Countdown- Writing Prompt

This past week I went through a brief spasm of writing prompts. :) Pinterest was fantastic.

I decided to post the shortest one I wrote (post above).

Countdown

A green glow emanates from my watch. I press start.

TEN

I’m the last one left.

We ran for years. We denied them the right to our blood by hiding in cement walls that dripped with moisture; or clutching the ground under an acrid truck (most of them were rigged).

NINE

I am the silent one. I am the deadly one with the black knives and the one with the lack of sympathy. I spared no one. They will not spare me.

EIGHT

It began with a war from years ago; a war which has never ended for me. Every night I dream of drowning. I wake up to phantom blood running down my face.

SEVEN

I had a team once. They weren’t my friends, but the occasional word that might have been a joke gave us the feeling of belonging. They’re all gone.

SIX

Now it’s just me.  Running is the last thing in my life that’s consistent. I think if I were to stop, I would die.

FIVE

I’ve killed people. It’s something I’m not ashamed to admit. I could have been an assassin with my clean kills and dark eyes.

FOUR

They would not spare me for my crimes. That’s what I am counting on.

THREE

I brush my hair back and tense before releasing a choked breath. I prepare myself mentally with the same words I’ve always used to focus and relax. I clutch a small explosive rigged to set off on contact. “Ready when you are.” I murmur absently.

TWO

“Come out of there and put your hands up!” Thudding feet and clicking guns arrange themselves.

“Here we go.” I grin and launch out to meet them, my hands held high. I will have myself one last run. Running is all I know. Without it I will die.

My watch beeps frantically and my hands thrust down. The guns come up.

ONE

I am not running. I am flying.

ZERO

Death of Glory (excerpt)

Roman Gladius used in the Roman Legions
(Pinterest)

I wanted to title this post "Excerpt From My Novel The Death of Glory Which I Haven't Touched Since July" but decided that was a bit much. ^_^

I know most of you are unaware that for 2 1/2 years now I've been working on a book which in proper, writerly, terms, would be called a novella. It's based on the OYAN curriculum form. A marvelous curriculum that has changed my life first and foremost and my writing second. But to get into that of course would be enough for a post all it's own.

So any time you hear me reference my "OYAN novel" taa-daa now you know what it is. :)

The working title is "The Death of Glory." The main character is boy in his teens living in Roman-Britain. Roughly 400-410 AD right before the Romans are pulled out of Britain.

The Saxons are attacking and the "R&B's" have been forced to cooperate (as far as I know this isn't historically accurate, but it's very much something that could have happened).

I thought I might show you guys the last scene I wrote in my novel. :)

-Duer is the main character (it is from his perspective, first person)
-Ator is the primary antagonist, leader of the attacking Saxons (also called Sea Wolves)
-Arlyn and Brean are friends of Duer

I did edit it a bit so that it flowed better and (hopefully) makes more sense but this is still first draft material.
_________________________________________________________________________________

I find myself face to face with Ator.
Sometimes I wonder if the gods purposely plot out my demise and then throw up their hands in frustration when I escape.

He wouldn’t recognize me. He’s killed too many Romans and Britons for one to stand out. So the riot of battle can cloud even the sea gods gaze. I smile darkly. The sweeping strokes of his sword knock me to the ground within the first few minutes and I gasp in shock. How? I note how he has taken up a Roman sword in one hand, while he doesn’t wield it with grace, his strength more than compensates for skill. In his other hand he grips a spear.

I bring my arms up in submission. When the blade strikes down I fling myself to the side and the blade pierces the earth next to me. Now it is dancing through the air again, ready to plunge deep within me and wrest out my spirit. I’m almost tempted to let it. Such a death would guarantee a glorious afterlife.

A spear with the top of the shaft broken off lies to my left. My fingernails gouge the dirt and I make a fist around the spear to block against Ator’s sword. The shaft is snapped in two from sheer force. My arm tingles.

Again I’m forced to scramble away, having to pause to lurch out reach for a heartbeat from the unrelenting steel, panting and dragging in gulps of air. This is straining my body and my mind. Soon, all too soon, I will give out and be eliminated.

If only I could get onto my feet. In desperation I brace my palms on the ground and surge upwards, twisting to face Ator. He knocks the side of my head with his sword hilt. Everything sways and blurs and I collapse.

The only thing that exists is the sky. Gloriously empty. My head throbs, and I gladly distract myself from it by staring up into the endless depths of pale gray. It hurts too much to think. It takes too much effort to summon any lingering feelings of regret towards my friends or any lingering pity. I can’t bring myself to greet my death. The noise of banging shields and screams are a rough haze… What do I care for their quarrels?

