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| The Pacific; Personal Saga | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 15 2017, 07:52 PM (272 Views) | |
| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 07:52 PM Post #1 |
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Fasha
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-----The Attack----- The water ran over her body like a rock in a river. She moved along the surface, her eyes slowly scanning the bottom for prey. The water was cool, soothing her exposed against the heat of the sun. The ocean was clear crystal blue. It was so clear she could see the bottom thirty metres below where huge monsters prowled in deep hidden clefts. She could see one such monster now. It's big grey back made it difficult to spot amongst the rocks, but its sheer size gave it away. It was as big as what the humans called a car, probably weighing about the same. It cruised effortlessly through the water as if it was air and the creature was a plane. Despite its slow pace you could almost feel the power reverberating through the water thirty metres above. Fasha wasn't afraid - she had seen hundreds of these sharks gliding through the water and not once had she been threatened. Fasha was a stringy warrior, and would have made a poor meal for a beast of such a size. She was short, about five foot and five inches and slight. You would not describe her as pretty by any means, but she was athletic and still drew stares from the humans on the street. Her hair was kept short, almost shaved back to her scalp. She had long hair once, but she had learned quickly through broken bones and a bruised body that it would serve your poorly in a fight. She spotted her target, absent-mindedly swimming through some kelp by a rock. It was a beautiful blue fish, with lips as if they were filled with botox. The fish was a gem, a beautiful sapphire - I had to have it, kill it and eat it. Very slowly Fasha took a long deep breath and descended. She had no fins but took long and strong breast strokes, pushing her way down through the water, fighting her bodies' natural buoyancy. Soon her lungs began to squeeze smaller and smaller, and she didn't have to swim. She just sunk deeper and deeper, letting the pressure of the water above push her down to the bottom. She moved slowly, not allowing herself to become excited or the fish nibbling at kelp below. She gripped the spear in her hand tighter, wishing that she had something better to use. It was a long wooden shaft, about six feet in length. The end was sharpened to a point, while the other hand had a thick rubber band attached. She wrapped the rubber band around her hand and pulled it up the shaft, making it taut. Her feet touched down on the rocky bottom and she felt the feeling of elation as she stood erect at the bottom of the ocean. She crouched low and slowly stepped forward, using he hands to help paddle her way through the water. She used a rock ahead for cover, creeping up behind it. Her lungs were starting to burn now, and she could feel the familiar feeling of her lungs contracting, trying to draw in air from nowhere. She peeked over the edge and saw the fish sheltered within the weed. She lined the spear up with where she thought the fishes' brain must be and let go. The spear sprang forward and to her eyes it moved instantaneously to impale the fish. The blow was so sudden and so strong the fish didn't even struggle. It just floated awkwardly, with its eyes wide, frozen in that brief instant of horror as it died. Fasha pushed forward and grabbed the fish and pole. Her lungs were aching with the effort and she had a long way to go back to the surface. She leaped forward onto the rock and pushed off with all her strength. She rose about a metre up, only to feel the gravity push her hard back down. She bag to kick and pull with her arms. Moving slowly up then down towards the surface. Her lungs felt as if they were about to explode and all her body wanted to do was breathe. She had to force her lips tightly closed and fight the impulse. She felt dizzy with exhaustion and were vision was blurry but she continued to climb. At about halfway she began to feel a sense of uneasiness, the kind of feeling you get when somebody is watching you. She glanced down and saw nothing but the rocky hills and dark ocean valleys. The shark was no longer there, cruising along the bottom. As she continued to kick she realized that the water around her was thick with blood. The fish? No the fish was lying lifeless, its blood frozen in its stagnant body. She followed the trail of red mist to her foot. Blood was ebbing from a wound at the bottom - she must have cut it on the coral she realized. Just at that moment her body was thrown sideways with such force she thought she might have broken her spine. She was pushed through the water so fast it was like she was in the white water of a river, water flowing past her face as froth and bubbles. She tried to swim up but she was clamped at the waist. She put her hands down to free herself only to feel the rough sandpaper skin of a beast. Its teeth had sunk deep down into her flesh, anchoring themselves between her ribs. She lashed out with her fist, hoping to try and dissuade the beast away. Her fist caught the shark on its back, uselessly bouncing off and making her feel as if she had just punched a brick wall. Suddenly she was being thrashed about, as if she were a chew toy and the shark was a puppy, a puppy the size of a truck with the strength of a giant. Her head snapped back and forth, feelng like it was about to be torn off. She felt down with her hands to the beast's mouth. She felt along until she