|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 8:39 pm
__ ________ The Calm Before the Storm ________ __ "Flossy is sick..."
"Damned, can't have her bringing that into the house! Connie just got better! She looked a little worse for wear last I saw here..."
"Margaret, he's a boy. Quit calling him Connie, will you? That's bound to embarrass him in front of the other kids."
James sighed heavily as he pressed his hand to his head and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The sun was beginning to rise, though it could hardly be seen through the spacey windows of the rather large and open home. A storm was brewing outside, though it didn't feel like it would be more than a simple shower.
Still, fine time for the nanny to fall ill.
"He's old enough, I think, James. Neither of us can afford to miss work..." Mary Lockwood bit her lip and chewed thoughtfully as she placed a meal before her husband and their son. The boy nudged at his eggs with a fork as he listened in on his parents' conversation. They were talking about him, quite obviously. Any idiot could see that.
Feh. They didn't think he could care for himself.
"Ma, Pa, I can do it. Besides, it's just for a day, right? I don't want to cause any trouble. I'll be good, I swear!"
He shoveled the fresh eggs into his mouth after he spoke, leaving his words to hang up in the air while he did so. It earned him fairly amused looks from his parents, but after a few more petty, squabbling words, they gave in.
"Fine, Connie-er-Constance. Just, you have to behave! No drawing on the walls, cutting, painting, anything of the sort! Stay inside and read your books. You've got a good collection!" His mother gave a defeated, exasperated sigh as she sat down to her own breakfast. The boy was obviously thrilled, expressed by his eager face and bright eyes.
He worried about Flossy. She had seemed so ill the day before. Hopefully she would be alright.
The thoughts only lasted a moment, though, as he realized just how much freedom he would have this day! His parents would be away and he could do whatever he pleased!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 12:17 am
__ ________ Lethal Winds ________ __ He was bored.
His parents had only been gone, what, an hour?
And he already felt bored out of his mind. He couldn't go outside to play. He wanted to paint, but his mother and father would be absolutely furious if he got paint on the hard wood floors. He wanted to read, but he had already read most of his books front to back, several times in a row.
Quite frankly, he didn't realize being an "adult" and staying home while his parents were away would be so dull.
Currently, he sat in his room, on the top floor of his home, glaring out his window. The sky was turning dark and the clouds gave a soft rumble. The peels of thunder seemed far away and only a single drop of rain splattered on the glass.
Another splattered against it.
Silently, the overly imaginative boy began rooting on the first drop of rain as it raced against the second down the glass that his father had worked so hard to earn.
Glass was a luxury, after all. He did his best not to play near it, for he was certain that if he broke even a pane, his father would tan his hide so hard he'd look like a completely other person.
The second drop won.
He gave a grunt of disappointment and slid back from the window, out of his chair, and wandered towards the door in what seemed one fluid movement.
There had to be something...
Wait, there was an idea! They wouldn't be so mad if he used a sheet, right? Paint on the floor would spell a beating for sure, but maybe he could wriggle out of it if the paint splatters fell on a blanket?
It was worth a shot and would certainly beat the boredom. He had just spent about an hour "rain drop racing" after all. He'd go nuts without something to do, soon!
The ever creative, albeit troublemaking child slipped down the hallway and pulled a blanket from the closet. It wasn't the nicest they owned, so they couldn't be mad at him. Right?
He hurried to the second floor study, where many of his learning things were kept. There, he spread out the dusty, old blanket. It covered a good portion of the floor and he bustled about, setting up the easel he would use to paint. He was about to apply brush to canvas, when suddenly a strange and terrifying noise broke his concentration.
It sounded like... A train? There weren't any trains near his home. A train... And it was coming right for him! At least that was what it sounded like! Panic tore through him, as well as doubt and the horrible urge to piss himself.
He was unsure of just what to do. He didn't know what was making the noise. Only one thing was sure, if he didn't find someplace safe, he would certainly die.
The spry, short youngster was quick to race down the stairwell, heading straight for the basement. The only safe place, in his mind, was the barrel. He had spent many a lazy afternoon hiding there from both his parents and Flossy. He hadn't ever been found there, yet. They never bothered to look inside the empty, old thing.
He slipped in and pulled the lid back over hastily.
