Sunday, May 20, 2012

New Story Thing?

Uh. This won't be continued, but....yeah?  I wrote this to put off homework.  It's in second person because this one line "Your name is Thalia Circe, and you're the best there is." popped into my head and wouldn't get out.  And...well.  Thalia seems to die a lot in situations like these, and I wanted her to not die for once :P So I tried my hand at writing second-person action. Not the best, but hey, it's something to post.

Thal's brother is so crazy.  I may be rewriting Pushing Up Daisies, but Finn is still the same psycho.

You dive into the drivers seat, shove the key in the ignition, and floor it.

You can't remember the last time you drove a car, and you are certain you've never driven something this modern or fancy. But that doesn't matter right now. You know the big wheel in front of you makes it turn, and that's all you need to know.

One thing you have to give your brothers hit men credit for is that they are excellent drivers with good taste in cars. You've played countless hours of Mario Kart Wii with March and Mirtil, but as you nearly roll over rounding a corner, you realize that it's not the same thing at all.

Someone leans out of the car in front of you, holding something in his hand. You frown, trying to make out what it is. Then there's three bangs in quick succession, and you scream and duck as the bullets shatter the windshield. You wrench the steering wheel to the side and start zigzagging across the road. Curses fly out of your mouth. The man looks slightly stunned.

If the car didn't belong to your psychotic brother, you would be sorry about the windshield. But it does and you're not.

You suddenly realize where the van in front of you is going. You've been on this road so many times that you didn't even take the time to look at your surroundings. Your hands clench tighter on the wheel, your knuckles going white. You don't know what prompted the random attack from your brother, you don't know why his consorts are going this way and if there are some already there, and you don't have time to think about it because all you can think is The Manor, the Manor, the Manor and your heart goes into overdrive.

You slide down in your seat as the man fires at your head again. You fumbled with the glove box with one hand, trying to pull it open. Finally the latch comes undone and you see that your hunch was right. You grab the steering wheel and pull the car straight, right behind the other one. Then you grab the revolver and start shooting.

You've never been the best shot, preferring to fight with your hands and sword. Trying to drive and shoot at the same time is only making your aim worse. But against all odds, one of your bullets hits the man's hand just as he fires again, and he drops the gun, howling in pain. There's a burning in your shoulder and you're very aware of the blood soaking your shirt and jacket, but you can't feel the pain. A hysterical laugh escapes your lips because a bullet just grazed you and there's glass lodged in your arm and you don't care. Adrenaline does funny things with nerves.

You're getting close to Elysium Asylum now. Apparently, the hit men notice too, because they accelerate. You push the car as harder, and the distance is closing, but you won't be able to swerve around and get next to the other car. The gates are visible now, and you're so panicked and confused and high on adrenaline that you just say screw it to the world and crash the cars.

Everything after that – at least how you will remember it – is like a slow motion action shot in a movie. You fling open the door and half roll, half fall out of it. A wheel just barely misses your head. There's a bang and a screech. You look around just as the mess that used to be two cars skids into a tree and something catches fire. A very wounded looking man drags himself from the wreckage and starts hobbling away as fast as he can go.

Another thing you're obliged to give the hit men credit for – they are incredibly durable.

This close to the manor you can hear that there's already a fight going on, but your side is winning easily. You're probably going to fall over soon, you know it, but you feel the need to finish your part. Somehow, your sword is still in your hand. You don't question it, and instead push yourself to your feet, swaying.

Someone calls your name and you start running – in the opposite direction. Your footsteps are heavier than usual, and for the first time the man notices that you're there. He lets out a strangled squeak and starts limping faster. Even if you catch up to him, you know you won't have the energy to take him down in hand-to-hand fight, no matter how wounded he is. He's just too big, and you're just too tired. So you skid to a halt, pull your sword out of it's sheath, and throw it like a frisbee.

The sword spins wildly through the air, and for one terrible moment, you think that you've missed. But then your weapon sticks in his back, and he drops to the ground, dead, you think, or as good as.

You turn around and start limping back to the Manor, suddenly feeling very drained. The gates are open now, and you know that the fight in there is over, too. Some of your friends are standing there, battered and bloody, but nothing too serious, which you're glad to see.

They're all staring at you like you just tried to eat your foot. Even though you're half soaked in your own blood and you're about to topple over, you still manage to feel proud enough of yourself to give them a lopsided grin and a jaunty salute.

Your name is Thalia Circe, and you're the best there is.


I have no idea how you drive a car, to be honest, or why there was an attack on Elysium Asylum.  There just was :P


Thursday, May 17, 2012

Harry Potter Poem

Tell me it isn't true.  Tell me it hasn't been two months since I posted some writing.  Tell me it hasn't been almost five months since I uploaded a decent sized story.

Uggghhh ;__; I am so ashamed of myself.  I have no idea what happened and I have no excuse.  I've been aware of this, but it hasn't really...hit me until right about now.  So naturally, I flailed around with my documents for a while before realizing a few things: 1) The next part of Pushing Up Daisies is nowhere near done, 2) My Sherlock fanfiction is not ready for posting, and 3) This is the only semi-decent thing I have to post.  It's a whole poem based off ONE LINE in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban where Hermione indicates that she doesn't like to fly, from Hermione's perspective.  I wrote it for school.  It's...not a good poem.  But I hope you take it anyway and allow me just a little more time to get my head together and whip up some fanfiction for you all.

I really, really don't like flying
But I do suppose it's better than dying
Oh God, Harry, it doesn't matter, we're going to die
Why does getting places involve having to fly?

The stars are spinning, can this really be possible?
Does flying always feel this way? It's so improbable!
I'm holding on so tight, I'm surprised you're still breathing
This is terrifying, my chest is heaving

Has it been seconds? Hours? Everything has slowed down!
I can't remember what it's like to have my feet on the ground
But I'd be lying if I said this isn't at least a little fun
I'm quite tired, and it's almost over and done

We've cheated time, broken the rules once again
I wouldn't have done it if you weren't my friend
We're saving two innocent souls from death row
Is this how every school year is going to go?

Harry, you should know, I'm no longer sure of my stomach contents
Can we please now begin our descent?
The world is starting to look like a bunch of slurred paint
My dizziness is showing no constraint

Is Buckbeak going to be able to hold the three of us?
I know there's no time to worry, though, escape is a must!
The adrenaline is rushing, we're all jacked up so high
How can I call myself a witch if I'm afraid to fly?

Stay awesome, bloggers <3