Shad Valley

I just finished my application process for Shad Valley using the short story "The Dreamer", an amalgamation of the many versions on this blog. Just figured I'd make a post to prevent false claims of plagiarism. I might take down the stories temporarily as well.

The Dreamer

A project I did for school. It's a fairly rushed story, As I was supposed to have 4 pages double spaced. Turns out I did 5 pages. Anyways, if my teacher sees this, Don't say I'm copying, because I wrote it.



Cael lay awake in his bed dreading the painful moment where he must lift himself from his blissful rest and begin a new day. Until then Cael shut his eyes. He lazed about his mattress, thinking of nothing in particular, there would be plenty time for that later on. As his alarm clock started to ring, his peace was shattered like glass, and Cael awoke to the real world; a real day with real troubles and pain. .

As the young boy descended the stairs of his empty house he reflected on his life. A life made livable only by his sleep. Cael could not remember the last time he had dreamed in his sleep. His repose was only such, a repose. It was devoid of images and thought, simply a recharging process for the battery that was Cael. In this respect Cael was unique. Other boys in his school would compete in the eternal race of staying up late, when they would arrive the next day complaining of their volunteered lack of sleep. It was a struggle Cael had never truly understood; could they be distressed over the impending dreams that accompanied sleep, or could they simply not bear to be separated from reality for such a length of time? In any accord, it was different for Cael. He waited in anticipation for the moment he could relax his body in slumber, and had done so for as long as he could recall.

No longer sleeping, Cael could not afford to pause and think for much longer, he had another boring mundane day laying in wait before him, and no parents to nag him; they were always off somewhere. One day it was work, another it might be out to breakfast with a client. Cael had never played much of a part in his parents’ lives, and never had they in his. Sure, they left notes instructing the neglected boy to finish his homework, or what not to touch in the refrigerator, but both his mother and father were too important to talk to their son in person. Nowadays, Cael barely glanced sidelong at the notes he was much too accustomed with; notes that simply listed off the activities his parents believed him to be incapable to complete without a gentle prodding. Today, the bulk of the writing reminded Cael not to forget his lunch, which was already dutifully placed in his bag by the broad front door.

Cael managed to dress his scarce frame without the additional notes in his wardrobe, and was soon out the door walking to his first class. The situation at school was little better than that at the home front. Cael was a handsome young man with angular features that were hard to resist, this bought him some grudging respect in the eyes of both sexes alike. He was socially adept but not popular; to be popular he would have had to have friends. The majority of his peers enjoyed the presence of Cael, though he made little effort himself to be liked. Even the misfit crowd of the school seemed to relate to him. Perhaps it was because they glimpsed tidbits of themselves hidden behind Cael's emotionless mask of a face.

Cael plunked down in one of the plastic ergonomic chairs ever-so-common in his school. He sat near the back, with only himself to keep his company. As he began to break-out his books he was approached by a beautiful girl, her unfamiliarity with the building and routine apparent by her flustered air, short breath and smudged makeup. It was an opportunity any boy would have seized upon, of which they did, to her obvious distress. Nonetheless she proceeded to stare at Cael, who met her gaze without flinching or blushing.

“I'm Michelle. Do you mind?” she muttered shyly as she motioned at the vacant seat on Cael's right.

“Sure”, he shrugged in response “Cael” he said and pointed at himself barely pausing with his books to acknowledge her.

Luckily the teacher dedicated the entire class to note-taking, and as such there was little opportunity for conversation thereafter. Cael did not relish pretending to be interested in what little this Michelle had to say. Instead he spent the class in silence, ignoring the jealous stares his male peers shot towards him.

As the bell rang, a flurry of activity erupted. It was a futile race to the exits, as if every extra second caged up inside the classroom could have been spent in some important social excursion. Cael on the other hand waited patiently near the back with his eyes lowered not in shame, but in confusion. He perceived himself self-ostracized in view of his dissemblance. Where his peers took such stock in video games and girls and leaving class quickly, Cael took none. Where his friends recounted riveting tales of gossip, Cael dismissed it as trivial. Every little thing seemed ephemeral and insignificant; it felt as though the young boy was born into the wrong world.

The day progressed at an agonizingly slow pace; and Cael felt himself yearning for the comfort of his bed and the deep slumber that came hand in hand. He felt sleep begin to creep up upon him prematurely, something which had never happened before. It shook Cael to the core of his being. Even sleep, the one constant trend in his life was beginning to change. Could it be that Cael was about to lose the one sole factor that kept him alive? Cael hoped for the darnedest that it was not so, and pushed the thought to the back of his mind.


When the last bell signaled the wrap-up of the day the same fruitless scampering began. From Cael's vantage point on the top floor, students hurried to-and-fro like ants; each objective more erratic than the last. Cael slipped out the back door, hoping to avoid all but necessary contact with other students. Even as such, he heard the hurried shout of “See ya Cael” ring out behind him. Without pausing to see who his assailant was, he murmured a quick salutation and proceeded on his way.

With seconds left to spare before his imminent collapse, Cael crashed through the doors to his characteristically vacant house and tumbled unceremoniously onto his bed. It took mere seconds before sleep claimed the weary boy, and Cael felt the familiar tug of consciousness as it made its final unsuccessful effort to fight exhaustion. As Cael spiraled into darkness, he recalled his last cohesive thought: “Now this is peculiar”.

* * * *

Cael awoke with a ringing sound bouncing around inside his head. Slowly his eyes regained focus and his muscles began to ache. As the young boy looked up he was forced to shield his eyes against a ghastly bright glare. He began to focus his hearing and discovered quickly that the buzzing in his head was in fact birds chirping in the distance. Everything was so foreign, and his eyes could not yet pick out his surroundings. Wherever he was, it certainly was not his house. Cael began to call out only to discover that his voice was harsh and grating, making barely a sound against the various sounds competing for his attention. It took several more minutes for Cael's eyesight to return to him. This time he was far less reckless, instead of staring upwards, he opened his eyes a slit and peered ahead of him. The sights that greeted him made Cael heart skip a beat. Cael sat within a peaceful glade; trees of all colors imaginable surrounded him creating a veritable wall of verdure. Various forms of wildlife skipped from tree to tree, or padded lightly against the forest floor; Plants ladened the ground, forming a thick mattress of interlocking twigs, grass and flowers. It was a dreamland past imagining.