Just then the world around him fell apart completely. He felt things moving, striking, shaking. It felt almost as if he were flying. If this was what it felt like being in the air, he never wanted to ever board an airship.
And suddenly the world was completely black, darker than it had been inside the barrel moments ago. It was silent, also.
He was unconscious.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 12:53 am
__ ________ Fearing the Rain ________ __ "Poo-tee-weet?"
His head hurt.
"Poo-tee-weet?"
A bird sang somewhere and his head hurt. His eyes slitted slightly and the pain intensified as light poured into his groggy eyes. He leaned his head back. Someone was crying.
His mother was crying?
He forced some sort of effort into lifting his head and opening his eyes fully this time. Searing light blurred his vision. Rubble slowly came into focus. Rubble. Splinters from the barrel. The barrel? It was all around him.
And...
Blood?
Bright and red. All over. Blood. Oh?
He felt nauseated. And suddenly pain was in his leg. He hadn't noticed it until he saw the blood. And his leg. Something was sticking out of it.
Bone was sticking out of it.
And it was dark again. He fell back, unconsciousness claiming him yet again.
And it kept him for a full night and day. When he came to the next evening, he was alone in a strange room. The bed was comfortable, yet every inch of him ached horribly and his leg hurt something awful. It took him some time to realize just where he was, as he had only seen this room once before. He was at a neighbor's house, in the bedroom of their eldest daughter.
Was she okay?
He found out later that she was. She and her middle sister were sharing a room with their youngest sister. He was in her room, his parents were in the middle sister's room.
He also found out that many were not nearly as fortunate than he. His father told him while giving him some sort of medication to kill the pain. Many other townsfolk had been crushed by debris that the tornado had tossed around. Others had been carried off completely. Though his leg was broken, his father told him, they were lucky. All three of them were still alive.
As for Flossy... Well, she wasn't. His father didn't tell him that part. The boy was already to distressed as it was. He didn't need to know that yet.
After his father left the room to join his wife in one on the floor below, the boy sank into the fluffy pillows that had been provided.
And he wept. The memories of his most terrifying experience slowly came to him as he tried to sleep. He sobbed quietly into his pillow, unable to make sense of the pain and terror that had come out of nowhere.
Was he a bad child?
Did he do something wrong?
Was this God's way of punishing him? He wasn't sure... Then again, many others had died, too. Did they all do something bad? Was it his fault?
Hot tears stained his cheeks and reddened his eyes.
"Hush, dear... Hush. Everything will be fine."
He sniveled soundly and wiped his arm across his red, tear streaked face. There was a voice? He couldn't recognize it, as it sounded completely different from the individuals that he knew. Yet it was distinctly female.
"Don't you worry your head. Try and get some sleep. Things will be better, you'll see." The voice repeated and he seemed to get a glimpse of something he couldn't quite explain. Feathers were distinct, ranging from vibrant reds, blues, and golds to drab grays and whites. Fur. A long neck. Hooves.
He couldn't explain it, exactly, but it reminded him of the daemons at his parents sides.
"Are you... My daemon?" His voice was hoarse, weaker than he had imagined he would of sounded.
"Yes... And I am here for you, now. You won't be alone ever. I'll always be right at your side."
An immense wave of relief washed over the terrified Constance and he found his eyelids drooping heavily. The protection that the comforting voice offered was enough to warm his heart and ease his mind for the time being. At least enough for him to get some decent rest. Not to mention her comforting tone had let his body give in to the medication that had been administered.
He wouldn't be alone, anymore...
"Rest well, Constance."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 1:20 am
__ ________ In Trouble... ________ __ He hadn't been at the college for long...
Only a month or so, anyways. He was also among the youngest group of students. He wasn't exactly settling in quickly, though he found himself thirsting for comradeship. This was, in part, due to his rather territorial nature.
This was also the reason why he was sitting in detention.
The boy's freckle-flecked face burned in embarrassment as he sat alone in one of the instructor's offices. He had been given some sort of paper to write repeatedly, as well as instruction to write a formal apology to the other student.
But it was their fault.
Not his.
Right?
"Connie, get to it, will you?" A voice in the back of his mind groaned irritably, feeling just as much embarrassment as the boy. He had grown accustom to her nagging at him to get his tasks done, if only because she enjoyed being out and about just as much as he. Sitting in a room with little to do than read or study was bor-riiiiing.
