Bending down, they saw a blue sticky note laying next to her frame on the cold dingy floor. One picked up the note to see what it said.
“I belong to god and will no longer breathe” is what the note said, almost like a scribble from a kid who was five.
“Damn fool” the first guard said and called the medics to come take her away.
Just as she left, the first girl still laying on her back on her bed whispered to no one “I wish it was me.”
Your sister and brother are staring at you from across the table. You’ve only just sat down and they’re eyes are already burning into your skin. Your brother looks at you for a long moment before speaking. “Kieran, I must say I’m thoroughly disappointed.” Your sister doesn’t say anything, and you feel the shame bubbling in your chest. You look down to where your hands rest on your lap. Your brother is looking at you expectantly, when you don’t say anything he sighs. It hurts. You want to disappear, to curl into yourself and leave this awful place. You speak.
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