Cael marveled at the miracle around him and lost all care in the world. However, all good things are not made to last Cael learned as he heard a very human-like noise in the distance. He quickly picked himself up and creeped furtively from tree to tree. The carpet of green beneath his feet muffled his every step allowing Cael to make less noise than a leaf on the wind. The unseen boy made his way slowly towards the noise, which he now picked out to be a female voice. As Cael took several steps forward, he realized that the female was singing, and what a beautiful voice she had. The birds chirped in time to her rhythmic chanting, creating an angelic chorus Cael could never have imagined. For once in his life, Cael felt like he belonged, and magically, he had not even met this lovely lady.
Cael's apprehensive mood lifted with the music. Somehow in some universal truth, meeting a beautiful lady singing a strange far-off melody signaled her as benign. Cael dropped all pretense of stealth and walked with a measured gait into the clearing. As the lady heard him, she whirled around so swiftly Cael had trouble believing possible. When Cael was met with the sight of her face he had two misgivings. One, she was not a lady but a girl and two she was even more beautiful than he imaged. Cael knew he had to tread carefully, as the young girl seemed scared, seemingly ready to scamper away. Seeing as the girl was close to his own age Cael decided against a formal introduction, and swayed more towards a friendly exchange of names common in his neighborhood.
“Hey, I'm Calen” he began, immediately casting a puzzled glance down towards his mouth. “I'm Calen” he repeated, the word Cael not wanting to worm itself out. It seemed in this strange world, everything had changed, even his name. Trying one last time and failing, Cael, or should we say Calen, turned away baffled, towards the girl. She was kneeling on a bed on flowers, and seemed unturned by the show of confusion he had exhibited. He wondered fleetingly if she had understood him when she cracked a crooked smile and said “Enora”. The smile was so contagious Calen returned it. He had trouble remembering the last time he had truly smiled, like he was now. Enora stood up, and grabbed playfully at Cael's hand motioning him to follow. Her face was serene and peaceful, possessing a maturity beyond her years, yet she had youth as well. Even as he looked, her face parted into a loving grin, for someone she barely knew.

Calen followed Enora for some time as she explained he sights and sounds around them. It was so distant and peculiar in contrast to his world. The roofs were thatched and majestic castles rose up in the distance. Enora's village was friendly and accustomed to strangers, so he was not out-of-place. It was a scene straight out of a fairy tale, minus the dragons and elves. To celebrate his happiness, Calen and Enora danced together far into the night

* * * *

As Cael awoke from his groggy state of half-consciousness several feelings bombarded his heart all at once; Surprise, Happiness, Confusion and a deep sense of loss. He had dreamed. Cael, the boy with no dreams, and a sleep born of practicality had witnessed his first dream, and a marvelous one it had been by that. Cael's only regret was that it had been a dream. It had seemed so real, and Cael was forced to laugh in the faces of his pitiful peers. He decided to call his dream state “The Web”, in mockery of his friends finding cheap pleasures in their games.

Weeks later Cael was glad he had named his time spent dreaming, as he began to lapse into it quite frequently. For the first time in his life Cael had been caught sleeping in class. He was awoken by Michelle just as Enora and he had been attempted to infiltrate a local fortress. He reassured himself their excursion would have been cut short, as the whole trip was accompanied by Enora's customary playful laugh. Their adventures continued, and Cael developed a bond with the young girl he had with none others. As life in The Web became more livable, life in the real world turned impossibly harsh. It was almost as if one world fed on the other. It was all Cael could do to get through a drawn-out day without collapsing. He relished his time dreaming with a deep passion, and would not give it up for anything in the world.

As Cael was walking home after a particularly lengthy day at school, he reflected upon his life once again. He recalled the last time he spent a moment to sort through his inner turmoil, mere weeks ago, it seemed like years. Since then so much had changed, yet so much had stayed constant. Looking back on the young boy so mad at the world, he was no longer that boy. His dreams had granted him that much. So bitter and remorsefully, it was a small wonder people had even talked to him. At this final moment, his life made sense, if only he had understood before. No he decided, he preferred it this way.
His heart, soul and mind at peace, Cael walked out into the path of an incoming car.

* * * *

Calen woke up with a jolt to see Enora mopping his face with a damp cloth. The tenderness bestowed in her hands was a welcome sight. He starred into her deep eyes full of such lingering affection and realized perhaps, that he had been born into the right world.

Taking over the world: One town at a time

It was a night like all others. A serene silence blanketed the town, creating an air of calm and peace. The darkness flowed gracefully across the streets, and was welcomed into houses through open doors and windows. The silence was heavy, yet not stifling. It was a beautiful symbiosis; the town welcomed the night, and the night accepted the dormant villagers. It was amazing how much appearances could be deceiving.
Beneath the mask of homely harmony, a greater darkness stirred; a darkness that was not at peace with the town, one that was solely bent on vengeance and destruction. This darkness, rather than meandering through the alleys, bursts through buildings in an effort to wreak havoc. Though known only as Darkness metaphorically, the real name of this darkness is far more formidable. This dark force is known as two simple words, said to be synonymous with evil; Lucas and Iain.
That these two figures were about on this beautiful night was no coincidence. These deranged sadists had painstakingly scouted all of the almanacs on the globe for a night like tonight. “The more graceful and angelic the better,” they thought as they dutifully searched through dusty old tomes. Finally, after months of searching they stumbled across a most dazzling and stunning night to ruin. It pleased their dark hearts to destroy such a resplendent night with a most heinous act of violence.
(The information presented in following paragraphs is not to be taken seriously; it is solely to further the reality of the story)
The plan of our offenders was one of malevolent intent, yet also of pure genius derivation. Using a mix of noxious chemicals they could manage to efficiently execute the entire population of this village in mere hours. The two had worked masterly under the cover of darkness, and had managed to replace all the towns’ water supply with a mix of potent chemicals. When, in the morning the populace went for a drink, they would suffer very little before dropping to their deaths. It was an ingenious plan, but even these two young men were not careless enough to neglect a “Plan B”. If all else failed, the two prodigy masterminds were relying on their new immunization clinic. Because of the incoming threat of H1N1 and their forged medical licences, they were sure the remaining villagers would believe that the deadly virus had wiped out their friends. When they came to them for aid, the two students would readily offer their knowledge; and immunize them. However, the syringes were outfitted with liquid oxygen. This element, when injected into the blood stream, immediately causes the veins to explode; thus ending the lives of the remainder of the men and women of the town.
As the morning rays began peeking out from over the horizon, the stirring of the living people began. Children began to cry, and neighbours ran to and fro; visiting others, going to work or going to school. In the hands of them all however, was one common object; a glass of water. As darkness claimed the town once more, everyone was asleep. This time however, it was the sleep of an eternity. There was only one thing left for our villains of the story; escape.
The punishment for a crime of this scale would be barbaric as the two boys realized this all too clearly. A simple safe house or runaway route would not suffice. For this mission, they would have to be far more cautious. Our two friends, though flawed in many ways, were gifted as well, their fast working minds had already figured out a plan of action. Using the stolen money and goods from the newly uninhabited town, they planned to travel far across the seas using a stolen vessel and once there, receive facial reconstruction and completely new identities. The journey would be taxing, and certainly fraught with peril, but with constant vigil they may yet live to see the shores of the eastern land.

