A Story

Much shorter submission than I originally intended but, I wanted to make sure I met the deadline so I had to cut some of the content or I would  have never been able to finish it in time.  Maybe later, I can add more details to the battle



Genre: War, any, past,  present or future.
Length: 1250 words
Due: Wed. Aug. 31st. 8:30 EST.







      "I would have been considered old by your standards, I had not yet reached my 200th winter", he pauses, a distant look in is alien eyes, the irises blue and charcoal gray where white should have shown.

     Great!  Just what I need another wacko washed out thespian.  Oh well, no need to waste the opportunity for a nice drink and cigar.  "Ya don't say", I flash him what I hope is an encouraging grin, while, leaning back in my chair puffing my cigar alight.

     "Our land, was one riddled with constant strife, with one faction or another seeking to dominate and subject  the others to their rule.  The council, while respected, had little real power.  More figurehead, than governing body, assassination had become a very real threat."  He pauses again, taking a sip of some dark concoction, with a faint smack of his lips he resumes his tale, oblivious to the rolling of my eyes at his theatrics.  "It was not long before war erupted, a half dozen warlords vying for the opportunity to take control of all of Viscattia.  The council attempted to intercede but, only succeeded in convincing the various factions to wage their war in a shielded environ, the populace would be spared, wanton destruction and slaughter."

     "Some of the greatest mages and warriors of an era were summoned by one warlord or another."  He stands up and begins to pace back and forth in front of our table, drawing the attention of some of the more curious patrons.  He stops in mid-stride, running the palm of one large swarthy hand down the length of his face.  "All assumed the battle would be waged as a six-sided affair but, almost right from the beginning the noble and just stood opposite the vile and the wicked.  Old enmities, rehashed anew upon this crime or that slight.  A shout, preceded the first of many magical barrages, a dull, black, spiked warhammer creased the entire side of a warrior's helm, blood sprayed forth from the punctures created by the spikes.  As the battle raged on all sides, it quickly became apparent that the bowl shaped terrain allowed little room for retreat."  He sits back down, elbows on the table, his hands on the top of his head.

     "From sunrise to dusk, did the battle rage, surrender was supposed to be an option, however, I planned on giving no quarter, nor did I expect any in return."  He pauses again, looks up and taking hold of his mug and upending the drink down his throat, before pounding the mug to the table.


     "Blood and Offal lapped lazily against my calf as I attempted to gain a better vantage point, while, raising myself out of the red creek the battlefield had become.  I had hoped, just maybe, Caralegis and I were the sole survivors but, then I spied Dezinegen regain his feet.  He looked like nothing so much then as something out of a child's  nightmare, as his dark, lank hair dripped scarlet slime and added to the rivulets of red that ran down the various parts of his face.  His semi-permanent rictus grin made me wonder for about the tenth time in that day if he still truly lived or had become some pallid flesh wearing lich.  I did not know, nor did I care, for he raised his arms above his head, hands spread and looked as though he was prepared to cast his vile reanimation spell a third time."  He pauses, appearing to stare off into space, "his second cast of that horrible incantation..." he shakes his head from side to side, as if to rid himself of the images jumping to the forefront of his mind.  "The horror etched on the combatants faces as their slain compatriots arose from the grave and began to slay both friend and foe alike.  It seemed Dezinegen was ready to sacrifice any and everything to become supreme warlord of the realm.  Gray skeletal forms strode through that milling mass as well and provided proof that that particular arena had known war before.

     "STOP!  LOOK AROUND YOU, TOO MANY HAVE DIED!"

     "I stood there amidst the carnage of a landscape littered with the remains of close to a hundred thousand and looked into the eyes of what I considered death itself.  I bent knee in the scarlet sludge that lapped at my legs like water at the shore of a lake in supplication to Dezinegen's authority and saw Caralegis hesitate before she did the same.

End of the line

I'm back like I left somethin', ha ha!  Seriously, I ask any readers to bear with me while I'm in the mist of perfecting a new writing process.  I'm not complaining about it because, the process makes it easier to write, however, the frame work lends itself to the story almost taking on a life of its own and the story starts to become unmanageable.  That said, I hope you like it.  Constructive criticism is always welcome! Part 2 Coming Soon

Prompt: A story about unrest.
Genre: Open
Word Count: 1500 words (or fewer).
Deadline: Thursday August 18th 2011 8:30 PM EST

From the website -International Business Times:  London Riots 2011 Frightening Pictures

     ".... and for the third night in a row, the city of London is on fire, literally.  Jack could you tell us what the..."  A tense silence settles over the room, as he powers the television off, while turning on his heel, to return to his seat on the edge of the desk.  Looking down, his elbow on his thigh, hand pinching the bridge of his nose he breathes, "what's to prevent the same from happening here?"  Bewildered looks, makeup the sole response to his question.

