Writing Prompt

Being a Director was a position of power.

Power over people. Power over land, over machines. Power over vast swathes of resources that humans had lost lives over. Power over the arcane. Power in ruling.

Power was a purpose in the world. Power was a crumbling pillar of quickly eroding stability, in a never ending sea of turmoil. Power was claimed by clawing your way up, til your hands are too bloodied to remember whose or whats blood stains them red. Power was clutched to, held dearly and fiercely.

Power had its drawbacks, ones you must not, and can not afford to complain about. People without power, without influence may only see the shining light above them, without seeing the shadow cast by power. People would call you “ungrateful” and “selfish.” What did they know?

Director IA-6, or known more commonly by both her friends and colleagues on the Board as Valentine blinked her thoughts away bitterly.

Oh how she wished she didn’t have power now.

“Your verdict, IA-6?”

Valentine rose.

Power was influence. Power was the ability to sway a vote in favor of either way. Power was the ability to hold a person’s life in your hands.

“Guilty.”

Power comes from influence

Influence over everything The connections you have The people you know

And the higher you get The more power you have The more influence you possess

The higher you get The higher you get The higher you get

Til your dealing with entities Dealing with people so high above where you used to be that you go back to old ways

cowering when they enter a room.

but you have the power now

You are in charge

Know your place unless you can change it

Put people in their place

You have the power

Reflection. Apology. Admittance.

The trio that rendered pride devoid.

Anger. A flash point of emotions. What was the final catalyst? Insecurity.

Swirling shadows shifted embarrassed around a figure constructed of mystery, while anxious toes nudged away stray stones. Mutely, they entered the eldritch cottage of scowling walls, hostility lingered in curling tendrils… waiting to strike. Unfamiliarity, crawled like deranged larvae under their skin leaving behind hollow tunnels for the imposter to suffocate in.

Abandoning their shoes, and carelessly casting away the ebony cloud that once hung from their shoulders, they began to search. Systematically, combing every room, every crevice, and every slither of shadow. It seemed the ancient stones were devoid of life, leaving a snapshot of what was. Agitated spiders tapped relentlessly at their intestinal lining, begging them to allow to be guided by the blind arachnid sight.

Their head shook once… twice… thrice, before they knocked with cautious fingers on the expressionless wood. Heavy sorrow snatched the remaining air from their cerise sponges, a soft gasp escaped their lips. Dread tiptoed around the figure, examining the remains, eager for a lamenting meal. Yet it was the silence that cut the deepest.

The floorboards groaned under the shifting weight of unsteady feet, until they saw a foetus of darkness. Tightly curled under the protective shell of soft down. It seemed on the edge of a great precipice, ready to commit to the dizzying roll of dying breath.

Thoughts bombarded their mind, a barrage of realisation.

‘How has she hidden this?’

                  ‘In all these years you never noticed how bad it was inside her mind!’

‘Who are you kidding, she never let you remember who she was!’

                                 ‘What are you going to do about the mess you made?’

Trust.

That single word drove clarity into the fray.

That is why she never let anyone remember a single detail about herself, and this was something she could control with ease, they knew that.

“Kat? I… I apologise for losing my temper with you.” Tentative words hung briefly, before scattering on the phantom’s breath, yet the shell shifted slightly- a chink in the impenetrable armour.

Marching forwards with renewed hope they continued, “It was totally uncalled for, I shouldn’t have said any of those things. Especially, conceited because you are far from it, in fact you are one of the rare people who sacrifice everything for the greater good. If I deserve your forgiveness… I would like to help you solve the puzzle. I would love to hear what you have to say, you know the solution?”

At last, the shell cracked, revealing a dishevelled head, with eyes scratched raw by an internal storm. Voice cracked and worn, you joke, “The Hooded Figure admitting they are wrong? I think the fresh air got to their brain and made them go soft- quick someone document this monumental occasion!”

Before hurriedly retreating from the advancing wicked gleam in Bea’s eye, “Take that back!” She growled prodding the trembling bundle on the bed.

“No! Never!” You retorted huskily.

A well-aimed shove almost sent you flying off the edge of the bed. Through broken laughter you plead, “Actually, I take everything back! Just let me live long enough to finish my quest!”

“Good! Right, as you say we have a quest to finish, care to share how?”

Emotions trapped on a pendulum; forth, back, forth. A force that can’t be stopped even after the final sigh.