Lucas Jarche

A Fortress of Solitude

I had been told, once or twice, about a far off place of solitude; a place of peace and quiet, known only to a few souls. Every hero needs their fortress of solitude, whether it be a crystal palace, a bat-cave, or in my case, a humble yet breathtaking beach.
The beach was surely off the beaten track, one could say, in the middle of nowhere. It was a strange feeling, I was so far away from home, yet I felt more at home than ever before. Here, on this beach, my soul was truly at rest; far from the seething and plotting world of people. Had I been religious, I might have gone so far as to say I felt the touch of god upon my spirit.
As I stepped past a grove of trees, the well concealed clearing became clearly visible. At the beginning, I was simply not impressed, a road of gravel extended before me. My heart fluctuated in disappointment of being duped, but I caught a glint off to the side; a glint made by the sun off of the water. I turned my head ever so slightly and gasped ever so audibly. A long strip of sand nestled snugly into the forestry plain. It seemed oddly out of place, like the stubble remaining after a bad shave. Yet, it seemed to also light the darkness around me; If the world was evil, than this place would surely be good. So clear was this morning that I could almost discern each and every intricate and tiny piece of sand. Their different hues were clearing apparent, and their mingling seemed to match those of many lovers, all content and blind to the world around them. To this sand, only one thing mattered. They didn't care for the troubles of the world. They didn't care for the forest around them; they had eyes only for their fellow sand.
Beyond this beautiful sight rested another of delicate yet splendid grandeur. Stretching out, like an arm to the heavens, was a sparkling sea of deep blue. The sun seemed to catch every angle, and every wave; creating a Mandela whose beauty was supreme. So pure and clear was this water, that staring intently, the dunes of sand beneath slowly slid into view. Its beauty did not end on the surface. Under the swaying waves, the water looked immobile. I could pick out and touch any object littered on the lake floor. There were however, next to nothing but sand and water present. The two exist in such mutual harmony that need for anything else was banished. If someone had descended to the bottom and picked it clean, it could not have been emptier. It wasn't an emptiness that left a mark on the soul; it was an emptiness that made you leave with a sense of balance and well-being, realizing that in this world, something’s are perfect, unblemished, and beautiful. That was of course, if you could ever leave.
My mind was saturated with pure and clean thoughts, yet still I tried to take in more. My eyes swayed from side to side, trying to capture everything about this place, so serene. I ran sand through my fingers and toes, and took deep breaths, smelling every sound and sight. I realized that in my excitement, I had neglected a certain figure standing on the banks of the lake. Her curves outlined in the sun made for a stunning sight, yet all of her body was black. It was odd how the sun, reflected at a certain angle could bring darkness, yet not light. She looked rather plain in comparison to the sights surrounding me, yet deep down in my heart, I felt an attraction. It was not until later however, that I would realize this.
I trod lightly on the sand, like I was worried I won’t mark it. My footsteps, though taken slowly, reverberated around, and broke the silence. She immediately turned around, as if being roused suddenly from a dream. On her face was not an expression of exhilaration, surprise, or even fear, but it took on the same calm demeanour present all around. Her clothes were simple; as if they were necessity and she would much rather throw them away to be truly at one with the earth. Her beauty was simple; she had no makeup or other trinkets we base beauty upon. Her golden locks curled slightly in the ocean spray, fell down over her shoulders, glittering almost as brightly as the lake. They outlined a face whose peering blue eyes looked at me with fascination and friendship. Her nose and her lips were small and drawn, and had to them a slight tan. Nothing seemed out of place, her face would not have been called one of great beauty, but it fit her so well, and seemed to in its environment, that I could not help but to draw in a slight breath.
I kept walking until I could have gingerly reached out with my hand and brush a curl away from her face. Then I paused. Much was exchanged between us in that moment of silence. We both realized we were much the same, and with this, we understood each other better than perhaps we knew ourselves. We basked in the morning sun, and took pleasure in the realization that we could simply stand here in silence. Never before had I been able to have a silence this comfortable, without the need to utter a single word. We stayed side by side and gazed out across the sheet of water for many minutes. Neither of us knew a thing about the other, but it did not bother us. Finally, I decided to break the silence once again “Hi,” I said shyly. I intended for the sound to be tranquil and still, yet it sounded loud and shrill in contrast to the deep silence. Her response was equally as shy as mine. After the initial few words, things started to speed up. I felt like I could talk about anything with her, and apparently the feeling was mutual. Our conversation jumped from one subject to the next, staying about as constant as a variable. As the heat became unbearable, we stripped down and ran knees up, laughing and giggling into the water. We both lost footing at near the same time and went down together. The water was chill against the skin, yet it cleansed our minds as much as it cleansed our body. We thrashed around together in the water for quite a while until we could both untangle ourselves and stand upright again. Standing upright, we decided was no fun, and once again we went down. I had been to beaches before; built sand castles, caught crabs with my friends, and even had mock wars in the water. None, none at all, came close to this.
After hours upon hours of our talking and playing, we clasped hands and ran gaily towards the bank. We lost footing several more times, and fell down with a splash into the water, laughing all the way. In full, it took us the length of another hour to reach where the sand and the water met. We finally reached the shore and took time getting out of the water. We both took time to savour the feeling of water dripping off our bodies. Had anyone been watching as we crawled out of the water, they might have mistook us for bedraggled ship wreck survivors so exhausted we were. Once completely out of our “Sea of solitude” as we playfully called it, we collapsed immediately upon the first vestiges of sand. We flopped down on our stomachs and took time to catch our breath. The sun was close to its zenith in the sky, and it quickly dried the water off our backs. We were left with sand stuck as if by glue to our legs. On any other day I would have not been able to stand the sand. Normally it leaves me with an uncomfortable and irritating feeling, yet this day, I was not even thinking of it. The only thing on my mind was her. I was on her mind as well I realized as she opened her mouth to begin to talk. A hoarse croak, sounding more like an animal came out and we both broke out into laughter again. Finally the last heaves of our humor died away and we both smiled at each other. Propped up on her elbow, the sun this time amplified her lovely body. At this moment I realized her sheer beauty. She was so stunning and gorgeous, that I felt as if I must look away in modesty. Her comely hands cupped the sand as she whispered to me; “I love you.”

To my disbelief, I took these words calmly. Perhaps it was the lake that warned me, or perhaps the sand. Or maybe I thought, deep down inside, I knew this would happen. Never in my life had I been so happy. “I love you too” I said without even thinking. There was no doubt about it. We both grinned and rolled around in the sand, its rough surface warming to our love. Quietly, we joined hands once more and walked away. This was a great day of my life, one filled with solitude and companionship, Tranquility and noise, and unfamiliarity and love. I whispered to her one last time before our feet took us to new lands, we would certainly be back.

ELPA and School

This story has been removed due to me using it for an Shad Valley application process. This is to remove suspicion of plagiarism.
Lucas Jarche

Sakata: Part One

An even longer wait between post. I am very sorry, but life is very much the busiest time of the year right now. Term 1 report cards are due soon, with my english marks being my lowest ...

Anyways, I won't complain about them, they are still higher than 80. But a considerable drop from last year's 100. Here is a piece I worked on for a night or two, it is one of my best yet, I believe. Enjoy!



Chapter 1 Horrible Beginnings

Sakata stood silently, indifferent to the lashing wind, and the fire that bled out from all directions. The excruciating heat, and the intolerable cold made it seem as if he were being boiled and frozen at the same time. His body did not agree with the elements. But his body was the least of his worries.

It was an unusual sight to catch a hold of. Rarely – now a days – did one see an entire village burning. One would think that with all the water we were provided with, we could conquer a simple fire. If one was looking at this town from far away, one would think it looked very much like a scene from the past. Men hurrying back and forth, sloshing water in a vain attempt to dowse the all too unforgiving flames. One might figure that this was humorous, and that it simply could not be happening in this day and age. But one would have to eventually come to a conclusion that this was happening, and that the water the earth provided had not been enough to satisfy the fire.

It were these precise thoughts that Sakata was thinking, as he stood on an overhanging cliff. Watching as his home - a home in which he had felt absolutely safe – was being torn to bits by the simple efforts of mother nature. And he was completely powerless to stop it. He spotted his house, and countless others as they were hungrily devoured by flames. The blackened charred remains reached out of the ground like skeletal hands, searching blindly for a life they could never have. The once lush and green forest in which the town had been ever so grateful to be near was reduced to an ocean of stumps. The trunks of the ancient trees resting on the ground, touched so by heat that were hardly recognizable as what they were.