* * * * *

     "This will finally show the agents of this pseudo plutocracy, we can no longer be ignored.  It's time someone struck a blow for the lower classes in this country, for all those who carry the burden of  Washington's burgeoning debt upon their backs."  Her fist thuds down onto the table, rattling various instruments, glinting from the dim light overhead.

     Looking down, Casey scuffs the sole of her shoe on the gritty, steel gray tile, sighing "are you sure the gas will just stun those in its path?"  She whispers, "And not    kill?  I want nothing to do with ..."

     "Be at ease, all the active agents come from current human sedatives, just a few added enzymes to convert the formula to gas", a wry grin crosses her face "have no worries, this will only be shock and awe.  Then we issue our ____demands, encouraging Washington to change its ways or else. "

     Casey grabs the two duffel bags off of the floor and heads for the exit at the west side of the room.  Hmm, I thought they'd be heavier.  Hague's voice projects into the hallway,

     "Make sure you get those to the rendezvous point ASAP, Les has the final components."

     Parking the Enduro dirt bike outside a rented hangar near the Artesia Municipal Airport, she snatches the one duffel bag from the rear of the motorcycle, while leaving the other bag strapped to her back.  She Hesitates before entering the hangar and, tries to remove the apprehension from her visage prior to meeting with Les.  She visibly shivers, man, that guy gives me the creeps.  He always put her in the mind of Albert Einstein on crystal meth.  Shaking her head and trying not to shudder, she steps in, calling out with a loud HELLO!

     Les immediately pops out from behind a large canvas curtain, a faint sulfuric scent wafting from his direction as he approaches the lone entrance into the hangar.  Wearing an impish grin, he reaches for the bags, giving both bags a quick, soft caress before cradling them like a couple of newborns.  She swallows and looks down at her shoes, in order to avoid his maniacal gaze.

     "Now for the magic, hee hee hee hee", his high scratchy voice filling the silence.  "Wait here!"  He disappears back behind the canvas.  Clanks, bangs and clicks follow shortly thereafter, putting her in the mind of a busy auto garage before midday.  She thinks of going to peek around the curtain, her feet already starting to carry her forward towards the nearest edge of the curtain.  A static like flash, accompanying a small pop and a strong stench of acrid smoke, serving to stop her where she stood.  The sound of a faint footfall turns her attention back toward the entrance, she screams as two individuals in all black, faces covered to the eyes, accelerate towards her.  The shorter of the pair backhands her across the mouth, sending her staggering while, his or her partner dashes in the direction of Les and the curtain.  Her assailant gives her one hard look before leg sweeping her to the ground and following in the curtain's direction.

     While, trying to regain her feet, the assailants emerge from around the curtain, running hard, the larger of the two carrying a large hiking/camping style backpack.  Her earlier assailant kicks her in the side of the head, just as she plants her feet to stand erect, sending her sprawling once more.  She finally, manages to regain her feet, shaking her head, she staggers out of the entrance of the hangar, deciding to attempt pursuit of the thieves, rather than check on the well-being of her colleague.  Sand and rocks fly as she witnesses the departure of a late model jeep from the vicinity of the hangar.

     She woodenly, shuffles over to the side of the hangar, just managing to straddle her bike but, struggling to get it start it.  Vruuuuuuuunnnnn, the engine turns over and she takes off down the path in the direction of the escaping vehicle, unsure of what she would do if she managed to overtake the fleeing Jeep.

     The sight of the scene before her, strips her of all thought upon completion of the chase, arriving just a minute or two behind the thieves' Jeep.  Impossible!  The government knows?

     The initial explosions send shock waves through the compound, knocking Casey to the ground and snatching her breath away in an instant.  A glance at many of the buildings in her line of sight reveals a green glowing vapor emanating from fissures opened during the concussive blasts. 

     Pieces of bodies, as well as whole corpses litter the ground in every direction, scattered inside as well as outside of the buildings within the compound.  Scorch marks cover every surface, including a number of the still twitching bodies of men and women wearing both civilian and military attire.  Turning away from the carnage and eerie vaporous fumes, she staggers toward her motorcycle, starting it easily and speeding away into the night.

* * * * *

      "I want the perpetrators, and I want them yesterday.  Send everybody, there is no other priority", his stern look turning inward with each word.  Clasping his hands behind his back he begins pacing the floor of his office as the attendees begin filing out of the door. 

End of Part I