“I am sorry too; I should have spoken to you before rushing off on a whim. We need to go back to the music room; I need to play the piece again and you watch the objects closely. Hopefully, the colours show a clue to their place in the puzzle, and you move the objects into the correct places.”

Bea dragged your tousled limbs from the warm cocoon, you stumbled in the sudden change of light. Perhaps you should reconsider letting her oversee the puzzle.

Whining at your sluggish steps, Bea uttered, “Come on Kat! We haven’t got all night!”

Chasing away the roosting starlings, you clear your mind. Ambling over to the sleek body you caress the cool wood, before lifting the lid. You let the timeless melody pour out, like liquid glass. Fragile, yet tough.

Closing your shutters, you force out the world becoming emersed into the defined phrases. Picking out notes that needed to be accented, distinguished from the rest. Climbing the summit, you reach for the crescendo, simultaneously the objects erupted into magnificent wonder.

Cartwheeling through unseen marvel you never got to witness the moment when the luminous streams met. A web of technicolour finally revealed its secret, with quivering hands, Bea began to rearrange the objects strewn across the floor.

Not until the final chord was struck did you regain your sight, monochrome persuaded and slaughtered by dichromaticism. Clarity folded her wings, as she settled into the folds of your mind.

You had found everything you had been searching for and more.

In the middle of the Yorkshire moors, in a secluded cottage, you were about to make world history. Not alone, no, you were going to make it with the only person you would sacrifice everything for. Rising like an elegant Sweet Pea, you moved to Bea’s side.

Wordlessly, studying the square that had neatly been laid out, drawing your eyebrows together you tried to understand why there were two missing pieces. Tirelessly, the luminescence persisted.

Quietly, you lead Bea to the heart of the square, the glow of the forest eloquently cast shadows over her features. Nothing happened. Maybe there was only meant to be one person at the centre. You withdrew, trying to gain an outside perspective of how the pieces connected.

As you were contemplating all the possible solutions, Bea audibly inhaled snapping you from your reverie.

“Kat, don’t you realise that the colours we are radiating are a clue?”

Tilting your head in confusion, you waited for further explanation.

Patiently, with a tone that might be love, Bea began, “Look I’ll show you,” She moved away slightly to better explain, “Silver the colour of enlightenment, healing, sophistication, and innovation.” Her slender finger pointed to the silver broach.

Swinging around like a compass needle, she picked out the ruby hair clip, “Red the colour of danger, seduction, adventure, and primal life forces.”

“Gold the colour of wealth, extravagance, wisdom, and courage,” The gold bracelet seemed shy at the attention, relieved when the intense gazes moved onto the parchment depicting a violet bouquet, “Purple the colour of nobility, mystery, magic, and creativity.”

Briefly, your eyes locked together, a fleeting moment of vulnerability. Touching her own shoulder Bea continued, “Green the colour of nature, harmony, fertility, and luck. Lastly, blue the colour of trust, intelligence, stability, and freedom.” She turned her attention on you, causing your ears to be tickled pink- but not through amusement.

“Between these colours the universe is summed up, all be it briefly, this means that you, Kat, need to be in the centre of the square,” A loving hand moved you to the centre.

It was in that moment that the threads of gentle luminosity darted towards you, the way had been found.

Understated, yet importantly Bea concluded, “See, Kat, you are the centre of everything. You are the Universe, both known and unknown, that comforts the global population. The sky above us, the space around us and the water that sustains us.

As for me, I am the Earth. I provide the stability to your unpredictability. I am the understood, the unconquerable and the giver. The Earth and Universe shouldn’t find harmony, but no matter the distance that separates them they will find a way to be united.

People of the Earth look up and see endless possibilities and are reminded that despite everything they simply cannot conquer the whole Universe. The stars look down upon the creatures of the Earth with love and remind those who are lost that there is always a way, if they allow the stars to guide them.

As above, so below and so the soul.

Everything is interconnected, everything is something, something is nothing, yet nothing is everything. You and I, Universe and Earth, are all made up of the same elements.

By proxy this means every living and non-living thing on this ball of rock is related and nothing should stop mutual acceptance and respect. However, where the Universe has gained consciousness, individuality came hand in hand with prejudice. One cannot be who they are without being judged. Everyone casts judgement on others, where there is judgement there will be hate.

Life is in death and death is in life. Some day we will all return to the Earth as nothing more than ash, and some day in the very far future we will all return to the universe. Nothing can break the connection forged all those billions of years ago and in this moment, we are going to reaffirm that connection.”