Worse than all this were the screams of the dying. Mingled with the crackling of the fire, the result was a sound much like a veritable battleground. The adolescent had heard talk from passing soldiers about the smell of burning human flesh. He soon realized why they never forgot the scent. It wasn't so much the smell itself – resembling closely to fresh roasted bison – but the image that the it brought with it was too much to handle. Especially if that bison smell was coming from men you had known since birth. Assaulted by horrible and blood curdling smells, sights, and sounds, Sakata sunk down to his knees and retched. He retched until his insides felt empty, and still kept on going. Bile filled his throat, and for a short moment, he felt like he was dying. The thought didn't sound too bad. In fact, it seemed to be a reasonable escape from this situation.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, the teenager's resolve shone in his eyes. Getting up slowly to prevent more nausea, he composed himself, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Asked later, the man would never have admitted his eyes had not been dry. Before shouldering the bulging pack, a pack which contained ample supplies to last a family the whole winter, he dusted off the layers of dirt, accumulated from the long journey he had undertook. The road he had followed was however, comfortable enough, and the whole trip had taken a record time of twenty four days.

Making his way down the steep cliff, he came upon the village in a manner that would have surprised him, except under the current circumstances. Lowering himself ever so slowly from the last drop of the the jagged rocks, no one came out to greet him.
Upon leaving the village initially, Sakata had expected to be met by familiar faced, asking hurriedly and sincerely how his trip had went. He had even went as far as to bring presents for some of his good friends. The greeting ceremony would have been joyful and full of laughs. Gifts would have been giving, hugs would have been exchanged, and thankful sighs from his parents would have been made upon seeing their son arrive in one piece.

All this was forgotten as Sakata picked his way through the debris, taking the most direct route towards the village center. There were fewer houses on the outskirts, and Sakata made quick going. Leaping nimbly across fallen beams, he tried not to think about his friends trapped in some of the houses. He had still not spotted any survivors, but he did not panic. He hoped dearly – for the sake of his friend's lives – that they had not panicked either. He knew that everyone, from an early age, knew what to do in case of a fire. The Village had practiced the drill many times. A drill was one matter, but a real emergency was another.

Sakata was briskly interrupted from his thoughts as a house collapsed beside him. Flames flared up, and threatened to burst out and envelope Sakata. Jogging forward at a steady pace, borne from years of hunting and swordplay, he managed to avoid being burnt to a crisp. Jumping through side streets, and dodging falling obstacles, Sakata resembled a practiced gymnast, dancing which way in a complex routine. A few close calls occurred, including almost being cut into a hundred pieces by a falling glass window. Sakata had winced at this incident. Not because of the score of tiny cuts he gained, but because of the rarity of glass. It was so scarce, and had only come into the village as a gift from an important representative from the nation's capital city. He had felt at home in the small village, and had offered three whole sheets of glass as a thank-you.

Once again Sakata reprimanded himself for indulging in his thoughts in this time of trouble. He was almost at the center of the town. A town he had once thought small, but seemed to take an eternity to cross. After what seemed like hours, but was actually mere seconds, Sakata stumbled into the village center. It felt heart-lifting to be home, even at such an hour of darkness.

Sakata felt his heart warm up, if that were possible in the middle of a fire, as he saw the first familiar face in approximately five hundred and seventy five hours. The smoke seemed to lift, as Sakata and his father warmly embraced. There was no time for welcomes, Sakata knew, but he allowed himself to be carried away. He felt safe with his father, and he had missed him on his journey. He slipped out of his father's arms, if a little reluctantly, and regarded him at arms length. It was then he noticed the lines of grief that seemed to mar his father's, otherwise, handsome face. “What's wrong?” He asked.
“It's good to see you son” His father replied, obviously ignoring his dear son's inquisition.
“You haven't answered my question. I asked: What's -” But his father cut his off before he could finish repeating his question.
“There's no time. We have to put out this damned fire before it claims everything!” His face filled with grief at what he was trying to avoid telling his son.
“Of course,” continued Sakata “but where is mother?” And then his heart dropped as he saw the reaction this brought about on his father's face. “She didn't make it, did she?”
Sakata could sense tears welling in his father's eyes. But he turned away before his son could notice. He took off at a run towards the well sitting quietly in the middle of the town square, without uttering a word. Sakata had no choice but to follow. Using a trick his teacher had taught him, he stowed the information about his mother deep down in his mind. He would not dwell on it until the situation at hand was dealt with.

Before long, Father and son had matters relatively under control. Calm had come back to the frightened village. The other survivors, who had also camped out relatively near the well, were shaken, but glad to lend a hand in saving their beloved home. The matter of Sakata's mother was completely forgotten for the moment, and everyone was immensely relieved to have something to set their minds upon. In this situation: Saving the Village. Easier said than done.

Sakata himself was in charge of the pieces falling from houses. He grabbed beams from the ground, to reinforce the buildings that had not yet fallen. Though they were blackened with soot and burned his hands to the touch, they held. For that Sakata was grateful. It was a stroke of luck amidst a day of misery, and it helped ease his somber mood.

Sakata worked non-stop for the good part of an hour. It was difficult to concentrate as he had been hiking for the whole afternoon, but his hunting and hard working skills paid off once again. Making better headway than most of the other survivors, he had cleared well over a dozen houses before he became exhausted.

Finished the first part of his job, Sakata leaned back on his hip, slapped his hands against his rough, travel worn pants, and surveyed his progress so far. He was proud of his efficiency and speed. From the middle of the town, four cleared paths snaked their way out to the edge of the village.

Looking from above it seemed as it the town was built as a wheel. The middle was marked by a pure well of water, dug deep into the fertile soil. The four make-shift paths extended like spokes towards the outer rim of the village. The town itself stuck out like a sore thumb. The buildings had once been carved from beautiful tall oaks, and had made the village look as if it were sculpted from nature itself. Now all blackened and deformed, it made an ugly imprint on the surroundings. Black upon green, the colors of the Nation. How Ironic.

The first path was the way Sakata had arrived back at his childhood home, heading due South. The Second weaseled it's way West, ending where the 'Forever Green' forest began. If one could call it a forest. The fire had consumed an area more than half a mile deep along the entire length of the town. It was a devastating sight. The mighty forest has stood for hundred of long years. They had withstood floods, rampaging hoards of animals, and even mighty storms. Still they had persevered, and stood tall. Until this morning. The 'Forever Green' forest had – overnight – been transformed into a garden of charred plants. Forever seemed to lose it's meaning.

The last two trails, headed towards the North and the East. They gradually faded out into the prairies. Fields of green grass extended flat like a sheaf of paper as far as the eye could see. If one looked close enough, they could perhaps see the black speck that was, as the people claimed, the edge of the world.

All around it seemed as if he had already fallen off the edge of the world. The air was impossibly impure. His breaths came in short ragged breath, and his cracked and baked lips could hardly utter a sound. Flames licked at his ankles impossibly close, and the heat was excruciating. He begged for this to be over.

The senior member of Sakata's Family had been in charge of a makeshift 'Water Brigade'. He had fetched and gathered any container that could possibly hold water, and pilled them in heaps around the well. From there, he had proceeded to place men and women in a rag-tag line leading down the newly created paths. It seemed as if his plan would work.

