The JourneyJerem was disheartened. Only twenty of his clan's breedmates had survived the winter, and only half that remained today as they made their trek through the forest. His pace had grown slow. This wasn't a terrible issue, as the speed of their journey did not matter, only that they succeeded in reaching their destination. It did, however, leave them at risk for more danger. A worried young breedmate, Testo, questioned Jerem why they had slowed.
"Hmm, I suppose we have slowed down, haven't we?" Jerem stroked his hand across his face and looked to the night sky. Haro, an older breedmate on his second trek, brought a suggestion to Jerem.
"Perhaps we should rest for the night, Jerem. We could use the energy and we'll pick up the pace in the morning." Jerem was disinclined to the idea. He would have preferred to keep plodding along all night, as was his nature. The relieved look on the faces of his crew swayed his mind, and he agreed. The other breedmates began setting up camp, arranging folia
Mockingjay - Alt. Ending
I trail close behind a pair of old men who take no notice of me. No on will expect me to be with old men. When we reach the end of the next intersection, they stop and I almost bump into them. It's the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president's mansion.
The circle's full of people milling around, waiting, or just sitting and letting the snow pile up around them. I fit right in. I begin to weave my way across to the mansion, tripping over abandoned treasures and snow-frosted limbs.
Peacekeepers stand every twenty feet, forming a circle around the mansion. I walk around, looking for a way past them, but they have the building completely enclosed. A line of people are being checked by guards at the front entrance. Each person holds up some piece of identification, and is let past the Peacekeeper gate. I begin looking around for someone about my age and height, to grab their I.D., when someone puts their hand on my arm. Someone must have rec
Justice of the Fates
"What kind of story do you want to hear, my child?" she asked of the child, cooing at him and tickling his stomach. The baby looked at her with vacant eyes, then gurgled and a small bubble formed at the corner of his mouth. The bubble popped with all the magnificence of a roach being squashed.
"Let's make sure you grow up to do more amazing things than that!" Her work was cut out for her, as the child was now trying to make more bubbles, having enjoyed the first one so much. "I don't think I have any stories about bubbles, young one. How about I tell you the story of Samantos, the tragic hero...
The first great tragedy of Samantos' life happened before he was even born. He was just a swell in his mother's stomach at the time. His father, Talatos, was an adamant fighter for the rights of the Metics. They were the immigrant people of Greece. They weren't allowed to speak for themselves in the courts, whether it be when they were accused of a crime or they wished to participate in politic
Kirei Comes Down
"And what's that one called?"
"That's a cow, darling. They give us all kinds of food." Gerald replied.
"And what are those cute little fluffy ones!"
"That's a sheep..." said Gerald, but before his wise words could reach the youthful blonde's ears, she had run towards the fence, leaning over it to reach at the sheep, almost tumbling face-forward over the barrier.
Gerald unfurled his hands from behind his back, and slowed his already-turtle-like pace to a stop. His gnarled right hand fidgeted with a soft golden ring that surrounded a finger of his left hand. It rotated smoothly around, having engraved a ridge into his finger many years ago. He let his eyelids fall, and then he thought thoughts.
A sound not unlike that of a girl in heels trudging through mud reached him and he opened his eyes. The girl was there, her pink (or was it white? or purple? He could never quite decide.) dress had been covered in a layer of deep brown mud, that matched the vest he had given her. She had broken on
Give Peace a ChanceA few hours had passed now since the bombs dropped. The once-green trees were dusted in a yellow film that continued on to the ground and over every hill and bump. The majority of these bumps were bodies: those unfortunate souls who were in the vicinity. Some of them were Matias' own countrymen, others were the invaders. The invaders own generals dropped bombs on their heads, regardless of the loss of their own forces. This was a war of attrition. The smell of the chemicals still lay in the air as Matias walked by. He hummed a drifting kind of song, one with a steady beat, pops of energy, and a haunting melody resonating above it all, to force the scent away from him. He sang the same song every time he walked this forest after a bombing, which lately, was far too often. After each bombing, both sides would avoid the area for weeks, while the invaders boasted about their supposed victory. After months, the wind would carry away the scent and sight and time itself would carry away the m