Hey guys, long time no see! War Maiden is on hold at the moment but no need to fear because I have come up with something to work on until I can continue that. I'm not really sure what this is at the moment, whether it will be a short story kind of thing or a novel. It just kind of popped into my head and I started writing it down. This is part one of the story so, uh, tell me what you think. Hope to update it soon enough, if you guys like it of course. I plan to submit it to my writing club so give your honest opinion.
Darkness. That is what greets me when I open my eyes. Pitch black, no source of light to be found and nothing to be seen. My surroundings are unknown, much like many other things. Slowly realizing that I am awake, living, breathing, the gears in my head begin to turn and questions manifest. Where am I? How did I get here? What is my name? My age? Why is it so dark?
All very good questions ones I know not the answers to. It seems my mind is completely blank of information. I can remember nothing of my past. Not one tiny detail. Amnesia. At least I know what that is. Now I have a name for what I am experiencing but still I need answers to my countless questions.
I realize I am sitting up, cross legged. Looking around, though the action is pointless, I wonder how much room I have. I stretch my arms out before me. Feeling nothing but empty space, I lean forward, reaching out, expecting something the tips of my fingers to touch solid wall at any moment. But nothing. Giving up on that, I sit up straight and reach behind me. Like before, I lean backwards though the results are different this time. After a moment of leaning, the tips of my fingers are stopped by a wall of stone, rough and cold to the touch. I press my palms to the newly discovered barrier to be sure it is real. Yes, it is real alright. It steals the heat from my body and I shiver as goose bumps erupt on my skin. I remove my hands from the wall and rub my arms instead, trying to warm up again. I think it strange how the wall is so cold yet the rest of the room feels completely normal. Then again, this whole situation is strange.
Looking around once more, I sigh. This noise triggers a response; movement on the other side of the room. I look in the direction of the sound, far in front of me and to the right I think, but there is nothing but darkness to be seen.
“Is someone else here?” a small frightened voice asks. It sounds like it belongs to that of a young girl, but I cannot be sure
I hesitate to answer. “I am here,”
“W-who are you?”
“Lavinia,” The name leaves my lips without a moment of thought, naturally, as if I’ve known it the whole time. “Who are you?”
“Amarantha,”
The name tugs at something in the back of my mind but I’m not sure what. Memories perhaps. It is not enough to trigger something though.
“Lavinia,” the girl repeats softly. “Your name sounds familiar.”
“So does yours,” I say. “Maybe we know each other.”
“Maybe,” Amarantha says, though she sounds uncertain.
“Do you remember anything Amarantha?” I ask. I want her to keep talking so I can follow the sound of her voice.
“No, just my name.” she replies. As she speaks, I start to crawl on my knees, reaching about blindly. She continues as I do. “I don’t know where I am or how I got here or anything. I hope I remember soon though. It’s scary not knowing and-” She lets out a terrified squeal as my fingers brush her knee.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” I say, smiling lightly. I am glad to find she is real and not some strange voice in my head as I had briefly feared.
“Oh,” Amarantha breathes, obviously still terrified. A sigh of longing escapes her lips. “I wish I could see.”
“Me too,” I say, sitting beside her. As I cross my legs, I feel something in the pocket of the jeans I am wearing. I reach in and pull something out. It rests in the palm of my hand, small and box shaped. The surface is smooth, metal I think. I run my fingers along the sides and find that it has a cap. I flick it open and suddenly, a flame appears in the total darkness, illuminating the face of the girl next to me and small portion of the area around me. A lighter, I think. How convenient. Staring at the little object, I noticed two letters engraved on the front. L and A. For a moment I wonder if they are my initials then something strange occurs, interrupting my thoughts.
I am looking up into the eyes of an older man in his mid-thirties, early forties maybe. He has a rather unkempt look about him with his dark brown hair a mess and stubble on his face. A friendly smile occupies his lips and he is looking at me as if soaking it all in, committing every feature to memory.
“I have something for you,” he says after a moment.
“You didn’t have to get anything for me.” I tell him but curiosity overcomes me as he digs in his pocket. “What is it?”
He pulls out a small metal box engraved with the letters L and A.
“A lighter,” he explains, flicking it open and lighting the flame. He lets it flicker a moment before closing it, extinguishing the flame. I reach out for it but he holds it close to his chest. “Remember, this is not a toy. I don’t want your mother yelling at me because you set the house on fire.”
