Theme Song #19

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Celest, Jul 5, 2012.

  1. [video=youtube;Jj_CDnrczOs][/video]

    Music touches people in different ways. Many people enjoy listening to music for inspiration, and others simply listen to it to relax. Some songs tell stories while others allow you to make your own story.

    Your challenge:

    Listen to the song above then take a minute or two to think about it.

    Write out a scene to this song; make this song your scenes theme song.

    Let me know what you see when you listen to this music.

  2. There was an echoing of footsteps, the rather round security guard turning in his seat to face them. The small glimmer of hope died in his eyes as he saw who it was. "Oh, chief. And here I thought someone was coming to relieve me early." He mumbled, leaning back in his chair. The chief grinned wryly. "Nah, just bringing down the new guy. See that he get's acquainted with our friend and his rules." With a hard slap on the younger man's back, the chief returned to his duties. The seated guard sneered, giving the other a look over. Skinny, looked young too. Too young to have voluntarily taken this position. Must have drawn the short straw in that deal. "Heh, they keep sending me useless kids." He grumbled, spinning back around to face the screen, motioning the newbie closer. On screen, a lone male sat in a completely bare room, bound tightly, a metal mask covering the lower half of his face. He was unmoving and silent, and if the time hadn't been running on the video feed, you would think him a picture.

    "I'm sure you've heard of the "Artistic Arson" cases that were just closed up, right? Well, this is the bastard that did all of it." The new guard sat, eyes wide in surprise. "Really? This is him? But... he looks so young." The senior gave a nod. "Yeah, too young to release his name to the public. Crazy how such a kid could do something so horrible." There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, attention focused on the man on the screen. "...So, chief said there are special rules about him?" "Ah! Right, well really the only thing different from any other criminal is that this boy needs to be monitored at all times, including when he's brought meals. He's an escape artist, and will take every opportunity to attempt an escape. Don't worry, there'll be someone by every three hours or so to relieve you from." The young male nodded gently, looking thoughtful. "When are you off?"

    "Bah, I still got an hour before my shift ends." The senior guard frowned, leaning forward in his chair. "Well, this is new." He mumbled. The Artistic Arsonist had moved, standing and shuffling close up to the camera. His face encompassed the whole screen, eyes wide and watching. Through the small grates of the mask, you could see his lips moving. As though he were speaking to the guards. "...Stay here. I'm going in to see what he's up to." Giving a harsh grunt, the hefty male lifted himself from his seat, hobbling towards the large metal door that led into the convict's cell. The sound of flipped switch was covered by the soft scrape of metal on metal. Baton in hand, the guard stepped forward. "Oi, what's up with you?" His voice shook slightly, betraying his nervousness. The young male didn't acknowledge him, still staring into the camera. Though the original assumption seemed to be wrong. He wasn't speaking. The guard slid forward. "Hey! I asked you a question!" Slowly, he crept closer, baton raised to be ready to swing down in a crippling blow.

    He never would have been quick enough had he seen the attack coming, the convict's heel connecting hard with his face, shattering the bones of the guard's nose, the round man falling to the ground. Whether he was dead or simply knocked out, he didn't really care. There was a silence in the room again, but only for a brief moment. Metal grating on metal, and the door was opened, the new guard stepping in, a sly smile pulled wide across his lips.
    "My Drake, the bondage looks suits you. Might leave like that for a while." The newly named Drake's eyes narrowed. "You want me to brake your face too, Vince?" The man laughed, deep and throaty, before producing the key to release his friend. Drake, the Artistic Arsonist, stood straight, almost a free man. "What the hell took you so long?" He hissed, though his lips were curled up in a cruel smile. "Hey, its hard to read your lips through a grated mask. Took me a few tries to get the access code right."