He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.
it must of been her. In the swirling mass he could detect a few animals. Most of which he knew of first had or had read about in the massive library that his father had owned. It was gone, now. The winds had taken it away.
The thought sent a shudder down his spine.
"Tch, I'm going, I'm going." He replied with just as much irritation, but the page was only half written. A slightly amused look seemed to cross the daemon's face as she peered down at the paper. Her neck was long, as was her face. There seemed to be hooves...
"Besides, I shouldn't even be in here! He ought not of taken my pens! I need those! They're mine! I draw with them!" He fumed soundly, and as he did so, the form of the ever shifting daemon seemed to change. It appeared slightly more clearly.
There was a distinct beak, but not much color. She was gray. And small.
"Connie, you're right, he should have asked. Shame on him for touching our stuff." She griped back, feathers ruffled. Yet she seemed to change again. The long, furry face was back. She didn't appear very amused.
"But you also shouldn't of hit him. That was pretty bad, kay? That's why you are in here."
"But he shouldn't of taken them! I spent my own money on them." He gave a deflated sigh and put pencil to paper, scribbling out a few more forced words. His mind began to wander, as it often did. But this time, as he calmed down, it focused on the figure beside him.
Two of the forms he had recognized. There were a few more, of course, all wings and hooves here, but these two were distinct. Knowing already about the nature of both, he could only speculate.
The furry creature was a llama. He had seen a few in the town he had grown up in. They were funny creatures, tall and stocky. They spit, too. That was kind of gross and he couldn't help but feel slightly repulsed at the thought of being spit on. Yet the llama had many redeeming features. They were strong creatures, sturdy and hardy. That gave him some hope...
And the small bird. He had seem them, as well. It was a tough little bird that had acclimated to several climates. He had seen them often in the towns and in the gardens. He knew off hand that they were territorial.
They repeated other birds well, but were very territorial. He had seen them assault cats and dogs, as well as other birds.
Maybe he was like that to? He certainly had been quite furious when the other boy had swiped his pens from his desk.
Those were his.
"Connnnniiiiiiiieeeeee, please? This place is dull. You know it's dull. It's making you unhappy."
"Fine, fine. I'm working, see?" The boy grumbled, but a soft smile flickered across his face as he put pencil to paper yet again. Maybe he could paint later. That'd be fun. He'd paint something beautiful, maybe the trees in the snow. It was lovely outside, with all that flawless white in the areas less traveled.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 1:37 am
__ ________ ... Again? ________ __ "They need to give me more space."
He spoke in a matter of fact tone as brush slid easily across canvas. He had calmed down, fortunately, since his last little run in with yet another classmate. This one had been sharing a dorm with him, but that was no more. He was being moved to another.
This one already had two other people in it, so he wasn't exactly thrilled. Maybe he would like them better, though. Maybe they would respect his space and property a little bit more.
There was nothing he hated more than someone who invaded his space and messed with his things.
"You just need to get out a little more, integrate a little more. You want friends, I know it." His daemon shifted from one paw to another. She was red. He could make out that much. A very pretty red. A macaw. He wasn't sure at first, but now he was certain. They were such beautiful birds. So intelligent. And very much flock based, he knew that. Part of him felt proud that she was showing such color within her.
But she didn't hold it for long.
Instead, the little gray bird was back, reds turning dark and beak growing shorter and weaker.
But she was still beautiful, in his opinion. Little did he realize that he thought himself was beautiful. Thought didn't reach that quite yet.
"Yeah, I know... I just... I don't feel quite settled yet, y'know?"
"Well... There is a ball coming up. Why don't you ask a pretty girl out? I know you've been thiiiiinkiiiiing about it!" She teased him, her voice trilling and warbling musically.
"Oh, come off it, Ringo." He snorted indignantly, though a playful smile streaked across his lips. He slid the brush across again, adding a wee bit of blue to the lovely, snowy atmosphere he had been creating on the canvas.
"Ringo, is it?"
"Huh?"
"You called me Ringo?"
"Oh... Well, I guess it fits. It was something I just thought of. Derringo. Do you like it?"
"I do, you just surprised me, is all." She shifted yet again. The swirling mass seemed to adopt a furry face, long ears, and the distinct patters of a donkey. That appearance elongated to the llama yet again.
