Stupid email's not letting me delete.
So, you're all treated to me.
~aaerith out (GOD, its been a while since I typed taht)
12 years agoaaerith
Jonathan KentÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s face was set in stone as he strode up the Autumn FairÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s gangplank. His hand was riding on the hilt of his revolver, his long duster swept back over his arm. He reached the top of the gangplank and stopped, letting his eyes sweep over the empty deck. Bullet holes splintered the wooden planking, and long cuts showed where a sword had gone wide. Empty casings clinked as Jonathan walked towards the staircase that led below-decks.
The Auburn Fair looked like the aftermath of a fierce battle, but there was no spilled blood, no bodies.
Which, Jonathan Kent thought, can mean only one thing.
As if to punctuate his thoughts, the below-decks door flew open, disgorging screaming group of men. They pounded up the steps, flinging themselves at Jonathan, murder gleaming in their feverous eyes. Calmly, Jonathan drew his revolver, and fired seven evenly spaced shots, emptying his magazine. Seven of the men went flying backwards, gut-shot and screaming in pain. The two remaining men charged Jonathan without looking back at their gunned down comrades.
Jonathan took two dancing steps backwards to give himself extra room, and drew his saber, the cold steel glinting against the oil lamps hanging from the ship. The howling of the men took on a different pitch as they caromed towards Jonathan. The blade flashed twice.
Jonathan stepped over the body of one of the Screamers heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d gunned down, and walked down the creaking steps to the open below-decks door. He removed one of the flash grenades heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d lifted from Cordova from the inside pocket of his duster, and twisted the cap. The armed grenade began a steady clicking as the clockwork inside it wound down, and Jonathan tossed the grenade through the door. A muffled thump and a white flash came through the door, and Jonathan waited for the enraged cries of blinded Screamers.
When none came, Jonathan gingerly stepped through the door, his reloaded revolver held in the hollow of his left shoulder like a dueler. He raised his voice to shout.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“If thereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s anyone in here who still has sanity, and/or doesnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t want to eat me, give a holler!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Captain? Is that you?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Kent blinked, surprised.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Aye, Captain! WeÃ¢â‚¬â„¢re holed up back here! Be careful, thereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s about half a dozen Screamers out there somewhere!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Picking his way forward, Jonathan yelled back to him.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Not anymore. They tried to take me when I came on, and I ghosted nine.Ã¢â‚¬Â
An appreciative whistle came from behind the bulkhead next to Jonathan, and he rapped on it with his knuckles.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“How many men are back there with you, Ã¢â‚¬Ëœtopher?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Three of the crew, and the six banditos we captured. They thought fighting alongside the crew was a better bet than running a Screamer gauntlet, so IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ve impressed them.Ã¢â‚¬Â
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright. Can you get this hatch open from the inside?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Lemme see, Captain. We jammed this sucker up tight when the Screamers started pounding on it.Ã¢â‚¬Â
Several grunting sounds of exertion came from the other side of the bulkhead, but the hatch didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t budge.
12 years agoaaerith
So, I don;t come on here anymore.
Anybody watch me still? Eh, eh? Hell, anybody remember me?
Whatever. Honestly, I don't care about this website anymore.
Um....alright. I have 119 mod points (does anybody care about them anymore?). In one week I'm deleting my account. Before I do, I will hand out 119 mods to the last person to comment on this journal.
12 years agoaaerith
The boy sat on his bed, intent on the stack of plates in front of him. His hands were folded in his lap, the calloused fingers of his right hand idly drumming on his left. His soft grey eyes were squinted at the stack of ceramic on the foot of his bed, his eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, he began to recite a chant of nonsense words, his lips barely moving, the words inaudible. He strained his mind towards the plates, feeling their rough shape with his tendrils of thought. He caressed their every bump, every crack in the surface. His eyes rolled up in his head as he strained harder, stretching his mind out to the stack of plates.
