the end

Lately, my free time has been swallowed up by a number of things-school mostly- and because of that I've decided not to write in here anymore.
If you're still interested in my narrative, you can read my webcomic at http://www.drunkduck.com/No_such_thing_as_heaven/

wassup?!

Joanne cast her eyes down, oblivious to the view in front of her.

As she sobbed,another tear rolled down her cheeck, breaking contact with her face and falling toits doom down below.

Shegripped the cold, hard railing tighter, strengthening her resolve, and prepared herself.

Just one jump. Just one jump and it would all be over.

-Hi! Who are you? How do you do!!-

Joanne gasped, stumbled, and slipped in surprise, and immediately grabbed the railing, dangling on it.

What the hell had that voice been? It sounded deep and shrilly at the same time, and had come from her left,but she couldn’t see anything.

-Oh! I’m sorry, I forgot you can’t see me. Too bad. Amyways, you’re supposed to be destined for some prophecy or another, and thus I may have to borrow you for a while. Do you object to that?-

-Whu-What are you?- gasped Joanne, her fingers already aching and her face still wet.

-Why, I’m just a simple spriggan!! One the fae folk!! Powerful enough to really hurt you in case you don’t want to do what I want. By the way, I’m assuming you’re going to do anything I want.-

Joanne sighed. Maybe she had already jumped. Maybe this was hell: being bossed around by something else, knowing nothing really changed.

-What do I do?-

-Oh, you simply must catch the train!-

Kim

Not much to say. In any case, of you don't like something, tell me, and...hope something changes.
Enjoy!

***

Kim opened his eyes and sat up.

He was in all sincerity surprised to be not only alive, but also in good health.

He must have slept too much dammit.

Ok, maybe not “slept” so much as “fallen in a coma” but hey, what’s the difference?

Of course, one of the alternatives involves going very much near total destruction, but let’s not be picky.

Of course, it would have felt better if only Kim didn’t feel a great weight on his chest.

He started looking around.

He was in a squalidly empty room, with crude brickwalls.

On one of the walls there was an obscene symbol.

He wondered who were the owner of this shack. And to be even more precise, where was this shack?

The last thing he remembered was fleeing, assaulted by his enemies.

But he had managed to survive, like always, and that was the only thing that mattered.

He then decided to start exploring.

Having opened the door, he found himself in a bleak corridor, from where at regular intervals hideous statues leered at him.

The building seemed empty, but to force ennui away Kim started whistling a bit.

At that moment, he heard voices from down the corridor.

-and this is where we keep all our foodstuffs—yes, see how they are all labeled-

They came from a door further away, and kim started running towards, not caring about the racket he was making.

-Hey, what was that?-

Glad to have found someone to talk to, Kim opened the door wide open.

In front of him there was a small, frail human in white clothes, who crossed his eyes, made a funny face, and fell on the floor.

Behind him there was a series of women clad in black and white.

Oh no.

Kim the demon had ended up in a nunnery.

He started wishing he were dead.

I have to warn you: the next story fragment will contain some heavy cussing.
On other notes, this the start of a new series, which will run parallel to the fantasy one I started the blog with. I’m going to call it warspace, and whenever I write something, I’ll tell you to which category it belongs.
Plus, I just found out that I’m a day behind, so from now on I’ll try to write something new every day.
Enjoy!