Gray eyes connect with mine. A path links between us for a moment. Gray eyes. Gray sky. Endless. Hate and rage storm through them. Beautiful.

“Duer!”

Ator is shoved into the ground by a large body barreling through. Rough hands jerk me to my feet. Arlyn roars at me. “What are you doing?”

I see Ator recover and bare his teeth like a cornered hound.

“You were just staring.” Brean’s frantic shouts wash over me as he rushes to my side.

The sky vanishes and I blink. “I…”

“Why were you just staring? Staring!” Brean can’t seem to understand what exactly it was I had been doing.

I lick my lips. “I was greeting Death.”

He lets out a yell of frustration. Arlyn half paces, half jogs next to us, weapon held at ready to defend our retreat.

“Arlyn.” I greet him and attempt a wave. “Thanks.”

The dark haired warrior rolls his eyes and proceeds to ignore me.

Later I would wonder, if I were to kill Ator, how would he have felt in the afterlife? I was no one special. Would he be raging in humiliation and swearing revenge on me as he burned in whatever afterlife the Sea Wolves believed in? Or would he resign himself to his fate?

And I have to laugh. What are the odds of me killing Ator?

He is only a man.

He is also a god.

To his people and to some of the Britons, to me even, he is a god.

Who can kill a god?

But now, now this was war and war does not merely think. War is calculating and cruel as she takes lives. Her second in command is Death and he does her bidding.

I shake off another cloud of dizziness along with Brean’s supporting arm and charge yet again.

First Lines (story starters)

Who doesn't love messing with Siri? That's pretty much the only thing she's good for. ^_^

Today in drivers ed (last day Woooo!!!) I had some free time because I finished early. So I decided to come up with some "First Lines," what I could picture as being good openers for a story/book. I also dug up some first lines from other things I've done in the past.
I figured they would be acceptable for today's post which had to include writing of some kind.
Enjoy! :)
_____

-The color of the sky on the day we died... That's difficult to say, it was a sunset, and there's always more than one color in those, usually.

-Do you think joy is real? Or is it really just chemical interactions like the books say? I have proof that joy is real. But I can't tell you what it is, because nobody believes what they're told. You'll just have to listen.

-Once upon a time there was a river. The sun boiled it into roiling steam and captured its sound with the wind.

-Perhaps being the last person in the world has made me lonely and slightly paranoid.

-Children learn their ABC's and how to count to ten. I learned how to Shift.

-The lonely god tossed stars over the world.

-The shadows rose up and screeched.

-Pale faced warrior why do you laugh?

 -A milennia ago, there was peace, a lifetime away, I ended it.
_____

In the room the voices resemble what ghosts in a cathedral must sound like. It must be what grey curtains of rain sound like.

Feet cross and shift on the streaked, hardwood floors.

“When is the event over?” Red hair tumbles over freckled shoulders.

“When the music stops.” The two women, one with red hair and the other black, move away.

From room to room the polished glasses clinking together sound.

Someone laughs.

A beautiful woman sits at the piano. Music dances its way out of the glowing instrument. It is awake. It is singing.

IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
FROSTY WIND MADE MOAN
EARTH STOOD HARD AS IRON
WATER LIKE A STONE
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
LONG AGO

Inside the instrument she wanders. Faces with deep eyes sing to her.

“Play something cheerful now my dear.” A warm hand clasps her shoulder.

Out of the misty world she stumbles. She nods quickly and abruptly begins to play. Slowly falling back into her own heart where winter remains.
_____

And that's all for today. The scene at the end is something from a short story from awhile ago.I hope everyone is enjoying this glorious autumn weather. :)

What Comes Before - a poem

Breath of Winter?
Original design hand drawn on computer and edited in Pixlr

Tis time for the Thursday/Friday post!

The picture above was originally black and white with her breathing green. Thus "Breath of Winter?" But as is my habit, I played with it, and here's the sepia colored version.

What Comes Before -2011 

They stood before me in a row,  

Cloaked in terror, joy and snow,

One, his face was plump and cheery, 

Another his hands held gray poverty, 

A woman had a gown of water and air, 

And I saw a girl with white flowers in her hair. 

Then I saw a man with eyes full of tears. 

And a man with his back pressed by years. 

They stood with an ethereal glow. 

One at a time I watched them go. 

But three stayed and kissed my head. 

Each was clothed in a fresh blood red. 

The first held a cup filled with thin bread, 

The second wore a cross of heavy lead and in his cup he held scarlet wine. 

The third’s cup held water and a scriven line, 

Then, a last one arrived unheard, 

And he parted swiftly without a word.

In short, this is me worrying not about dying, but about how I will die.