The water began circulating in a frenzy. It was rushed from hand to hand and extended to the farthest burning buildings. Sakata's father figured, if they went outwards to inwards they would contain the fire to the best of their abilities. He was right. Ever so slowly the fire seemed to shrink. Gradually the buildings changed their colors. The beautiful, but deadly, shades of orange and red were replaced by the ash gray remains of the once startling homes. The hands of the volunteers were red and blistered, the heavy containers had been difficult to handle. Soon the fire was limited to the inner circle of the town. Few houses were untouched by flames, but the quick thinking of Sakata and his father had prevented much damage.

The men whooped as the last lingering flames died out, and the village was once again quiet. Woman broke down and cried, children got up, wiping their eyes. Seeming to wake from a dastardly dream. Debris and rubble were already being cleaned, and the dead were hurriedly taken care of. Sighs were heaved all around, as the danger to the village was eased. It was however, at no small cost.

The majority of the homes were beyond repair. They were burned and wrecked beyond recognition. Had Sakata not known where his house was located, he would never had known it was his. The outer walls of the dwelling had collapse, and later burned to a crisp. They lay in rough heaps a fair distance for the house itself. The ceiling was completely burned, and the patches of the wooden flooring had disappeared. The furniture was blackened and fragile. It seemed as if the slightest breeze would cause them to dissolve into dust.

Sakata's bedroom has survived relatively unscathed. Scraps of cloth lay around the room. The pitiful remains of his bed's sheets and quilts. The bed frame itself was slightly charred, yet could probably be salvaged. The rest of the rooms had not been so lucky. The door frames were barely discernible, and it was difficult to tell when one room changed to another. Sakata spotted where the his parent's room had been. The bedroom was caked with black ash. It was as if a black powder had fallen gently upon every object standing in the room. It covered the dresser, clung tightly to the wall, and coated the floor in a thick film. Sakata's heart skipped a beat as he spotted a set of footprints. They circled around the room as if looking for something, ending abruptly beside a large pile of debris.


Sakata dropped to his knees, watching as clouds of black ash rose from the ground. Floating for seconds, before settling back upon the wood. Reaching of gingerly with his right hand, Sakata carefully brushed aside the ash. His hands were not used to such delicate use, and he found his them shaking as they extended. Whatever was underneath, he had no intentions of harming it.

Sakata worked efficiently for the better part of an hour, and the lump began to take on a more distinguished shape. Although his fingers ached and seemed be made of lead, he continued to clear away from the pile. It was not long before all that remained were a few sheets of thin wood.

Reaching down, and securing his sturdy arms around the wood, Sakata began to set to work on moving the last few obstacles. His curiosity was gnawing at him, and he was eager to be done with his task. As he drew in a deep breath, Sakata heaved the sheet upwards with all the strength his depleted energy could muster. The sheet however, had different ideas, and decided to stay put. It was loathe to be moved, and resisted for several more moments before finaly giving way. The abruptness of the release almost set Sakata off balance. He stumbled around wildly, desperately keeping a hold of his prize. The amazingly unscathed sheet wobbled as the joints of Sakata's fingers weakened ...

Poem/Rap

A short poem that I wrote in music class today! Thought I might just post it here! (It's about Global Warming and the like)


Humans full of Gluttony
Using resources unsparingly
Soon people will have no more
and the world will burn down to it's core

Humans dancing all around
They are happy with what they found
Their oil will one day run out
and on that day nature will shout!

Regret has found the human race
An iron fist, much like a mace
The people of earth will have to change
but their goal is within range

Recycling, biking, turning thing off
At these things we shall not scoff
If we do the right thing the world will survive
and the human race will once again thrive

Raistlin Majere

Raistlin Majere: A character in the fictional world of Dragonlance (A great series of books!!). He's some magician guy, with creepy hour glass eyes, gold skin, and a hard life. Here is my feeble attempt at poetry to describe that life.


Raistlin Majere

A Mage by will,
his heart lay still.
His sister Kit,
Sparked and lit,
his heart, and now he lives.

He studied his best,
he got no rest.
Until he got his call.
His call to Wayreth tall.
His health was at it's best

And here he took his magic test,
and met that ugly pest.
An evil do-er, who took his toll
And stole the soul,
of many men.

Raistlin was a wise young man.
He made a deal with Fistan.
A magic armor came to him,
protected him from spells not dim.
But Raistlin had a plan.

Before the day was at an end,
Raistlin had those elves uphend*.
His armor did not crack at all,
And Fistan did not see him fall.
But one more thing he had to face.

Caramon, his mighty twin
Was source of jealousy from within
A magic spell he saw him try
With his last breath, his twin would die
His brother. He was dead.

The test was done.
Raistlin had won.
His health was shattered it made him mad
but Iron will that boy had
Raistlin would breath some more

Many adventures the boy did have
He even took the Magius Stave
Voyaged around with his good friends
Left, then made ammends
They had won the war

Changed his robes to color Black
He had changed his track
The world he must own
The Queen of Darkness Groaned
But little did she know

In visison had by mighty twin
Raistlin had his win
The world was owned
and Krynn did moan
The world, it was dead

A sacrifice the young man made
His soul, he had saved
Though torment daily he did endure
His heart, the gods deemed pure
Sleep, Paladine gave

Though he was dead
His tale did not end
He saved the world once again
The Queen of Darkness ever maimed
Raistlin had his rest

*It should be, had those Elves Uphendded or something. But hey, it's poetry! I can make my own rules!

Ghost Town

Over the last few sleepless nights (I can never sleep at night), I've been writting a new short story. Ghost Town is a story of poor Trampas, and how his game of Truth and Dare leads him to a very scary situation. I don't much like this story myself, but feel free to comment.


Running was definitely not what Trampas was made for. The young pale 13 year old was slight and lanky. His limbs seemed to have a life of their own, and he was constantly jostling and bumping objects around him. Trampas found that incoordination and his recent need for speed did not agree.

Lumbering down the path, arms flailing wildly, Trampas' lungs urged him to stop. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, and his breaths came in unnatural and ragged gasps. However, he managed to force himself onwards. He could be in a lot more pain if he stopped now. And so, the young man ran on, Lactic acid building in his legs, stars swimming around in his vision.

It was an odd sight. A skinny blonde teenage sprinting breathlessly through the town. Had anyone seen it, they would certainly be bamboozled. Except the Bamboozlement (yes I know this isn't a real word) never came. The boy kept on running unnoticed through the town. It was as quiet as a ghost town. For that was what is was.

It had all started out as some crazy dare. Trampas' friend Jake had always scoffed at the fact that he believed in ghosts. He found their Game of 'Truth and Dare' a perfect opportunity to play a little trick on Trampas.

The game had gone exceedingly well for the first few hours. With each completed round, the boys became more and more daring. Each new dare was ten times worst that the last.

It was Trampas' turn, and he waited expectantly as Jake silently chewed on his thumb, thinking of something especially dastardly. Finally his eyes lit up and he raised his head triumphantly. Speaking slowly, reveling in his idea, Jake revealed the dare

“Spent the rest of the night ... Sleeping in the Ghost Town! ...” he said.

The other boys cheered as they watched Trampas' cheeks turn a ghastly white. The jeered him and egged him on with phrases like “'Fraidy-Cat” or “You don't have the guts”, until he gave in, and seemed to have no choice but to accept. It seemed the night was about to become longer.