Stepping to the side, Bea aligned herself with you so the path between you was straight and narrow. You felt something powerful surge within you, as Bea moved to face you just outside the square of objects.

Lines of red, silver, gold and purple anchored onto the fixed blue centre.

Connected.

Just like spider silk, five individual lines unravelled from your chest to join with the steady green outlying force. Twisting together to create an unbreakable rope, a mighty flash of phosphorus light fulminated in the small room. Temporarily blinded, the Universe and Earth had to trust in each other to remain steady, if one of them moved then a rift so powerful it would tear everything known into oblivion.

The lightening rippled across the world, announcing with unshakable certainty that no more would there be separation. Every country would be given the choice to join the Great Council. There would be no presiding figure, just a simple mutual agreement to listen.

It was the start of a great change. Catalysed by two people who struggled to trust anyone. Who came together by chance, by putting faith in one another they became an example to them all.

Fire.

It’s a threat, coming ever so close with every passing second.

Consuming.

Feeds on everything it touches and leaves only ash behind, with no way back to what once was.

Raging.

Takes with an anger, takes with a fury, and won’t let anything leave it’s grasp unscathed.

Burning.

Burning through the pain, burning through the hurt, and slashing you right up in it’s grip.

Seizing.

A deadly fire only seizing more and more to become bigger, just so it can seize more and more.

Fire.

The threats here and the seconds of safety are over.

Done.

All that remains of the people who lived in the house and the house itself is an echo of what was once there.

Power.

The power that fire has. The power of fear.

“How unfortunate, I thought my son would be my greatest asset. Instead Michael has turn into my greatest conspirator, plotting and scheming like the rest of those scum. Enough, he is nothing more then another irritation.” Lord Cain shuffled in his seat from the thought. He has taken to presiding over citizens complaints in a bid to gain more popularity to sway the electing council of lords to name him the rightful heir. After his father’s death Cain and six of his brothers, and now his son all have been put in contention for the role of heir. “Thankfully I am not like the rest of those swine. It was rigged in my favour from the start, I am fathers first born oldest by a decade, control more land then them all added together, casting a shadow that spreads far across the Empire, and a more accomplished general then all of my siblings bar McKenna. Thankfully I took care of him in my early days, clipped his wings before he had a chance to soar above me.” Grinning to himself. “Bring in the next poor soul, I don’t have the patience for this much longer.” He said scowling at the page standing obediently next to Lords Cain mighty thrown, its pitch black smooth stone seemed to become like liquid slowly streaming upward towards the high ceilings of his great hall then falling back into the black mass. It was a gift and tribute from the mystic stone crafters on the outskirts of his territory. They are stone folk who are world renowned for their ability to imbue magics into stone to change its qualities creating bizarre living sculptures that reflect the person it represents, and are even known to have the ability to craft stone automatons.

The page jumps from the abrupt demanding tone of his lord. He lets out ”right away my lord!” with a yelp. Then bows and runs off to retrieve the needy man or woman coming to plead for assistance or action from lord Cain more often then not to no avail. Finally, the great hall doors open and in come the page returning with a younger looking man dressed like a lowlands lord. An exotic fur coat drags behind him, his neck and hands adorned in Flamboyant gold jewellery, and the beginnings of a thick beard finely trimmed. As the young lord reached the foot of the staircase leading to Cain he quickly got to one knee bowing his head. “My Lord, this is Lord Drakin’s son, Lord Marden. He has come from the war front to report.” The page said head bowed as well. “And,” Marden butted in finally looking up with an awkward smile “a request if my Lord, if that is acceptable?”

Cain leaned back into his inky black throne, looking more then please with the prospects of a deal.

“I will listen to your request then, I’ve had enough soldiers and minor lords coming to give yet another report of the war front, when my eyes and ears are everywhere and the battlefield is always in my sights.”

Marden looked shocked at the response thinking he had made a clever move in coming to personally report his victories.

“Well my Lord, I have consistently proven my capabilities in battle and I have been winning clash after clash against those Vargra scum.” He paused looking towards Cain for a reaction.

“So?” Cain muttered.

“So, I would like to request that House Tarven could reclaim territory in our name alone the Tiber river. We have proven time after time that we are not only unquestionably loyal to you Lord Cain, but the strongest of the lowland clans that are loyal to you my Lord.” He let out, attempting to sound more confident.

“Hmmm... an interesting proposition, and who’s landing would that be exactly?” Cain finally said examining his fingernails.