"Then that's what I'm gonna call you." He replied in a matter of fact tone. In the distance he added a small, orange flame. It was in a street light. It was beautiful, in his eyes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 2:14 am
__ ________ Seeking Comfort in Song ________ __ Thunder peeled in the distance...
The boy had spent most of the day inside. He hadn't noticed dreary weather on the horizon, mostly due to the fact that he had been in his room, whistling away as he worked on some form of craft or another. He would soon be gone from this particular dorm room within a few day's time and his roommate had been avoiding him like the plague since their last little incident.
He still had a black eye, given to him by the scrawny, awkward youth with the bum leg during their altercation.
He was off visiting another friend, thank heavens. Else he might of seen Constance at his weakest. He wasn't sure if he would of been able to live down the older, larger boy seeing him in a state of panic. He hadn't been expecting this, for thunderstorms in the winter time are a very rare thing.
He didn't know why they didn't happen, for he had little knowledge about the science behind weather, but he did know it was just something that didn't happen.
So when the thunder peeled, he jumped back from his table, sending clips of paper and gobs of paste splattering over the surface. His eyes widened and the song he had been singing to himself was completely forgotten.
Cold sweat clung to his frame and he began to shake.
"Connie? Constance?"
She was there, as she had promised months and months ago. Less than a year ago, before he had come to Jaradin College.
"Breathe, Constance. Deep breaths. It'll be fine." Worry was in her voice as she swirled into being at the boy's side. There was that thick fur, again, and that huge size. That llama. Gray. Red. White. Gray. Brown. Colors swirled together as panic seeped into her own thoughts, but she struggled to remain strong for her boy.
He needed her.
"R-r-rr-ringo, I don't like it!" He stuttered as he backed away from the table and window. The thunder rang out again, followed by a streak of lightening. It looked eerie and beautiful at the same time, reflecting off of the snow he had admired only a few days before.
"It'll be fine, you'll see. Go, get under the covers. Get warm. I'll sit with you. We can sing a song." She nudged him gently with a large beak. It was black and hooked, but he hardly felt more than a brush of air. She hadn't settled yet, after all.
He slid into his bed and drew his covers up over his head. He was shaking like a leaf. She was worried. This was that feeling, like last time. He wasn't getting better, yet. Storms still did him like this.
"Poo-tee-weet! Poo-tee-weet!" She sang softly, the sound from birds he had often seen at home. She was small and gray again, her beak was short, not hooked.
"You remember that song that you liked? Why don't you sing it. You've such a pretty voice, boy."
He gulped soundly as another rumble, this one closer, sounded.
And he began to sing:
"Ll-ll-life lll-ll-let us ch-ch-cherish while yet the taper glows,
And the fresh flowret pluck ere it close.
hy are we fond of toil and care,
Why choose the rankling thorn to wear,
And heedless by the Lilly stray,
Which blossoms in our way."
He stuttered anxiously, though the sound of his own voice and the voice of his daemon, for she had started to sing along with him, brought him ease.
"Life let us cherish while yet the taper glows
And the fresh flowret pluck ere it close.
When clouds obscure the atmosphere
And forked lightnings rend the air,
The Sun resumes his silver crest,
And suller adorn the west."
Another crack of lighting, another peel of thunder, and tears squeezed from his clenched eyes as he focused hard on keeping calm and composed. Hopefully the other boy did not return...
"Life let us cherish while yet the taper glows
And the fresh flowret pluck ere it close.
Away with every toil and care,
And cease the rankling thorn to wear,
With manful hearts life’s conflict meet,
Till Death sounds the retreat.
Life let us cherish while yet the taper glows
And the fresh flowret pluck ere it close."
The pair sang it several times, until the thunder and the lightening came to a stop.
He thought of her forms and knew that they were all a vital part of himself. The little bird was the music, his chattiness, and his general eagerness. She had seen him through past dark times and would in the future. The donkey expressed his hardiness, as well as his laziness and stubbornness when he really did not feel like doing something. The llama, he was certain that was his ever sociable side, though he too was sure it contributed to some of his aggressiveness. And the Macaw and the gray parrot, those had to of been his creative sides. Maybe they showed some of his destructive sides as well, but he'd rather not dwell on that, especially at the moment...