***

You move slowly in this desolate land, knowing you’re at the mercy of enemy fire, knowing you are in the middle of a nowhere that hurts your eyes.
You shiver a little, while snow falls on the tundra.
At least it got a bit warmer, otherwise you’d be in big trouble.
Trapped inside the parade uniform –completely useless, it’s only for formal occasions-you have to walk three miles on the polar caps of this damned planet.
And luckily you’re on the equator, otherwise imagine the situation!
You can see your breath in front of you.
Shitty cold.
And luck.
Not only you’re completely without weapons, these stupid shitty clothes don’t keep you warm.
And besides this, you’re even without weapons.
Well, actually, there’s the naginata-itself a ceremonial weapon.
At least it’s reinforced, and so you have a hand-to-hand weapon.
You stop for a moment, to take the ice off the polarizing glasses, and in the meanwhile you look at your weapon.
What to the uninformed mind would look like a short sword mounted on a stick takes on another shape to your eyes.
The iron on the blade-forged with the same technique used to make the best katanas -is free of imperfections, and reflect the sun in an admirable way.
Of course this renders you very-very- visible to all enemy forces passing within a couple of miles of your position, but A): you don’t have anything with which to cover it, and every scrap of cloth you have you need for warmth and B): You don’t want to. After all, you just have to go a couple of miles.
Of course, three miles in enemy territory aren’t a mean feat, but hey!
You’re a great soldier, aren’t you?
No, you’re not a great soldier.
You managed to get all the men under your command killed, to get your client killed, to ruin a diplomatic meeting, and now the side you were fighting for wants you dead.
You just have to hope that those pirates will hold up to their end of the deal, and that they didn’t just run with the money.
‘Cause otherwise you’d be really screwed.
So walk, brave little soldier of humanity!
Walk walk, it’s useless you know!
C’mon, better not go down that line of thought.
Of course though, there is nothing to do but walk.
Walk, walk, wal-
Twinn!!
Mine drones of Cowl fabrication at hours two and seven.
Armed with machineguns model strong-arm.
Variable camouflage. That’s why you didn’t see them.
Third level Ai. About as much intelligence as a dog.
You register all these things in a fraction of a second, before actually seeing them come out of the snow, while your autonomous systems start evasive action to dodge the bullets.
Those damned things were hiding in the snow, operating on standby.
You must have triggered a motion sensor.
Damn.
Like every soldier of the Humanitas armada, you’ve been augmented with bioelectronic implants to better your combat efficiency, but without decent weapons you’re pretty much fucked.
Your bones, plated with polycarbonate steel, are as resistant as the shells of those mine drones, and the various pistons connected to them, together with the preprogrammed war maneuvers, make you fast enough to dodge all their shots, but you can’t go on forever.
Eventually, the muscles connected to those marvelous indestructible bones will tire of being abused at supersonic speeds, and the mine drones can simply wait for you to die of blood loss from the resultant internal hemorrhaging.
Shit.
While you and the drones go through a dance no non-augmented could see, you think of a way to save your skin.
Lesse…you could try to make the drones hit each other.
You try immediately, but after the third try you remember that third level Ai are stupid, but not that stupid.
Waitaminit.
You forgot of the naginata again! Of course!
It’s much harder than the drones’ shell, and maybe you’ll even split them in half!
You proceed immediately with your plan.
The drones, not having anything similar, are doomed, and you do short work of them.
You’ve won! You’re still alive!
Then the burning pain in your knees takes you back to reality.
You may be alive, but now you have to march three miles with legs that feel as though they’re on fire.
Damn.

the price of freedom

Since I'm working on my next post, I'm going to give you a story of mine that I wrote some time ago. I consider it some of my best work (possibly the best thing I have ever written) and would like some feedback on it.
Enjoy!

***

The price of freedom

I pounce on the bunny.

I can feel it wriggling in my claws; it doesn’t know it’s already dead.

On the ground, the mother runs, desperate, making sure the rest of the litter is safe.

Meanwhile, I’ve already started eating.

It’s good.

A human would see my actions cruel and heartless.

Why kill an infant, they would say, when the mother is ready to sacrifice herself for her offspring?

But I, luckily, am not human.

I’m a falcon, and as such I can see the bigger picture.

Without the mother, the bunnies would all die in less than two weeks, prey of carnivores much bigger than me.

Instead, by eating the infants I make sure they die one at a time, and not all at once.

Besides, the mother can always have more kids.

And I’m hungry.

Experts know that as a rule of thumb falcons don’t eat land animals; we prefer doves, woodpeckers, and such.

But it’s winter, and in the Redwood national park food is scarce.

You know, people who say they like winter actually lie.

They don’t like winter.

They like watching a postcard of a snowy forest and pretend that’s winter.

But winter isn’t a postcard.

Winter is cold.

And hunger.

Not necessarily in the same order.

Even the bunny was starving.

It wasn’t a big meal.

I fly away, knowing that in less than two hours the hunger will be back.

I pray I find something to eat.

A woodpecker, a pigeon, anything.

Please….

***

Nine out of ten.

If you like, ninety percent.

It’s the percentage of predatory errors.

Its failures.

Nine times out of ten the prey does it, and survives.

And the predator? Waits.

Another attack.

Probably, another failure. Until…

But it’s not sure that the predator the tenth time, or the hundredth, can make it.

It’s not written anywhere.

A lot of predators lose even this last chance.

Because failures weight the wings, the muscles, the bones. The mind.

It’s been three days I hate the bunny.

Two days ago, there was a snowstorm, and I lost the rabbit family.

I feel like my stomach could rip out of my body and search for food by its own will.

I’m growing weaker.

Even if I could find prey, I doubt I would be able to catch it.

Fate seems to have given me a long, painful death.

How nice.

But…wait!

In the distance, collapsed on a boulder, I see a deer.

Dead.