I nod, making him smile. He sets the lighter in my turned up palm and I curl my fingers around it protectively. I look up at him with a smile before hugging him tightly.
“Thank you Daddy,” I say resting my head on his chest.
He smiles and hugs me back. “You’re welcome sweetheart,”
For a few moments, we stand like this, neither of us wanting to let go. Then my father sighs and the warm hug comes to an end. He looks down at me with a sad smile, his light gray eyes fixated on my face, memorizing it again.
“Be good to your sister now,” he tells me, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. “And remember, in the darkness you can always find light.”
He winks at me before lighting a cigarette with his own lighter. He takes a drag then breathes the smoke out from his mouth. I close my eyes and smile as the smell envelopes me. The smell of my father.
When I open my eyes, I am back to the present; sitting in a strange stone room next to a young girl named Amarantha, but the smell of smoke still seems to linger in my nostrils for a moment. Feeling Amarantha’s gaze, I look at her. She is staring at me with the same light gray eyes as the man in my vision. No, flashback would be a better word. Memory. And the man had been my father. I remember him mentioning a sister and wonder if this girl, Amarantha, could be her.
“Where did you get that?” she asks, pointing to the lighter.
“My father,” I reply, standing.
I raise the flame above my head, casting the light over a wider area. The room we are in is dungeon like with four stone walls, one of which has a pair of rusty chains hanging from it. I am glad I did not wake attached to those I can touch the stone ceiling with my fingertips if I stand on the tips of my toes, not that it really matters. A heavy iron door serves as the only entrance and exit, undoubtedly locked from the other side. I see no obvious way out, not that I had expected to but there is always that sliver of hope. However, I do see an old oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. I go to it, open the compartment, and light the flame. It does a much better job at illuminating the room than my measly little lighter does. Now with a new and better source of light, I close the cap of my lighter, extinguishing the flame, and slide it back into my pocket.
Smiling lightly, I sit down once more beside Amarantha. Now that the lamp is on, I can see her better. I am surprised to find she is covered in small injuries; a healing cut on her lowers lip, a large bruise on her forehead and hairline, and small cuts along her arms and legs.
“How did you get those cuts?” I ask curiously.
“What cuts?” she asks before checking herself. She examines her arms and legs, clearly surprised to find the small injuries.
“You have one on your lower lip too,” I point out. “And a bruise on your forehead.”
She licks her lip, finding the cut with her tongue, then touches the bruise on her forehead. She doesn’t even flinch as she touches the tender black and blue skin which I find strange. Wouldn’t a bruise like that hurt? And the cuts, wouldn’t they hurt too?
“Well you have a cut on your cheek.” Amarantha says finally.
My first thought is that she is lying but as I touch my cheeks, I realize she isn’t. I run my fingers along my right cheek finding a long cut there. It feels fresh and hasn’t started scabbing over yet. I press down on the cut. No pain. Curious. I look down at myself, examining the rest of my body. My hands are covered with jagged little cuts. My jeans are torn in multiple places but mainly at the knees which are raw and bloody. What on earth had I been doing? The strangest thing about these injuries is the fact that I feel no pain from them, none what so ever. Not even my knees hurt. Why is that? It seems Amarantha is the same because she keeps touching that bruise without showing any sign of feeling.
“That doesn’t hurt?” I ask just to be sure.
She shakes her head. “Not at all,” she replies.
“Hm,” I say thoughtfully, my gaze drifting around the room as I try to think of why that is.
Were we born this way? Have we always been like this and I just can’t remember or did something recently take place to make us immune to pain? And what had caused these injuries? Oh so many questions. My mind is spinning with them, searching for answers but finding none. Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by the clank of metal. Amarantha and I both look to the door as it is unlocked from the outside. Quickly, I jump up and blow out the oil lamp, fearing whoever is keeping us here might figure out I have a lighter and confiscate it. A stream of light floods the room as the door slowly opens with a creak. It stops, open just enough for me to squeeze through. But before I can try anything or the sort, something is thrown into the dungeon and shuts it with a bang that echoes. As the door is locked again, I take out my lighter and flick it open once more. I look over at the figure on the ground as it stirs. Unable to make out what it is, I step closer to get a better look. I stop in my tracks as it rises from the ground and turns to me. By the light of my flame, I can just barely make out what it is; a teenage boy.