The Ghost Town was an old abandoned mining village. With the last traces of gold, along went all the inhabitants. Two years after the closure of the mine shafts, the last family packed their bags and left. The town, left unattended to, grew wild looking and houses collapsed. It resembled a veritable building-graveyard. Rumors had, soon after, spread. Now every child knew to avoid the town, for it was known to be haunted.

Not being able to decline, Trampas and his friends began to reluctantly make their way north. For north was the direction in which the town had been built. Upon arriving, all four boys were spooked. Not a single sound emanated from the town. A blanket of silence invisibly shrouded the buildings. Even the insects seemed to avoid the place. For a place so abandoned, there was an abnormal absence of cobwebs, and curtains were untouched by moths. To add to the the discomfort of the boys, a sheet of thick fog clung to the place in a death-grip.

The rag-tag group wound their way through the empty streets. Shops, dwelling, and Inns rose up on either side. Crammed together so close, they formed a a wall of windows, bricks and planks. All the while, none of the boys made a sound.


Tension floated in the air. Standing stiffly, with clenched hands, the slightest rustle of the leaves, and sway of the curtains would cause Trampas to whirl around. He desperately looking for the source of the noise or movement, but always came back to the same conclusion. He was jumping at shadows.

Strolling down the narrows path for sometime, the friends stumbled upon a comfortable resting place. The grass was soft and green. To make things ever more accommodating, around a corner, a few meters away, lay a small alleyway. It was big enough to shelter all three boys and would provide excellent protection from the elements.

As they neared this certain haven, it seemed that someone had had the same idea as them. A small fire was seen between the buildings. A dark figure obscured most of the flame, but it was still quite visible. A shudder went down Trampas' spine as he wondered if the dark figure was human, or supernatural.

Emerging from the alley was the most horrible creature Trampas had ever seen. Of course, to date, he had only seen one creature, but the sight was nonetheless terrifying. Every hair on Trampas' back stood on end as the light slowly revealed a hideous face. Seemingly made from plastic, dark brown fangs contrasted with an ugly pale and parchment-like face. Stretched thin on his cheeks like paper, the skin on the beast was blemished and covered with blotches. It cut quite a terrifying creature, with slits for eyes, and inch long nails.

The shape seemed almost human, but to Trampas, it looked entirely monster. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Even a creature of such terrifying and unclean roots paused at the sound. The massive creature visibly swayed on his feet, raising his hands as Trampas was met by a bright flash. Though blinded, he however wasted no time whatsoever fleeing as fast as he could.

***

When Trampas arrived back home, he spent several minuted oh his front porch, trying in vain, to catch his beath. He felt as though his lungs could simply not gather enough oxygen with each breath, and spent several moments in lack of air.

Feeling a semblance of calm after the initial fear had passed, Trampas entered his house, heading straight for his room. He ignored the hurt expressions on his parent's faces as he neglected to greet them.

Trampas slammed the door to his room, simultaneously locking the complex mechanism. Certain that he would not be bothered, he sunk wearily into his bed. A quick nap would invigorate him greatly. He was on summer break, and not bothered about the late hours he stayed up, and the early hours he woke up. He could always make it up later.

Waking and feeling immensely better, Trampas fired up his old PC. It was a 98 model, taking seven minuted alone to boot up. Trampas would have bought a new one, but he never spent much time at home anyways, and his friends let him use their own newer computers.

Knowing he would not sleep anymore until he found out what he had seen, Trampas settled into research mode. He was not the best at search terms, and spent a few minutes versing himself on several new search engines. Confident he was ready to the best of his abilities, he began to start a hard day's work.

It was hours before Trampas found anything worth his while. Discovering no relative websites within the first few pages, he quickly switched to images, hoping to find something of more use. As he stumbled blindly through pages of pictures, his sub-conscience mentally ran through the events of the last day. It was too surreal to be true.

On the thirteenth page, Trampas found a website of interest. It was none other than Jake's own personal blog. Enlarging the image on the latest post; Ghost Town Scare, his heart skipped a beat. Flashing up on the screen was a blown up picture of a absolutely terrified Trampas.

The Bright Flash, The plastic-like face ... His friends had utterly and thoroughly tricked him.

An Unexpected Hero

I'm sorry for the wait in between stories. I've been sort of busy. What, with surgery on my knee, school starting soon and all that kind of stuff. Heres a story I wrote for the upcomming PGI Writing Festival thing. I'm going to be reading this one and 'The Dreamer'. Enjoy!


The black smoke rushed in to cover everything. It creeped up his nose, and weaseled its way into the tiniest of places. Even in the frigid cold of winter, it was boiling hot. Walls of blood red and orange flames rose up and reared their heads like beasts. Beams, as thick as men, fell crashing down to the floor, straight through, and continuing on down several levels, gaining speed as they tumbled through the layers of flimsy plywood.

The heat was excruciating, and objects around Jaymes continually burst into flames. He quickly stripped off his shirt, in case it would burn, and tossed it unceremoniously off to the side. The flames licked at his ankles, and Jaymes decided that staying here wasn't an option. He had to get out.

Barreling through the door, Jaymes was met by even more heat. Walls collapsed, surrendering to the fire, and the ceiling fell down all around him. Shingles and all flaring up with flames. Then suddenly, Jaymes heard a sound over the crackling of the fire. Someone was crying out for help.

Jaymes was no hero, and he had never wanted to be one. He came from a family were money was no issue, and had had everything provided for him. Greedy and selfish, he never went out of his way to help someone else. All of that was about to change.

Mentally reprimanding himself, Jaymes ran down the corridor, toward the voice. Gaping holes appeared in the ground in front of him, but undeterred, he leaped across and continued on his path. Once, landing short of the hole, he felt himself falling. However he managed to grip the ledge with his already burnt and blistered hands. Despite the pain he felt, Jaymes would not give up. The young man, not past his thirties, never second-guessed himself, and always carried out with his plans.

The voice was closer now, and Jaymes kept on running, only adrenaline kept him going. Finally he could hear the voice clearly. 'Help' it pleaded, then trailed off to fits of coughing. He tried to reassure the voice, but managed to make only a croaking sound through his parched lips.

The young man's goal lay within his sight, the voice emerged from behind the door at the end of the hall. Lunging across the last missing section of floor, Jaymes cautiously reached out for the handle to the old oak door. It was made of wood also, and he surprised when it felt cool in his hand. Turning is ever so slightly, the door swung inwards and revealed another stifling hot room. Fortunately this one was not burning.

After entering through the door, and closing it firmly behind him, Jaymes took stock of his surroundings. It seemed he was not the only one trapped by this surprise fire. More than a dozen burnt and hardened souls lay around the room, hope erased from their faces, waiting for the fire to claim them.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jaymes caught sight of a stairwell, it led down to the ground floor! Rushing towards it, his happiness drained out of him. Blocking the way down was a cinder block the size of a small desk. He was positive it weighed much more.