    Drake rolled his eyes, stretching his arms, finally free of his bondage, heading out of the door, with Vince in toe.
    "So, did you get a good feel of the layout?" Vince scoffed, pushing past his partner to take the lead. With any luck, they had an hour before anyone came looking for his cell, and enough time to leave before the cameras came back online. Slowly, the two built up into a run, jealous inmates calling out at them for their own freedom. "You know, they blamed me for the the arsons too." Vince laughed. "Really? Damn, I didn't get any credit!" Their laughing went unnoticed through the clamour of inmates and confused guards, trying desperately to get their camera systems back online. The pair only ran into one patrol in their escape, and the poor male didn't even have time to process what was happening before he had his own firearm shoved into his face, the sound of gunfire filling the hall for the briefest moment.

    The fresh night air felt wonderful on his skin, having been stuck in a cell for so long, as they broke through the front entry. There were guards, but the pair went to work quickly, finding cover and sticking to the shadows. They were on the edge of the property when the alarms finally kicked in.
    "Heh, guess someone noticed." Vince mumbled. The two clambered up the wall, barely noticing the barbed wire that ripped at their clothes and skin. Searchlights came on, scanning over the area in slow, circular motion, but the pair was more focused on their more current problem. "They brought me all the way out to an Island? My, I'm almost flattered." Drake grinned at Vince. "Don't suppose you brought a boat, did you?" His only answer was a matching grin, as Vince stepped off the edge, Drake close behind, as the two disappeared into the dark waves below.
  3. Satoko looked at her blade. This was the final stand. Her heart raced a thousand times faster than it ever had in her entire life. The enemy was so close and she had slayed a thousand men just to get to this spot. Everyone's hope rested on her shoulders. Her mother who had suffered enough and her father who Satoko had slayed with the blade she called Bloodlust. Only to discover later that her father was fighting for his freedom too. She was going to avenge him right now. Behind those doors her fate would be decided. There was nothing behind her except the bodies of countless men who died trying to stop her from doing the impossible. She looked at her blade. It had been stained red with the blood of everyone and soon, it would turn crimson with the emperor's own blood.
    "Come to die, my child?" The emperor said smiling impishly at her.
    Satoko growled at the man and charged at him with her blade in hand and the emperor raised his hands in the air, lightning bursting from his fingers. The final battle had begun and now was the time for endless clashing of Satoko's blade bloodlust. She would not be deprived of justice any longer.
  4. I actually have two this time. Two stories about the same point in time. I hope they aren't too dry.


    The world around him is nothing but the contents of an ink bottle. His heart races faster than his feet are flying; it's thumping against his ribcage like a child locked in a dark room would pound on the door to be set free. And how right that comparison is, considering the reason for his flight through the dark. Around him, the sound of pipes clacking and hissing steam leaks through the maddening roar of adrenaline in his ears, though strangely enough the natural drug's rush leaves all sound muffled. Muffled like the world on a snowy, starless night. Muffled, as though his head is under water.

    But steadily his surroundings begin to emerge; there's a light up ahead. He bursts through the doorway, boots clattering against the metal grate walkway nestled against the sides of the massive airship. But it's a dead end. There is only so much ship.

    And they're right behind him.

    Cornered, he spins around at the tell-tale clacking of rifles being loaded and aimed. One of the soldiers shouts to him, though the words are quickly snatched away by the howling wind. His hands are raised as he slowly backs up until he bumps the railing.

    A quick glance over his shoulder.

    It's a long way down.

    Another shout. His head snaps back to the front. Sweat trickles down his neck, tickling behind his ears, beading on his forehead as he realizes he no longer has a choice. Slowly he opens one of his raised, clenched fists, fingers uncurling from the pinky onward like a blooming flower until only the index remains looped around the detonator, the thumb resting anxiously atop the button.

    The soldiers are taken aback, half of their rifles dip just as their confidence does the very same. With his free hand, he grabs hold of the front of his jacket and yanks it open. Colorful fluids in vials floating in a glass chamber, gears turning and whirring, a thin wire strung from the detonator to the sleeve of his jacket and vanishing inside.

