To Die For Love and Freedom

They were words that spoke of rebellion and freedom. Rebellion against those who had oppressed us for centuries and freedom to do and be what we wanted. They were words what promised a better life for ourselves and those who came after us. I fell in love with those words and with the man who spoke them. Those inspiring words from an inspiring man. Now, I stand condemned to death. Doomed to die for fighting for a better life, for rising up against those who would keep me down. He stands beside me, my lover and commander, along with many others who rose up with us. I pray our sacrifice will not be in vain. I pray that others will hear his words and fall in love with them and the desire for freedom.

So Close to Consciousness

She came to consciousness slowly. She didn't bother to open her eyes at first. She simply lay there, listening to beeps and humming. Beyond those, she was only aware of the fact she was breathing and in pain. There was a dull ache in her lower left arm; and a sharper, more widespread, pain on the right side of her torso. Her head, although not pounding, throbbed slightly. She felt stiff and heavy. She decided to open her eyes, but was only rewarded with a blinding light that caused her to scrunch them closed. Against her better judgment, she tried to sit up. The movement caused her side to flare in pain and her head began to pound. The unconsciousness she had slipped away from moments before grabbed onto her like a parent finding a runaway child. She tried to fight it, to cling to her hard won awareness, but the darkness won. She once again slipped into its numbing hold.

Woman Warrior

 This was mainly because a sword was a man's weapon. Women usually carried daggers. God, according to popular opinion, had not made women for battle. He had made them to be homemakers and healers. This woman obviously didn't care about "popular" opinion. The long, curved weapon hung at her hip with such a natural ease it almost like she had been born with it there.

Later, when she had cause to withdraw the sword, she did so in a graceful, fluid motion. As she moved, the weapon became a natural extension of her arm. There was no hesitation or doubt. Each strike and block was executed with precision and minimal effort. When she had defeated her opponent, she simply sheathed her blade and walked off. Neither gloating or basking in her victory. She knew what she was capable of and that was all she needed.

To Save a Town 1

"I'm sorry, Corin." she whispered, sending a telepathic burst of regret to him as she hit him on back of the head. She caught him as he slumped to the ground, lowering him gently. He would never forgive her for this; but it couldn't be helped. She couldn't let a whole town be punished for something it hadn't even known it had done.

"Soroya!" their friend Mark cried in a whisper, "What are you doing?!" He knelt to check her brother's pulse.

"Mark, I need you to stay here with him." she answered. "I'm going to turn myself in."

"What?! Are you crazy?!" Mark replied, almost shouting, as he stood and faced her. "They'll send you to the camps, if they don't kill you."

"Mark," she said, grasping his shoulders. "listen to me. I am aware of what will happen, but I can't let all those people suffer for something they haven't technically done. Nothing you can say will change my mind. I'm going to tell them that Corin is dead. I know it will be hard, but you cannot let him come after me. He has to stay free. He is more important than he knows. Do you understand? He cannot be captured too."

Mark, who had been looking at her in the beginning, glanced away when she asked if he understood. He stared at her brother for a minute, and then sighed. "Yes. I understand."

"Thank you." she whispered as she wrapped him in a hug. He returned it and it lasted for a few seconds. Then, she pulled away and stepped back. She gave him a small smile and then pushed into the air, topping the buildings surrounding them in a matter of seconds.

Mark watched her fly, and then sat down beside the unconscious Corin. He was going to be infuriated when he woke up. How did she expect him, a mere human, to hold back someone who was essentially Superman?