I hurry towards the corpse, before someone else can take advantage of it.

It would be awful to see my salvation taken away from me right when it’s at hand.

I lay on his antlers and I look at the deer for a second: I wouldn’t want him to be sick, even if at this point it makes no difference.

You can count the ribs one by one.

The legs look like frail twigs.

It must have starved to death.

But it’s more than enough for me; even emaciated he weighs several time my own weight.

I’m about to pick the first piece of meat when something blocks me.

It’s a strange emotion I’m not able to identify at first.

Pride.

One of the few good things I learnt from humans; the will to not go below a certain point, to be strong in the face of hardship.

Why should I eat a lurid putrefying carcass, full of death and sickness, when I can feel the rush of adrenaline that hunting gives?

Because I’m hungry, that’s why.

Betraying all of my ideals, I start eating.

The body is still warm.

***

My recent encounter with death has made me think.

Once, I had a warm cage in which to sleep, and good meals twice a day.

Once, I had a master.

Why have I abandoned all this?

Why have I fled?

Out here, in the forest, I’m cold.

Out here, in the forest, I’m hungry.

When I escaped I was full of great ideals about freedom and indipendence.

Now I know they were crap.

What use is freedom, when you are dead?

While I ponder this great truth, I see a human below me, in the middle of a glade.

I come closer to see better; hunting season hasn’t started yet, and he doesn’t look like he’s carring a rifle, so I should be safe.

Man.

That’s my old master.

I’m sure he recognized me: I still have that stupid piece of plastic he attached to my leg.

While he shouts those strange sounds humans use to communicate, I think.

A wing flutter away, I have the opportunity to have back all those things I so longed for…

I’m about to dive into his arms, when I realize something.

Out here, I may be cold.

Out here, I may be hungry.

But if this is the price to pay to be free, I will pay it gladly.

Because a life without freedom isn’t worth being lived.

waking up

I’d just like to say that, since I’ll be at my grandparents until this weekend, I won’t be able to update for a while.
However, with my next post I’ll start a completely new story, so you’ll have that to look forward to!
Enjoy!

***

Three hours later, at the crack of dawn, Theresa woke up, thinking that all that had happened had been a dream.
Getting up from the bed she had been put in, she saw immediately that that was just wishful thinking, and that yes, a demon had appeared in her room that night.
How could she have been so sure of that, without even a hint of doubt?
Well, the presence of the demon on the bed next to hers helped.
She started looking more closely at the demon, because at night, with just the moonlight to go by, she hadn’t been able to distinguish anything except for the fact that yes, it was a demon.
Against her expectations, what they had told her, and against even all of Christian dogma, this horrendous emissary of the Devil itself didn’t actually look that bad.
His jet-black hair was cut short but not too short, his hands were free of calluses and had long, well kept nail, his muscles stood out under his bronze skin like those on a Greek statue (not that Theresa had ever seen a Greek statue; but if she had seen one, she would have thought that) and he generally looked like an Adonis.
The only thing that marred his beauty was a huge saw-toothed wound on his chest; from it came a disgusting greenish pus, that…no, looking at it more closely it was actually one of Lucy’s remedies. Still disgusting, though.
Besides this wound there were his infernal characteristics, that up until now I’ve failed to mention: his big, huge scarlet wings that protruded from his back (one of which, it was plain to see, was completely broken and useless), a tail snaked out between his legs, which ended in ashen hooves, and on his brow, just above his eyebrow, there were two small horns, added almost as an afterthought.
Unbeknownst to Theresa, in infernal beauty criteria, horns play a very big part, and to eyes of another demoness he would have looked like an ugly dork.
Theresa fell in love with him in a nanosecond.
Well, actually she didn’t fall in love completely; she was still a nun, after all!
More simply, in her chest all those dreadful and pesky elements that compose a crush had landed in the way required to create one.
She could already see herself redeeming this stranger from the ways of evil, make him become an angel again, abandon her vows…
Well, not the last part. She didn’t feel ready for all these emotions.
She suddenly remembered her last “love” encounter, and bit her lip.
No, she definitely wasn’t ready for these feelings.
Maybe she would never be.
In the meanwhile (and as a side note, why does while have to mean? I think while is actually kind and compassionate).
As I was saying, in the meanwhile, Lucy and the head of the order were arguing furiously.
-You can’t kill it! I’m not even sure if the remedy works or not! -
-Lucy, have you gone mad? Don’t you realize we’re helping the nuncio of the Devil on earth? Don’t you realize he’s going to corrupt all of our souls? -
-With a broken wing and a gash on his chest he’s not going to corrupt anything! And besides, don’t the Scriptures say that we should turn the other cheek and help the needy? -
-But what will the bishop say? He’s supposed to visit tomorrow! -
-Well, he doesn’t have to see him, does he! -
-The lord sees even white lies! -
-Well, if we really have to show him we can tell him that since he’s proof of the existence of the devil, this means that God really exists, and that he just has to show it to the infidels to convert them instantly! -
-You’re impossible Lucy! One day or another I’m going to kick you out of this convent and find someone to replace you! -
Said this, the holy mother turned around, while Lucy smirked at her.
-Replace me, eh? You’ve been repeating that for five years!