    A surge of emotion rattles him and for a split second he second guesses himself. The uncertainty is squashed flat by his boiling hatred. He gives a mighty war cry, a duet with the tick-pock-BOOM of the rifles, but it's too late. The button has been pressed and even as he falls to one knee, the contraption activates, the gears pick up speed, the vials inside the chamber crack and burst and then...


    Steadily her vision returns, the scene before her so vibrant, so detailed, frozen in time. Her heart thumps once, her hair slides along her cheeks and neck like a silky black serpent on the prowl. Her heart thumps again. She knows she's laying on her back, gazing up at this painting of metal and flame. Her heart thumps again. The flames are moving, crawling. Thump. Rolling now. Thump. Time is speeding up.

    And then in a sudden burst time reaches it's proper pace and she's hurtled downward. Her hair, formerly caressing her skin, now whips around dangerously, tugged this way and that by the relentless updraft. She's falling, helpless, forced to watch the ship above her go up in flames. Booming explosions ripple through the air, making her very bones vibrate. Her heart is racing now as large chunks of metal break off from the airship and shoot past her like speeding comets.

    That feeling of butterflies in her belly threatens to thwart her struggle to turn around, to pivot in the air, though in the end she succeeds, her hair shooting upward and finally ceasing it's cruel clawing. The ground is far below but steadily growing closer and she's left with no other choice now.

    Closing her eyes, she forfeits her humanity.

    There's a pause long enough for her to exhale and then her skin begins to itch and her bones ache. Her spine pops and cracks and shifts, her arms jut out longer, wider. Feet stretch, toes meld together and harden. Her tailbone tears its way from her skin. The change takes place upon her face as well, her ears melting into her head, her nose sinking into the upper lip while her mouth shifts to form a beak.

    The itching reaches the point of insanity, to the point that she wants to scratch and claw until there's nothing left but muscle itself. But salvation is at hand, for thick little black hairs finally puncture up through the skin. They travel down her body like a ripple across a steady pond, lengthening and expanding and taking an angle. The feathers rustle and dance as the ground races upward and everywhere, shrapnel with smoky tails scream as they tumble to earth.

    She's only fifty feet away from hardened dirt and decaying plantlife - all that this war left in its wake.

    Twenty feet now.

    Her heart is pounding so hard she can't breathe.


    The feathers finally reach her tail.


    But just as she's about to crash, she spreads her mighty raven wings and thrusts them downward. Her descent screeches to a halt by a cushion of air, stirring up a storm of dust and dried leaves all around her.

    And stop.

    Time slows once more. Her wings slowly draw back. A leaf lazily drifts past.

  5. The huge, oppressive steel doors opened before the young boy covered in dark clothes. His skin was whiter than ivory, his hair was colourless, fractured and unkempt, but his eyes were blood red. His gaze was simply terrifying as it held a flame that would put even the most battle-hardened soldiers to shame, a flame that ate away at the soul of whoever looked into his eyes. His posture suggested that he survived countless of years of torture: his back was hunched, his arms hung at his sides and he barely managed to stand on his legs. However, the smile on his face suggested that even though his body was fragile, his soul was stronger than the finest steel made by man. It also reflected his desire to inflict revenge on his captors, to finally show them waht true power meant, to finally free himself from the shackles that bound him.

    Beyond the doors was a huge, imposing hallway that seemed to reach the skies, with a similarly large podium in the middle of it. The staircase to the podium's top was almost completely ruined, however, that did not deter the boy from attempting to climb the impossibly steep ascent towards his goal. He put foot after foot, he made step after step, he took breath after breath, and with unrelenting determinatio, he made his way to the top even if his foot slipped, even if he rolled down the stairs and had to begin again. There was just simply no way that he would give up on his revenge so easily, especially after he worked so hard to find this place, after he had done so much research to locate the cathedral where the book was held.

