Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by natterjack, Dec 27, 2013.
— ღ author's note —
Wow. Hard to believe that was me searching almost two years ago. Looking back, comparing my writing then to my writing now .. shit I've become such a pretentious punk .. well, it feels like it's been ages.
Anyway. Hii, darlings. According to my account details, my username is natterjack, and if you want to get into semantics, that's only sort of true. I have many, many names; my titles vary accordingly, depending on the circumstances of the situation, my environment, etc. For instance, when I'm out pimpin', my name's Bonquisha Avocado, and then when I'm with my partner Rowen, I'm every inch the compliant and adaptive Ira James Marie. In "real" life, though, when surrounded by family and "real life" friends, I'm just Lydia and/or Ida, who's probably the least exciting and most ordinary of all my identities, with her nerd glasses and nappy, unruly lion's mane. Nonsensical babble aside, if you're fairly active on the Roleplay Talk boards, then you're probably familiar with me. I'm around most of the time, derping for roleplays and the like.
This is an idea of mine that never quite got off the ground, despite the many daydreams and written plans I put into it. It's been two years and since I like to think I've grown as a writer [as a person I aged backwards, lmfao], I really want to give this a second try. Forget lousy daydreams scrawled via pen and paper — I'm going to invest actual hard work this time, and hopefully I'll stick with things long enough to bleed myself into the pages, so I'll always remember what comes of their compliation, whether it be sugary success or bittersweet failure.
For those of you who don't know, U/C means under construction. Which translates to please don't post here until I give the okay because things aren't even close to coming together yet.
Thanks in advance c:
– ღ an introduction –
You dream and imagine you're running. Always running, it seems, from a mysterious figure. Genderless, neither masculine nor feminine, cloaked in writhing shadows and equipped with gnashing, salivating mandibles, rows of acicular ivories and eyes that glow blood-crimson from within their sockets. It's like something from a nightmare, this thing. Ultimately of slender, emaciated stature; yet from a distance, it would appear that ribbons of stygian substance stream from its thin shoulders and the gaunt angles of its monstrous frame.
Upon returning to the waking world, you find yourself unable to move. Helpless to do anything but listen to the voice that rumbles around you, struck with the sense that purpose is on the horizon, you lay there, staring vacantly upwards into the overhead sky. Had the circumstances been different, you might've found a certain beauty in your own paralysis, the noise of movement stripped away to reveal the world at its barest: minimal and opaque, sublime. And the purpose. It draws closer – you can't see it, but you can feel it. Oh, God, you can feel it, stealing into your bones .. horrible, horrible purpose, but purpose nonetheless.
Deep breaths, you tell yourself. Deep breaths.
What does this have to do with me? You ask wordlessly, trying to keep your voice from trembling and failing miserably.
Shut up, I'm getting there.
Fourteen years ago, you were born, on a stormy, lightning-stricken night. A strange baby, endowed with an unusually quiet and docile disposition — and a birthmark that is shared by exactly five others like you. All six of you were given birth to in the same year as well as in the same month. An anomaly, yes? It would seem so .. unless you know the truth.
Dawn creeps closer, seeping into your periphery on an ominous swell of mottled colors. Your voice is becoming more and more hysterical, as a sense of finalty descends on the evening's atmosphere, tainting the beauty of the stillness. The truth? Wh–what are you talking about? What truth?
They call you remnants.
Living, breathing artifacts.
You're a remnant, darling.
A disbelieving scoff escapes, seemingly of its own accord. Unable to cover your mouth, all you can do is lay there, trying to wish the words back with sheer willpower.
No, I'm not. If only you could pinch yourself.
Oh, but you are, the voice rebutts, chiming musically. You're sought after, child. Met with silence, the voice continues to spin its tale within the confines of your mind.
I won't lie to you. It's a curse, yes. But you're not alone.There's six of you altogether, counting yourself. Three girls and three boys. Shortly after being born, you were more or less forced to become familiar with one another.And so, you became playmates. At seven, you became friends. At eleven, you became blood-siblings. And now, at fourteen, you're a family .. and on the run.
Ice twines through your veins. Why? Why u–us? Why us?Somewhere along the way, a part of you must've started to subconsciously believe, because the us comes all too naturally, nauseatingly easy to utter. You close your eyes, inwardly cursing yourself and trying to tune out the voice, that damned voice. But it goes on anyway, seeming to know that in the end, you just won't be able to stop yourself from listening to the answer.
Because you have something the Abigor wants. No one knows what that is, exactly — of course there's been speculation, but nothing confirmed - but what they do know is you are the remnants, the artifacts, and you're quite wanted, with so much bounty upon your pretty little heads . .