His chant continued, growing louder and more insistent. The plates began to rattle, the boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s will enfolding the stack like a glove sliding over a hand. The plates rattled harder, and then slowly, the top plate rose, hovering an inch above the rest. It quivered slightly, as if in anticipation.
The boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s brow furrowed, his chant growing louder and faster. The plate began to spin, rotating in place, and then zoomed straight towards the boy, arrowing at his forehead. The chant changed slightly, and a second plate zoomed up, so fast it was a blur, and impacted the first plate. Both of the plates exploded, shards of pottery flying everywhere. The boy cried out in a wordless shout of joy, and then continued his chant, faster now, his will enfolding the flying pieces, bringing them to a halt in midair.
He smiled contentedly as the shards began a sedate orbit of his head, slowly revolving. The boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s eyes closed, and he began another chant Ã¢â‚¬" this one was spoken in a liquid tongue, the words flowing into the air, seeming to fill it with charged power. The shards of pottery began to scream around his head, creating their own wind. The chant continued, and the pottery flew forward, coming together into the shapes of the plates they had been. With flashes of purple light, the shards sealed themselves together, the seams disappearing in purple light.
The boy reached out to the plates, and they fell towards his hands as the wind died. Smiling, he examined the plates closely, looking for any evidence that they had been broken. He nodded, satisfied, as he found none. He was bending over to drop the plates back onto the stack when his bedroom door flew open. With a cry of fright, the boy dropped the plates, and the stack fell to the floor, shattering with a sharp crack.
In the doorway stood a middle-aged woman in a long skirt and silk shirt, her red hair woven in a tight braid. Her eyes were livid, and her mouth was a tight line, stretching the skin of her face down.
The two burly soldiers dragged the boy across the muddy road, holding him up by the arms so his feet did not touch the ground. To the boy, the soldiers seemed to be immense giants clad in scarred and dented plate armor. He whimpered softly, his throat still burning from the throttling the old woman had given him. The boy could not see where he was being taken Ã¢â‚¬" the soldiers had slipped a blindfold over his eyes. It had slipped a little bit, and he realized that there were large groups of people watching him being dragged.
The people were making no sounds, but their faces were harsh and grave, and the boy began to panic. What did they think he had done? Was it the blood oranges he had stolen from the market? He was dreadfully sorry for that, and he tried to tell it to the soldiers, but his throat wouldnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t let him speak. The boy began to cry Ã¢â‚¬" his throat still hurt, and his arms were beginning to burn from the soldiersÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ grip.
Suddenly the soldiers stopped, and the blindfold was yanked from the boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s head. He blinked, and saw the ugly face of the preacher staring at him. The preacher spoke, his voice grating on the boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s ears.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is this the yasadun? Is this the boy?Ã¢â‚¬Â
One of the soldiers nodded and spoke a few words in a language the boy didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t understand. The words sounded like harsh barks, but the preacher evidently understood them, for he stepped aside and swept one arm in a go-on, go-on gesture. When the boy saw what the preacher was gesturing at, his eyes widened and he tried to scream.
Ahead, surrounded by a growing press of people, had been erected the gallows.
The boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s scream came was cut short by a whack on the back of his head Ã¢â‚¬" he slumped in the soldiersÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ grip, and they carried him up the four short steps to the raised platform of the gallows. They dumped him at the feet of the hangman, and the boy curled into a ball, sobbing now. The hangman kicked him in the back and dragged the boy up with one arm.