Jaymes knew he had to do something, and set around looking for a long sturdy plank. Scavenging around the wreckage, he found one in the opposite corner of the small office. Then he explained his plan.
The survivors gathered in a small bunch near the marble stairs, untouched by flames. Jaymes knew time was running out as he wedged the plank under the block. Using all his weight and strength Jaymes slowly raised the block out of the stairs. Already feeling weakened, he ushered the men and women to go down the stairs quickly. A wave of people rushed down the stairs and crawled through the tight space in between the stone and the steps. Jaymes heard the door to the outside open, and the strangled gasps of relief from the people he had just saved. The sound of the door shutting signaled that he could drop the block. Wearily he let go and the stone plummeted back on top of the stairwell, a loud noise reverberating through the chamber.

Jaymes fell backwards, leaning his head upon wall. Soon after, flames rushed into the room. His last thoughts were happy. He had a sense of accomplishment. A sense of pride and duty upon saving the lives of so many.

By: Lucas Jarche

The Queen

A few nights ago, I was going through some old pictures from a game. I had some great times with my clan in Runescape. And decided to take up my old habbit of writting about the experiences we had together. I guess I could say, I dedicate this story to Charm, for everything she's helped me with :P (I'm such a noob).


I was exhausted, but could not stop just yet. The worst part was still to come. At least, I thought, it was for a good cause.

Dadding was visiting an old friend. She and him went very far back. Stopping to pause for a second, Dadding's mind traveled back to a time together when they were very young and ill-experienced.

It was a day not different than most others, but Dadding and Charm were feeling very adventurous. They had been hearing complaints from local residents about a great beast dwelling somewhere south of the town of Al-Karid. Among these villagers, the beast was known as the Kalphite Queen.

Thinking themselves invincible, the two companions stocked up on supplies and went about contacting friends to help. After the course of several days, four more friends had joined their cause. And after Blackfox had finished showing off his new sword, they were all ready to depart.

Following the first dozen steps of their voyage, the party was met by their first obstacle. The Shantay guards. Blackfox – not the brightest bulb on the Hanukkah tree- began to sharpen his sword and prepared to fight his way through. Luckily, the collective clan, had At least one brain.

Placing a restraining hand on Blackfox, the quick thinking Dadding strolled up to the guard, handed him 200gp and made his way into the sweltering afternoon heat of the Kharidian Desert. The rest followed suit.

After a score of minutes spent aimlessly wandering in the desert, Dalten, the leader of the clan, admitted he was lost. Dawngrid was forced to take over

***

From what I could remember, the desert heat was harsh and unforgiving. In the space of a few minutes, everyone was parched and tired. We were thinking of turning back, when Sadist peeped in and told us he had picked p on some Lunar Magics during his travels. He kindly offered to conjure us up a rain cloud.

Our thirst's quenched, we set out with renewed vigor. And after no time at all, our eyes settled upon the dust, resting limply on the lip of the entrance to the infamous 'Kalphite Lair'.

Playfully nick-naming it, the 'Cow-fight', we descended into the darkness fearing nothing at all. Oh how we were brutally wrong.

We found ourselves standing in a smoothly dug tunnel. Surrounded by thousands of bug-like creatures. These, we assumed were spawn of the abominable Kalphite Queen. Luckily for us, they did not seem aggressive.

Proceeding cautiously down the tunnel. Charm assumed the head of the patrol.

We reached a large clearing and were immediately set upon by two enormous beetles, these were were quick to claim Dalten and Dawngrid, our least protected members.

Guessing these were the King and Queen, and with no time to mourn the loss of our friends, we grudgingly began to fight back. We were horribly wrong in our guess.
Lumbering out from an even bigger cavern set deep in the shadows of the western wall, came the most titanic and ugly beast any of us had laid eyes upon. It was a sickly green hue, and sported many spikes sticking out from it's lower abdomen. This was what we were expected to fight!

Lunging with both of it's front paws, the monster quickly finished off the brave Charm in a matter of moments. It slowly turned its monstrous head and many faceted eyes to face me. My heart was in my throat, and it took all my will, to root my boots to the ground, an not to turn toe and flee.

Blackfox and I, the only remaining members began furiously stabbing with our daggers. All to no avail. It's crusty hide was simply to thick to pierce.

Before being wisked away to Falador, Dadding made one last valiant stand. Blindly reaching towards the late Charm's possessions, his fingers closed around the steel hilt of a Halberd. Flinging it up to clash with the beetle's claws. Dadding realized too late, that it was an elven weapon, and as such, he knew not a thing of how to wield it. He died with his hands helplessly clutching the cold and useless weapon.

What happened after this will remain forever a mystery. Only Blackfox knows what truly happened. From what I could discern from my now mentally crippled friend was the following;

Blackfox was all alone facing the mightiest threat in the world. Petrified from fear, he did what he was always told to do in the face of danger. He curled up in a ball and began to sob endlessly. Rolling to and fro, he accidentally rolled over the Queen, dealing her a grievous wound.

While rolling, he also triggered the device on his teleport tablet, and was quickly transported to Lumbridge before the almighty monster had the chance to crush the infidel between her sharply taloned feet.

The Taken

A Holocaust based piece of writing, it is about the Jews, who were each day, taken to be killed.

I was standing in a malformed line, not unlike any other week. It was a process we often called the 'taking'. The Nazis would walk up and down the line and pick out some prisoners. Men that were not taken were considered lucky as the 'Taken' would never return.

Each week our line would be diminished more and more. We felt everyone close to us was being torn away. From those I remember who arrived with me I am the only one left. This week I figure I will be taken, however, I can not imagine that anywhere we are taken could be any worse than this camp.

To my horror, I am correct. The Nazi captain roughly grabs my arm, and I am torn away from the all too familiar line. Along with two other men, we are dragged through the camp and thrown unceremoniously into a large brick building.

Nearly three years ago, when I was carted to this dreadful place, I remember taking notice of this very same building. Back then I could not have dreamt of the horrors that have befallen me and my friends. After that fateful day, I took no notice of it, as I was too busy working and reminiscing about my past life.

Upon approaching the room, we were hit by a stifling heat. At first it was a welcome change from the winter climate. But after mere moments, it became intolerable. In the middle of the room was a large furnace, bleeding heat. I was surprised I did not notice it immediately upon entering the room.

We were left waiting for what seemed like days to me. During that time, I was wondering why we were lead into a room with a furnace. Were we to be promoted to the furnace work? Perhaps demoted?

Finally a Nazi, a captain by the looks of him, told us to stand nearing to the furnace. “Nearer?” I thought. It was hot enough were we sat. However, having no say in the matter, we walked unenthusiastically towards the sweltering furnace. We stood there for another uneventful ten minutes.

I felt myself nodding off to sleep when the muzzle of a gun was pushed against my back. “In de Ofen Into the furnace”. They were the last words I heard before being brutally handled into the furnace.

My head was reeling from the unearthly heat, and I knew I would be dead in seconds. My cries of pain were barely heard above the sound of sizzling human skin. I never knew I could be in this much pain. The whips of the Germans were splinters compared to this.

Before passing on to a better place, my last thought coursed through my head. “This is what happens to the 'taken' ... “

The Dreamer

This story has been removed due to me using it for an application process for Shad Valley. This is to remove suspicion of plagiarism.
Lucas Jarche

If I were

Another piece of school writing. We were asked to write a piece based on the theme "If I were". My topic, Hunger, my teacher especially liked. Giving her a copy of it, she had it given to the district. Later it became published in the District 2 Magazine "Achieve". (Spring 2008 issue)
This story, was a great acheivement in my life. It became the FIRST piece of writing that I have had published!