If anything good came of the storm, at least his mother wouldn't be mad about her paint stained sheet.
It didn't exist anymore.
Ringo told him so.
He slipped into a light sleep, exhausted by riding out the storm.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2009 1:51 pm
__ ________ Final Gift ________ __ She had lived for a while after that particular, fateful storm.
Not for long, but for a little while, Constance did not know this until a day or two later. The ill nanny had been out and about when the weather took a turn for the worse, despite the nasty cold she had picked up. She was running a quick errand for her husband, who had also taken ill. Being the better one off, she had gone into town to see what she could come up with to help them both rest more easily.
The poor, young woman hardly stood a chance when debris began to fly and a large plank of wood bashed her hard in the side.
He was taken to visit her, leg bound tightly in a cast and he stuck firmly in a wheel chair, once he learned that she still lived. He was adamant about it, ever so firm. He had a temper and could be mighty stubborn and hardheaded when he wanted to be.
Did he really want to see her in that state?
No.
But he couldn't just sit by and not give her a proper visit, especially if she... Passed on.
She had been resting on a pallet of blankets and pillows in the main room of her small home. She clung desperately at the thin threads of life that still remained, but clearly wouldn't be holding on for much longer.
Her face was badly bruised on one side, and that was the most extent of the damage he could see, as the rest was hidden by clothing and layers of blankets. The young woman was sweating and her eyes seemed almost glazed over. Deep circles beneath those glazed eyes gave her a dead, forlorn, and broken appearance. She seemed far more gaunt than he last remembered...
Her voice had been like a hiss of steam, soft and almost inaudible, as he shared his last words with her.
She had been so much like a mother to him, in place of the ever busy woman who had brought him into the world.
Tears stained his cheeks as he listened and spoke with care, promising her that he would do what he could. That he would behave best he could. That he would attend the school his parents had been speaking of. His little daemon was unseen to her, but from what she had heard, the little voice was beginning to manifest. His parents had spoken of that, too.
And before he gave her a farewell hug and kiss on the cheek, he passed something to him.
It was something she had scrimped and saved for many months, something that had been meant as a present for the dear boy when his birthday came the next month.
She had decided to give it to him now. As cheerful as she tried to remain, she could feel her own life ebbing slowly from her body.
It was a small parcel, wrapped in a blue hued paper. It was tied together with a single, white ribbon.
It was the first set of paints he had received since the storm, and the only he would receive well until after his arrival. But he always kept that ribbon close at hand, curled in his pocket or satchel.
Even now, as he sat in his new dorm room, he held the smooth, silk ribbon in his hands and ran his fingers over it, seeking comfort.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri May 28, 2010 6:33 pm
__ ________ I Want to Do This For You! ________ __ Constance was asleep...
That was a good thing! He might have been, but she was still awake. Ringo was alert, albeit a bit sluggish as her boy slept fitfully in the bed that had been provided for him in his dorm room. It was summer and the semester was over, but the boy opted to stay on campus, instead of journeying home for their vacation.
She had taken on her first stage of settling not too terribly long ago. She was small, though she was certain she ought to be at least a little bit larger, and perched on thin, dark legs as she peered curiously over his slumbering form. Her little claws hardly made an indent in the sheet that covered his puny, thin frame.
A single, beady eye shifted across a thin, white ribbon that the boy was fond of. She knew what it was. It was something of great value to him, a gift from his nanny, who had not died too terribly long ago. It had a calming effect on him, something she wished she could do as well. She was calming and comforting, yes...
But if she could provide her own abilities, combined with the white ribbon... Well, then she could be double the comfort, right? She settled down beside him and pecked at the ribbon with her small, gray beak. She could feel it... It was heavy.
Very.
She parted her beak and tried to lift it.
Yep, heavy.
As he slumbered on, she worked hard to lift the thin, silky object. People made it look too easy! Far to easy! She wanted nothing but to help him and continued, well into the night.
"I'm doing this for you, Connie-boy."
She sighed and shifted hesitantly, a blur of fur and feathers, until she settled on a slightly larger form. Gray feathers still, but flashes of red, blue, orange, all sorts of vibrant things peaked through as she tried using clawed feet to pick up the thing, instead of a small beak.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