“Do you worry we can’t ho...” Marden began to let out in a questioning tone, before suddenly being interrupted by a Cain raising a finger to his mouth. Then looking over his shoulder wait for his advisor to step forward and reply.

“ As far as I’m aware my Lord, no one of substantial concern. In fact Lord Killian formerly served under Micheal in the last conflict with the Merchants Coast.” The advisor whispered into the ear Cain turned towards him.

“Ahhh well then you are in luck my young friend. I happen to have fallen out with that traitorous son of mine, and I do lack an enforcer for my lands down there.”

“And who better then a barbarian to tame barbarians.” He let out with a chuckle followed by the laughter of the court.

“Here is the deal, I will grant your wish, but in exchange you will enforce my new land taxes. I have been expecting resistance to higher taxes, but with you to carry my will it saves me having to move troops to squash rebellion.” Looking down his nose now at the young lord.

“It’s a shame I’ve eliminated any worthy opponent to battle wit, all that is left are these cowards” Cain thought in disgust.

“Th... thank you my Lord I’m sure my father will be glad to hear this news I will return with his response at once.” Marden said enthusiastically.

Marden began to rise from his knelt position, and hurriedly went to turn and walk out.

“No.” Cain raised his voice sounding irritated.

“That won’t do at all. I have no patience to wait for your response when I could give it to any other lowly minor Lord looking to prove their loyalty. I want an answer now from you.” He said his face growing more and more impatient.

“B..but my Lord that would go against our traditions. My father sits as the head of the clan he gets the day in all matters.” Marden let out weakly careful not to make eye contact.

“Who care about your bloody lowland traditions. Prove your loyalty carry out my will. Now go before I revoke my gracious offer, insolent boy.”Cain yelled.

Marden went to respond at first, but finally he bows with clenched jaw and white knuckles.

When the great hall doors shut at Mardens leave . “ I am tired of this for the day, I dismiss the rest of this court and will no longer hear any more requests. All may leave now except the members of my council. We have business to attend to.” Cain announces.

I knew there was something about you... You know who you are , if you dont then you will. You manipulative whore, you. Just thinking about you makes me wanna smoke..

I am going to call you by the nickname you gave me "baby boy". You "baby boy" , you made me do what you wanted me to do, say what you wanted me to say and jump when you say jump.

I do not know why i stayed with you for so long, you controlled me to the tea. You controlled who i talked to, hung out with and even made me drift from my family. i don't think you understood the effect you have on me.or the power you had over me.

Here I am in my first homosexual relationship gave you my all and the benefit of the doubt. I showed all my scars , telling you what hurt me but still you ended up hurting me the most...

This is my goodbye I am going to hang out with who i want, talk to who i want and do whatever i please. I do not need your approval or anything. Im my own person and think for myself, Goodbye "baby boy"

It seemed such a little thing. It was just one piece of plastic. No harm? Until it was caught Around her neck. She starved Didn’t make it back to the beach Gone

It seemed such a little thing It was just one piece of plastic Now cut up In smaller pieces Not perfect, but small steps She swam on Made it to the beach Eggs laid

It comets with at the early hour Controlled and everlasting Cloudy at the next but still visible Sleeping through your soft skin from your warm face onto the cold surface lies deep underneath truths be told within, let the beauty unfold

Larcy Indigo.

She has long black hair down to her waist, it sways like a graceful dancer in the soft autumn breeze. Her skin is dark, tan, but not that Cheeto dust look you get from a machine. She spends all her time outside, collecting rocks and planting cheery little flowers in her small garden.

The way she talks, it’s compelling. You have a craving to here her say more, and nothing in your immediate state of consciousness can explain why. The way the words roll off her tongue are gentle, a small stroke across your cheek, rather than people like political parties, sentences bursting up their throats like dynamite, then coming out harshly like a stinging slap to the face.

She has the power to make you feel. If she cries, you cry. If she laughs, you laugh. If she gets up and dances, you have the sudden impulse to do so too.

That girl, Larcy Indigo.

I hold the power. Just as I have for centuries. I have shaped the course of events and controlled the masses- whether they liked it or not.

Don’t be mistaken: I’m no G-d, no superhero or villain, no cosmic entity. But I am a puppet master. I hold most of the world in the palms of my hands, and tip the scales however I please.

You see, I am powerful. I have advantages like no other and the workings of the world are to my benefit. I am the white man. The king of the universe! But I fear the tables may be turning...