If I was hunger, I would be everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere. I would be the voice inside you head, never leaving until I was satisfied. I would be the mouthwatering pain in your stomach causing you to painstakingly stop your current activity to appease me. I kill the poor and spare the rich, never glancing back.

I am educated in the richness of countries. My trips to Africa are far lengthier than those to Canada or the U.S. Amongst humans the Africans are my most intimate of friends. Each night I barrage them with my rage. I writhe in their stomachs and weaken their limbs. However, there are some I know not. The rich ignore me. At fist sign of hunger, while I make my way, slowly, creeping, towards them, I am subdued. First a steak, then some more, until finaly I back away and wait in the shadows until someone else calls.

The strongest of the strong cannot avoid me. Neither may the weak. I am all powerful, crippling the strong of heart. Many have given in, and I have taken my toll. Some may call me ephemeral never truly existing. But rather, I am eternal, never truly dying. You my dear reader may not know my true form, but I guarantee you know someone who does. I am a parasite feeding off the malnourished. Never ceasing, never pausing in my eternal quest for death and despair.

Whispering dreams

Another short fictional narrative.

Tajera lay awake in his bed. His mother's gentle snoring had awoken him from his fitful dreaming. Like many other nights, his sister had visited him in the world of unconsciousness. She had looked a lot like his mother and had related to him in many unspoken aspects. Her voice drowned out all sorrows and urged him towards the safe haven where she remained. Aisha was her name. She had begged him to escape his mother, his cruel old mother.

After bolting out of bed to attend to his mother's bidding, Tajera decided to commence the journey his sister set before him. He skipped his morning chores and stole what little food they had left in their stores. Spending the next four hours gathering clothes and supplies he was scolded regularly for his hastily done chores.

Tajera realized suddenly that he had never left his small town, barely a spec on the map. He figured he could not navigate well through the chain of mountains known as the “Der'Goths”, He knew a mapmaker who was a friend of his mother's. They had traveled together long ago, and had charted uncharted lands.

Spring dawning was approaching, and Tajera found an opportunity to escape from his house. It was time to act, gathering his pack, he strapped on his father sword, swung on his cloak and made his way downstairs. Forgetting the broken stair, his foot stuck fast making a horridly loud creek. Tajera's breath heightened as he heard a slight catch in his mother's steady and sleeping breath. The moment passed and Tajera furtively cast around the room grabbing last minute supplies and a handful of coins from the heirloom of his long dead father.

Creeping out of the door, Tajera took one last look at his surroundings. Gathering his courage he passed out the door and close to ran away from his old life. 'It was for the best, after all', he thought. His life had taken a drastic downwards turn after his father had abandoned him, therefore their was nothing left to stay for.

Making a brief stop at the mapmakers , Tajera then began his journey. Locating a path on his newly acquired map, he journeyed up the mountains, into the clouds. It was slow going and the young boy was forced to support his knees every step of the way.

After a hard day of hiking, Tajera came across the first flat ledge in miles. Deciding it was a good a place as any, he made camp and started a fire. Survival tips his father taught him came in handy, and Tajera had a fire going in mere minutes. Sparks were flying and the fire was crackling merrily.

****

Tajera knew he was taking a risk. He had learned since childhood, that the mountain weather was very harsh. This he had learned in the first few days of traveling. It was rumored as well, that hardened Barbarians inhabited the mountain side and had the lives of many unprepared travelers. It was during these exact thoughts, that they came to life.

A gigantic barbarian leaped down from the canopy. Landing near Tajera with force of which could kill a goat. Muscles bulging and tendons snapping, the Barbarian's powerful legs absorbed the shock of the fall, quickly recovering from the pain he came at Tajera.

Tajera felt the shock through the ground. He rolled away from the hulk of a man, assuming a fighting stance. The two men simultaneously drew their weapons. They slided gracefully from their well oiled sheathes. The Barbarian's broadsword made Tajera's father's sword seem as a wig in comparison.

Light caught the side of Tajera's blade. The Barbarian seeing the blade, faltered and dropped his own sword. The tree trunk like blade fell with a clang to the ground, bouncing slightly before settling down.

“MY SON!” Cried the Barbarian while barreling headlong into Tajera causing every last breath in his lungs to be knocked out. Father and son plummeted off the mountain side into the eternal realm of the after life. Father, Son , and Daughter finaly Reunited forever.

You may Lie

A nice piece of school writing I did, Based on a short writing warm up I wrote earlier on in the year.

Sakata lay awake in a bed reflecting about his short life. He was a child. Only six years of age, but already he had aroused the suspicion of the Secret Service branch of the government. This six year was what the media would call a genius. Already in Sakata's less-than-decade long life, he had disproved the theory of relativity and completely copied the Mona Lisa, by hand!

Sakata's biological mother had been raped, but had kept the child because the doctor had said she could never conceive a child. As disturbed as it may be, Sakata's mother considered it a blessing.

Once Sakata was born, his mother was concerned. His first work spoken was antidisestablishmentarianism. Her concern only grew when the child of less then 1 week was able to carry on simple conversations. Soon, his mother's opinion of Sakata changed from a blessing, to a curse.

People fear what they can not explain. This was the case with Sakata's mother. As Sakata grew into a young genius, his mother became afraid. What if he had a mutant gene, and would develop to be a monster? Maybe Sakata was an alien, his father also ... in any way, she had to act. She should have called the FBI, they would know what to do, and would remove him swiftly, for he was a danger. However, Sakata's mother had committed some pretty offensive transgressions. She decided against it, and would deal with this alien herself.

At the age of two, Sakata's mother took drastic measures. She tried to kill her son. Even though Sakata's mind was overdeveloped, his body was not. Not being able to resist, Sakata was thrown into a river to die. Sakata knew how to swim, but his arms and legs were too frail to move him. His body could not hold out for long. After several moments, he passes out.

***

Four years later, Sakata woke. He was in a small room, the only furniture was the bed he was in and the intravenous machine he was hooked up to. Standing in the corner of the barren gray room, was a man in white, holding a taser.

Sakata tried to communicate. The man in the corner remained silent and unmoving. This continued for several days. The only change in décor was the occasional replacement of guards. Sakata drifted in and out of consciousness for days on end. Eventually he lost track of how long he had been here. A month. Maybe two, or even more ...

Sakata woke up one morning to discover a second man in the room. The man was garbed in a black suit and glasses, his hair was cut short, and a short beard grew from his chin. The man spoke in deep tones. They were the first words he had heard in weeks. “Sakata ... “

After the man had finished, most of Sakata's questions were answered, but perhaps not in the way he wished.

He was being held in a secure base underground. There was no hope of escape, and he was to be put to death sometime in the nest few days. Sakata knew the reason for this. He was different, and men feared different.
The following days were as uneventful as the last ones. However now Sakata had something to brood. He had tried to escape, testing the man's theory, but his cursed body did not allow for much physical exertion, he was a sitting duck.

The day of his execution was coming nearer, and finaly the man in black came back. Sakata was dragged kicking and screaming into a room, knowing he would never emerge again.

“The Light glared down in my eyes. A Shadow obscured the bright anbaric glow. A man draped entirely in white came down upon me. The needle he grasped so firmly in his hand descends, touches then punctures the skin of my chest. The life force slowly seeps out of my horrified body. I was dying. Although I had only been born, my life was snatched away from me as quickly as it came.”