The preacher grabbed the boy by the other arm, dragging him to the edge of the gallows. His voice rose in a shout.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Good people! I tell you there is evil in our midst!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Now the crowd spoke, in a roar of anger that scared the boy even further. He felt a stream of warmth run down his leg, and he was ashamed even in the midst of his terror. The preacher raised the arm not clutching the boy and the crowd quieted.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“This boy has been caught practicing the forbidden arts! He is yasadun, and shall be treated as he deserves!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The crowd roared again, and the preacher brought his hand down quickly. He punched the boy in the stomach. The boy cried out, and when he bent over the preacher punched his kidneys. The boyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s breath went out in a chuffing wheeze.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Death for the abomination! Death for the unclean!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The crowd took up the chant as the hangman grabbed the boy and dragged him back. The boy screamed again, and the preacher backhanded him across the mouth.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Stay your demonÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s tongue!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The boy drew in another breath, but the preacher punched him in the stomach again. He doubled over, and the hangman deftly slipped the noose over his neck. The hangman yanked on the rope, pulling the boy up and back. Red dots danced over his vision. The only thing he could see was the angry face of the preacher. It was cracked and ugly, blemished with age and rashes. All that the boy wanted to do was to tear that thin skin loose and shove it down that vile mouth, filled with cracked, yellowing teeth.
He felt his hate rise inside him, a blaze of fire rushing through his body. The boy
12 years agoaaerith
The bald man shook Kael awake early in the morning. The sun had not risen yet, and the light streaming through the small window above KaelÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s cot was the deep blue of a coming sunrise.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Get up. We begin now.Ã¢â‚¬Â
Kael stood up slowly, goose-bumps forming on his legs as his bare feet touched the cold floor. He reached for his worn boots and the shirt that was folded on the end of the bed, but the bald man stopped him. He handed Kael a pair of brown moccasins and a thin white shirt.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wear these. Bring what you need to fight.Ã¢â‚¬Â
The cool morning fog wrapped itself around KaelÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s legs as he padded out of the house. The bald man stood in a small clearing at the end of the path leading from the house. Kael started down, holding his carved wooden staff in his left hand. The bald man opened his eyes as Kael walked into the clearing, and spoke in a soft voice.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“We will fight until one of us wins. Be ready,Ã¢â‚¬Â he said, Ã¢â‚¬Å“for I may attack at any Ã¢â‚¬"Ã¢â‚¬Â
Mid sentence, the bald man flicked his hand up and sent a blast of force rippling at Kael. Kael barely managed to lift his staff up to counter the force of the blast. The staff thrummed as the bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s attack hit it, and Kael was shoved backwards, his feet digging into the ground. With a shout, Kael forced the energy of the attack into the staff. The staff blazed with a deep golden red hue as Kael aimed at the bald man. A blazing ball of fire ripped out of the staff and screamed towards the bald man.
The bald man contemptuously flicked a wrist, and the ball of fire impacted against an invisible shield. Goblets of fire splattered out from the shield as the energy evaporated.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is that the most you can do?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Kael stretched out his arm towards his arcing staff, straining to grab it. The six-foot pole of carved wood flew just above his outstretched fingers and dropped over the edge of the cliff. Kale watched it cartwheel out of sight before turning around. The bald man who had thrown it now was crouched on an up-thrusting rock, one arm reaching out towards Kael, palm out.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Now you have lost your stick. What will you do?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Kael shrugged, his tired shoulders popping. Ã¢â‚¬Å“Die, I guess. IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m disarmed, and unable to wield magic.Ã¢â‚¬Â
The man grimaced, disgusted. He tensed his legs, then leaped up and towards Kael. Kael gave a wordless shout as he flipped backwards and away from the manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s attack. The man was on him faster than he could react, slashing at his kneecaps with a foot, pummeling his torso with his fists. Kael staggered back, his feet reaching the edge of the cliff.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Never forget that your body itself is a weapon.Ã¢â‚¬Â
The man glowered at Kael for a moment before turning his back on him. As he began to walk away, he called back, Ã¢â‚¬Å“You did poorly. Fetch your stick, and then return to the house. You have chores.Ã¢â‚¬Â
For the next two days, Kael cleaned, under the watchful eye of the bald man. He dusted every nook and cranny, making sure that not one bit of dirt lay anywhere. He didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t dare ask for food until he was finished. The bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s reaction the first time he had done so was enough to convince Kael never to do it again. Besides, he could go without easily enough Ã¢â‚¬" the energy conserving techniques the bald man had taught him were extremely effective.