    When the boy finally arrived at the top, he felt immensely relieved and statisfied. He made it. He arrived at his destination. He finally made it to the chair of the gody, to the Olympus of his world, where the spiritual energy of everything gathered, where even the impossible could be realised. It did not matter that he was exhausted. It did not matter that he was on the verge of that. All that mattered is that he managed to take a deep breath for the last time in his life, and uttered the most horrible curse that would forever bind humanity.

    "I curse the people who have wronged me, tortured me and made me miserable to lead a life of uncertainty, a life without purpose, a life with only false hope, a life filled with unending torment! I curse the people who have treated me so to have the power to realise how helpless they are, but to never have the power to help themselves! I curse the people who have ended my life before it begun to lead a life of eternal conflict!"

    And the lifeless body of the boy collapsed onto the top of the podium, his last wish cursing humanity forever.
  6. "Alright troops!" Trinity looked at her mentor as he stood before them. As he spoke, a hatch slowly opened on the airship. "It's time for us to infiltrate the Normish base. If you are caught, you are to remember the self-destruct button on your heels. Simply click three times and then, you've taken out some more of the enemy! There can be no prisoners. This is the final fight. It will be a miracle if any of you come back. You know your mission well. Go down there and damn well do it. Good luck to you all."

    As her leader's speech ended, Trinity and her fellow solders got their parachutes ready. She glanced down the hatch and didn't feel fear. All there was room to feel was passion for their country and adrenaline that would help them to succeed. She grazed her hand over the gun in the holster. She was confident and knew that if anyone came back, she'd be the one to do it. She'd show everyone that she could do it. She'd kill whoever was necessary to get back home.

    She looked one last time at her leader and saluted. He smiled and nodded. Unbeknownst to her, as she jumped off the airship, he returned the salute, wiping away a tear of pride with his other hand.
  7. Tumbleweeds rolled across the dessert as the sound of running hooves fled from a massive helicopter. Thundering across the desert it frightened all it passed till it rested comfortably on the landing pad just outside the Frankford Air force Base. Stepping out was the four star general. He was here to inspect the facility though it was not his job. Force of habit he’d told anyone who asked. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something heading their way but shook it off as his imagination when the alarm sounded and everyone was called to their ships and he was dragged into the confines of the base.

    A young pilot ran passed and memories flashed in his head as he looked at him. the young man reminded him of himself when he was that age. Closing his eyes to the grief that came with the memory he grabbed a headset to listen to the chatter of the pilots and the command giving them orders. “Alright Ace it’s time to light some fires.” Someone said to what the general had to be what they called the young man he’d passed. If only he’d gotten the kids name before he was dragged off.

    Listening to the conversations between pilots and their superiors he noted that Ace was a bit of a hotshot and did a few things not by the book. It got the job done, no doubts there but many people in command sounded irritated with him. the four star general was not among the naysayers, he remembered what it was like to be up in the air, to be in the heat of battle. Not something those pencil pushers could understand, not like him, not like the vets who’d seen it and felt it all. Like Ace, soon he will become an old man with the memories of his victories and the fallen that accompanied them.

    Sitting back in an old rusted out chair the general felt himself start to tear up but he pushed it back. Now was not the time, there was a battle going on and those command idiots were making the wrong moves. Taking over his voice rang loud and clear as he gave order after order, most going to Ace who was the closest from what command said the rest went to the other pilots. When the last tango was taken down everyone cheered but the general, Ace and a few other pilots. Putting the headset back on its peg the general stood and walked to where the pilots would be returning.

    As each and every one of them came into the hanger he smiled at them and saluted them. When the veterans like Ace and his friends walked in the general did something much different. Yes he smiled but it was a knowing smile, and his salute seemed to be more genuine, the last thing, he pulled them all into a hug. Releasing them one by one he said to them, “now is the time to rejoice, when you get to be my age it will be the time to mourn. You have a job to do and you must do it to the best of your abilities, no matter what the cost.”