Élan
Jun 07 2008, 04:45 AM
I've been suffering from mild writer's block lately, so I decided to try something new in hopes of getting my creativity back. This is simply the prologue of a new story I've been writing, and it's from a male perspective this time. I know it's a bit vague, but I meant it that way.
I've posted it here too, and I provide some explanation in the Artist's Comments for anyone who is interested.
http://dannecia.deviantart.com/art/Prologue-87794559
I ran my hand across the bottle and felt the heat trickle down my arms. The glass melted into a puddle in my palm before cooling into a long blade.
“Give it up already. You can’t change the future, so why bother?” he told me.
I stared into his cold, steely blue eyes and gave him a little smirk. His face mirrored mine, but it didn’t notice my fingers handling the blade in my hands.
I jabbed it into his chest, twisting it to prolong the pain. The viscous blood oozed out of the wound, slowly adhering to my skin. I soaked it up without fail.
“I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”
He managed to choke up some blood, but this blood wasn’t red. It had a watery consistency and was colored golden. It glistened in the sun.
He was a Drakonian.
I immediately backed off when I realized what I’d done. The promise had been broken. I had to run. I took off in the opposite direction.
Please be merciful. Please be kind, I hoped.
I didn’t want to be kicked out of Voltaire. My entire existence was here. How was I going to escape this?
Just change time, I answered myself.
I got on all fours and searched the floors. The darkness hindered my sight, so I had to go by touch. Then I found it.
The traveler. Deep and almost endless. The warmth it exuded soothed me to the core. Like a beautiful being, it stole my attention until I refocused.
I found a scalpel and firmly held it in my hand.
I can do this, I thought. It’s just a simple procedure.
I took deep breaths, trying to stop the shaking in my hand. Then, as gently as I could, I lifted my shirt up and dragged the scalpel across my skin. The incision was right under my heart. Deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to die. My life decanted into my cupped hands, escaping me, its host, like a runaway convict. My thoughts were slowly fading away.
This is only temporary, I reminded myself.
With the little moral consciousness I had left, I poured my Animus into the traveler.
All I remember after that is a glow.
Start me over.
I've posted it here too, and I provide some explanation in the Artist's Comments for anyone who is interested.
http://dannecia.deviantart.com/art/Prologue-87794559
I ran my hand across the bottle and felt the heat trickle down my arms. The glass melted into a puddle in my palm before cooling into a long blade.
“Give it up already. You can’t change the future, so why bother?” he told me.
I stared into his cold, steely blue eyes and gave him a little smirk. His face mirrored mine, but it didn’t notice my fingers handling the blade in my hands.
I jabbed it into his chest, twisting it to prolong the pain. The viscous blood oozed out of the wound, slowly adhering to my skin. I soaked it up without fail.
“I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”
He managed to choke up some blood, but this blood wasn’t red. It had a watery consistency and was colored golden. It glistened in the sun.
He was a Drakonian.
I immediately backed off when I realized what I’d done. The promise had been broken. I had to run. I took off in the opposite direction.
Please be merciful. Please be kind, I hoped.
I didn’t want to be kicked out of Voltaire. My entire existence was here. How was I going to escape this?
Just change time, I answered myself.
I got on all fours and searched the floors. The darkness hindered my sight, so I had to go by touch. Then I found it.
The traveler. Deep and almost endless. The warmth it exuded soothed me to the core. Like a beautiful being, it stole my attention until I refocused.
I found a scalpel and firmly held it in my hand.
I can do this, I thought. It’s just a simple procedure.
I took deep breaths, trying to stop the shaking in my hand. Then, as gently as I could, I lifted my shirt up and dragged the scalpel across my skin. The incision was right under my heart. Deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to die. My life decanted into my cupped hands, escaping me, its host, like a runaway convict. My thoughts were slowly fading away.
This is only temporary, I reminded myself.
With the little moral consciousness I had left, I poured my Animus into the traveler.
All I remember after that is a glow.
Start me over.