Pain and Memory

Mr. Grey had told her that she had been unconscious for three days, and missing for two weeks before that. She had simply disappeared one night after stating that she was going to her dorm's gym. Two weeks later, her friend, Pasha had found her lying in the floor if the entry way. She was dressed, although not in the clothes she had left in, but her feat were bare and bloody. She had no memory of how she had gotten there or where she had been for those two weeks. Every time she tried to remember what happened, s searing pain shot through her head. If she tried to press on through, the pain and pressure only got worse. The doctors said it was probably due to the fact that she had sustained two concussions. She also had three broken ribs, two cracked ribs, busted knuckles, lacerations on her face and arms, and the bottoms of her feet had been scraped raw. They said that, from appearances, she had at some point gotten into a fight barefoot on rough terrain. They said that the broken bones and cuts would heal, but they could not tell her for sure whether her memory would return.

It's Not the End

He closed his eyes and lay still.

The fight had lasted two, maybe three minutes, but it had seemed to go on forever. Guns were fired, knives had been drawn, and punches were thrown. There were many times that he thought the fight would end then and there, only for it to be drawn out. Eventually, however, it was over. He didn't swagger away like the guys in the movies. He was on the ground, gasping for breath, every inch in pain. After a moment, he took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out. Then, groaning, he staggered to his feet and walked away. Fighting six (or was it seven?) guys was exhausting.

Insta-Learn

"You can learn anything! Insta-Learn lets you download new knowledge and skills directly into your brain. No more grueling training sessions, no more boring lectures! Learn what you want when you want!"
     I gave a small grunt after the commercial ended. When I was younger, I had wanted to use Insta-Learn to learn as much as I could. Now, not so much.
     Ever since I was little, my dad had taken me to what little "wild" remained and had taught me how to survive on my own, without technology and amenities. He had also taught me basic medical techniques, and how to read, write, do math, cook, sew, and fight. He taught me all of these, and a few more, without ever letting me use Insta-Learn.
     At first, I thought it was kinda cool to learn things the "old-fashioned" way; but as I grew older I started to resent it. I didn't want to be dragged out to the middle of nowhere to spend my days and nights with no technology, hot water, or bed. I didn't want to learn skills that I would probably never use; but my dad never relented. He never really explained why he made me learn things this way, he only ever said "Character trumps talent."
     I didn't stop resenting the lessons until it was too late to thank him for them. A few years ago, I hand the unfortunate experience of having to use, not only one of the skills, but all of them in order to survive. I also learned the short-comings of Insta-Learn. It was hard to access the stored skills in the "wild", and while the brain may know how to do something, the body does not necessarily understand how to perform it. Therefore, my hard work and hard won skills made me smarter and faster than the "Insta-Learners."
     As my dad always said, "Character trumps talent." Talent will only take you so far, but hard work will take you farther. Thanks, dad.

The Dragon

 He stared at the dragon crouching before him. He should not have gone out on his own. No one would know what had happened to him. His mother would spend the rest of her days expecting him to come home, like she did for his father. He couldn't climb the rocks, they were too step and smooth. Besides, dragons could fly. He would just be making himself an easier target. He couldn't dash to the side and try to run around either. The dragon's reptilian eyes tracked his every movement and it moved it's body to block his every time he tried. There wasn't anything to do but fight and hope for a miracle.

Six Word Story

Crying, she accepted the folded flag.

The Faolchuln

got there?!"