***

Faintings

Having just reread my work, I realize I’ve written myself into a corner, since I don’t know squat about nuns or religious orders. If anyone of you knows anything, feel free to tell me, or to give me info on what you think of this story.
Enjoy!

***

Teresa gasped in horror.
Then, she started to scream.
She started to scream a high, shrill, piercing scream, the kind that can travel for miles and miles and which is generally used in low budget horror films.
This immediately caused many different things: the nunnery was roused from its sleep, an owl nearby turned her head in annoyance, and the demon at Teresa’s feet shifted slightly position.
This was enough to send her in another bout of panic, but having exhausted her lung capacity and having nowhere to run or hide, she simply fainted.
Unfortunately for the demon, she fell exactly on top of it, and this caused it so much pain that it fainted itself.
What can I say, prodigious occurrences seem to leave fainting spells in their wake just like a knife spreads peanut butter on a slice of bread.
At this point, most of the nuns of the order of Saint Michael the Great were awake, and promptly went out to find what the disturbance had been about.
The Head of the order immediately fished out her master key from the robes she had just now put on, and being in a very bad mood (Teresa’s scream had woken her up from a dream in which she had been promoted and could finally get out of this God-forsaken place), she prepared to berate the young nun.
Instead, seeing Teresa, who was wearing only a nightgown, slumped on top of what appeared to be a demon, she fainted.
Remember what I told you about knives and peanut butter?
Anyways, Lucy, the nun directly behind her, who was also quite a skilled medic and doctor (only a fourth of her patients died horribly, and usually during botched attempts at trying to escape her “lovely” treatments) analyzed the situation with her critical eye.
The head of the order seemed to have injured her head, courtesy of a close encounter with the stone floor.
Teresa appeared fine, thanks to the dead weight that had cushioned her fall.
And the third individual…
Was wounded.
I swear, that’s exactly what she thought.
She didn’t pause to think that it was a demon, she didn’t scream her lungs out, and she didn’t think that it was her duty to exorcise this wretched thing.
Such a thought should give you an inkling of what kind of person she was: practical, gruff, and with a mind free of prejudice.
Oh well, she thought, time to break out the new stretchers.

***

beginning

For anyone reading this, I want to say that this blog will be devoted to my writings, or, more accurately, I will post various stories in an effort to improve my writing style and make yourself enjoy reading this.
If anyone's out there is an editor and you like this stuff, let me know.
And so it begins!

All problems solved
Chapter one
Teresa woke up from her night’s slumber.
She idly wondered what had waken her up.
Being a nun of the order of Saint Michael The Great, sleep was very important to her: in the middle of the night, every night, it was her duty to wake up with the other nuns of the order to the sound of the bell and pray, so that they may atone for the sins of a world that was too often unjust.
What had woken her up, however, was not the sound of a bell, it was more like a muffled thud, not very loud, but loud enough to startle someone…or to wake up a sleepy nun.
Being the middle of the night, however, her cell was pitch black, except for the slim ray of moonlight coming from in between the bars of her window.
She got up from her (very uncomfortable, if I may say so) bed, which was made of dried straw covered with a rough sheet, and started looking around the cell.
There wasn’t much to see, however; the order of Saint Michael The Great was based on austerity, and aside from her bed and a crucifix on the wall in front of her there wasn’t anything else in the small, unadorned room.
Wait.
Under the crucifix, just barely visible in the limelight, there was a dark shape, which Teresa couldn’t make out.
Her heart started immediately beating a LOT faster.
This changed everything.
Outside people were not allowed in the nunnery, and if she were surprised with someone else in her room she would surely be expelled, since her reputation in the order was already so low.
She moved closer to the dark mass, trying to see better, and to her huge consternation found out that it was not a man, as she had imagined, but a far different thing.
In retrospect, this probably explained how it had managed to go through the door (or through the barred window) without waking up.
Because you see, the dark mass was not a man, or even a dog or a cow. As a matter of fact, it didn’t even belong in this universe.
The shape was that of a demon.

***