When Kael finally stood up Ã¢â‚¬" slowly, so as not to strain his back Ã¢â‚¬" the bald man merely nodded once, then jerked his head towards the kitchen. Kael first brewed the bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s tea, and then he sat down with a bowl of noodles for himself. The noodles were plain and had no flavor. The bald man plucked one out of the bowl and tasted it. He frowned at Kael.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“This is bland and worthless, like you. It needs flavoring.Ã¢â‚¬Â He pointed at one of the cupboards, and Kael moved to open it. Inside were several stacks of tin jars.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Learn which spices combine well.Ã¢â‚¬Â The man sounded bored.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“But none of them are marked!Ã¢â‚¬Â
So it went. Kael would spend days on the individual lessons the bald man gave him. If he failed, he would be set to a menial task that required the utmost patience. If these tasks were not completed to the bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s exacting requirements, Kael had to redo the entire job. Every morning, they fought in the woods. Twice more Kael ended up at the cliffÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s edge, unarmed. Countless times he lost to the man long before they even reached the cliff edge. One morning, Kael sunk to his knees in the dew-covered grass, offering his wrists in the traditional Ma-uri gesture of surrender.
The bald man stared at him, then dragged him up by his hair.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Never! Never do you surrender!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Kael looked into the manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s eyes, and was shocked to see how angry he was. The bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s forehead was a bright red. KaelÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s head was screaming at the pain from his scalp, and without warning, he lashed at the bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s throat. His stiff hand hit the manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s windpipe, but the bald manÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s reflexes were fast enough to prevent Kael from doing any damage. His hand let go of KaelÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s hair, and Kael launched himself at the man, arms and legs pummeling his teacher.
The bald man recovered and grabbed Kael, his body moving sinuously to trap Kael. He struggled for a moment until he realized the man had perfectly pinned him. When Kael grew still, he leaned down at whispered in his ear.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“So, you can learn.Ã¢â‚¬Â
The bald man stood up, releasing Kael.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Do it more.Ã¢â‚¬Â
12 years agoaaerith
They like to say
You were one of us,
Gone wrong Ã¢â‚¬"
They warned us about you Ã¢â‚¬"
Did you know that? No,
of course not, and nor were you likely
They called you unstable, unwell,
A sinking ship that would
any one of us.
They called you one of the brightest minds,
But at the same time they saw you
and felt a sick fear,
a fear they came to give to us
They spoke of unity,
Of the common good, goal, gains Ã¢â‚¬"
Yet you were their antithesis; you came
set us free.
You always were skewed far from the best of us Ã¢â‚¬"
And trust me, I know now what that says.
You were reading Emerson and
Kerouac, contemplating the soul;
While we delved deep into Avi
You gorged yourself on sex and weed
While we struggled with
and college applications
They narrowed their beady eyes
when you walked by, grinning that soft little smirk that told us
you were a satirist, sarcasm in human form, come to wreak havoc with
the literal and the logical
those tin gods whose mouths were too
full with the gyzym of society
to ever say anything meaningful;
We were their pyramids;
their living testament to their power and conformity
we were bland copies,
run off on their bloated printing press
each one of us naught but a cog
You brought us Marx; you
endeavored to introduce our
simple minds to Thoreau
Soon, soon, we found solace in
Walden; Civil disobedience
marijuana our motivator.
When they rammed capitalism and supply and demand down our throats
You showed us the escape route
and Nietzsche weaned us away from
our mass opiate.
You laughed when nothing was funny
Until we finally got the joke,
and laughed too Ã¢â‚¬"
ours pale shadows, echoes, reflections of yours at first,
until the day when he laughed before you, raucous and joyful,
his laugh, not yours, not mine, not hers, his Ã¢â‚¬"
you smirked that teenagerÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s smirk, and
Ledyard December 2006
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