Those were the words her mother had uttered the night Faernyn had brought Inis home. He was small and bony, obviously the runt of the litter and obviously underfed, and covered in grey and black fur. He had followed her home that day. It was raining so she hadn't noticed him at first, but when she did, she'd picked him up and carried him the rest of the way home. Her mother, despite her protests about bringing a stray do home, gave him some scraps and an old blanket in the kitchen to sleep on. Later that night however, Faernyn had awoken to find him curled at the foot of her bed. He had lifted his head, stared at her for a moment as if checking to see that she was all right, and then gone back to sleep. They hadn't know what he was at the time. He hadn't looked dangerous.They found out what was a few months later when her step-father came home. He was drunk, as usual, and was more than upset to find a stray dog in his home. He had started yelling and had even kicked Inis, who was now three hands tall. Inis had shied away but had made no threatening sounds or movements. It hadn't been until her father had reached for her that Inis reacted. As her step-father grabbed her hair, Inis started growling. It wasn't a high-pitched growl from a puppy either. It was a deep, menacing growl from something much larger. Her father had turned to kick Inis again and froze. Faernyn also stared in shock. Inis was facing her father, ears back and teeth barred; but what they were staring at was the fact that he was now twice his normal size and that there were "quill" like spikes protruding along his back. His claws had also lengthened and were digging into the hardwood floor. Her step-father had let her go and left, never to be seen again. Shortly afterward, Inis had returned to normal, all traces of the transformation gone.When she had told her mother about it, her mother had turned pale and asked to repeat, in detail, Inis' transformation. Then she told her that Inis was not a dog, he was Faolchuln. The Faolchuln were a wolf-like creature from the north-east mountains, and were never found far from there. They were the hunting and battle companions of the elfish people who resided in those mountains. They were said to appear as small dogs or wolves, only to transform when their masters were threatened. It was also said that they bonded for life, and that they and the one they were bonded with could draw on strength of the other. Yet none of those were the reason for her mom's reaction. In all of stories and legends of the Faolchuln, there was never a case of a Faolchuln bonding with a human.


*Faolchu- Irish word for wolf.

**"Prequel" for a larger story that's floating around in my head.

Bribed by the Poisoned Cookies

*phbbbbt* "P-p-poison!?!?" *hack* "You poisoned me?!?!"

"Yes."

*cough* "Let me get this straight, You- the supposed 'good guys"- have poisoned me- an innocent bystander- so I would do what you wanted?"

"We never said we were the 'good guys' as you put it, you assumed; and, you, of all people, are not 'innocent'. Everything else, though, is correct."

------- "What happens if I just let myself die?"

"You won't. You love living too much to consider that; but if something were to delay you and you died, we would just move on to someone else."

"So you'd just move on and poison someone else."

"Not necessarily. Just because we poisoned you doesn't mean we would poison the next person, or even that we poison all our recruits. We apply pressure where it's most effective. For you, that's dying. For someone else, it may be a friend dying, or the threat of a secret getting out. Get the picture?"

"In other words, you guys want what you want and you're willing to do whatever, absolutely whatever, it takes to get it. Is that right?"

"It's close enough."

The Orphans

Mikhal shushed the children behind him. Then, he cautiously peeked around the corner. They were still there. They had been chasing them for three blocks. All because Jered had punched that rich kid a few days ago. Now, by order of the mayor, all the homeless kids in this area were being rounded up and placed in orphanages or workhouses.  They wouldn't last long there. Ari would be sent back to her abusive father, once they figured out that he was a nobleman. Tym, who was sickly, would probably be worked to death. Jered would last the longest. He was a fighter. He would probably manage to run away again. Mikhal would never make it to an orphanage or workhouse. He was too old, he'd be conscripted into the army. The only reason he hadn't left after the order was passed was Jered. His little brother was such a hothead. He didn't blame Jered for punching the mayor's son, the brat had deserved it. He just wished Jered would show restraint once in awhile. Tym and Ari needed him too. They didn't have older siblings, and other groups didn't want the burden of a sick kid and a girl. He couldn't leave. He had hoped to hoard enough supplies to move them to another city, but now they would have to start over.



Art by: John Foster

For the love of my brother.....

She gripped the knife tighter as she crouched behind the bookcase. She didn’t care what they said, she was not letting them in. He had friends who were cops, she’d seen their badges. They were not going to take her tonight. It was time she fought back, even if she died because of it. Her brother was getting old enough that he would no longer be safe. He had threatened him to keep her quiet and compliant, but soon it wouldn’t matter. He had let his friends use her whenever they wanted. He had also done it himself. What was going to stop him from letting them do the same to her brother? She was the only answer she had. She had to try. She just hoped that after whatever happened, her brother would be alright.

The door crashed open.

She charged.