could find the soft pulp off its dark eye. The thrashing grew stronger as she jammed her thumb deep down into the ball of fluid. She felt a pop as the eye exploded and then it was still. Fasha opened her eyes to the quiet and saw only red. She couldn't know which way was up and which way was down. By this point her lungs were screaming with pain and her vision was fading to darkness. She scrambled in what felt like the direction to the surface, completely oblivious to the injuries which had raked her body. She burst out onto the surface of the water, wrenching air into her body. She lay there gasping for air, each breath painful in her lungs but such a relief. Gradually she became aware of her surroundings, of the light above, of the water around her. With all of these senses came the pain. It came from the centre of her body, radiating out as if a thousand knives were tearing through her belly and chest at the same time. The pain pulsed like electricity, coursing through her body, causing her to writhe in the water. She splashed towards the canoe which was about twenty metres away, each movement pushing a feeling of agony throughout her body. She grabbed the side, heaved herself over and collapsed inside the boat. Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to force air into her lungs. The pain made it hard to breathe, making her breaths short and sharp. The pain was excruciating, and she knew that the damage must be bad, but she had to look. Her lower body was torn to rags. Her intestines were draping out of her belly and across her groin. Her chest was oddly shaped, her rib bones jutting out at odd angles and her sharp breaths making her chest look even more unusual. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts and bruises from the shark’s rough, sandpaper skin. Thankfully she could still move all of her limbs but it was difficult to sit up. She lay there, gasping in air and trying to bear through the pain. The sun above was baking her body, and she could feel her skin burning and the gashes in her body searing under the heat. She hadn't had water in hours and her mouth was so dry that it hurt to open it. Her lips were cracked and bleeding and her eyes were sore from staring up at the sun. She knew she couldn't lie here much longer, her wounds were mortal and she was far from home. She grasped the rail on the boat and hauled herself up, gritting her teeth. Land was nowhere in sight, but she expected as much. It had taken her the better part of an hour to row out to this reef and had lost the land a long time ago. She knew which way was back, but to find that she would have to follow the sun West. She turned to find the sun, only to see it hovering just above the horizon. It would be dark soon, and with the night came other dangers. She grasped her oar in her hands and dipped it to the water, making long, slow and powerful strokes. Every time she moved she felt the pain ripple through her body like a rolling swell. The Warrior was cold too, her arms turning white and her lips turning blue as she lost more and more blood. Her peripheries were shutting down and it made it that much harder to move that oar. She hadn't eaten since that morning, but right then it felt like days. Her stomach had gone past the point of rumbling. It had shriveled up inside of her waiting for some sort of sustenance. The last time she had water was from her canteen just before she had descended down. Her mouth was so dry it felt like paste, and with every laboured breath the paste just grew thicker. Her hands usually hard and calloused from working at sea were torn and bleeding from where she had lashed out at the beast's sandpaper like skin. If she wasn't feeling so much anguish from the wound on her chest she knew her hands would be on fire. The pain in her body became a companion, urging her forward each time she pulled that stick through the sea. The pain, her friend told her she could, reminded her that she would and when she felt like giving up helped her remember that she was alive, if only just. There was a sharp breeze to the air, causing those small bubbles to rise up on her skin. She was thankful for the breeze, it kept her awake, because she knew if she fell asleep, even for just a second she would never wake again. She paddled for what seemed like hours. By then the sun had gone down and she was making her bearing off nothing but the Southern Cross up in the sky. She knew that the island she sought was east, and so she kept the shining cross to her right as best she could. This was not the best plan however as she knew that she might have drifted some during her dive. She had put down an anchor but even if she had drifted the full length of her one hundred metre rope she could still miss the island completely. Alternatively, she could be pointing the nose of her boat even three degrees off course. Over ten kilometres she again, would miss the island completely. Word count 1962 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 07:53 PM Post #2 |
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Fasha
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----Lost----- The night came and went and with the rising sun she still saw no sign of the island. The day was beautiful and the sea was calm but all around her was nothing but the light blue of the Pacific Ocean. The early morning sun reflected off still mirror-like water creating a golden glow around the world. To anyone else, at any other time the sight would be stunning. It would be something they would tell their kids about, take pictures of and go traveling in the hope of catching a glimpse. While Fasha could see the beauty, she couldn't feel it, because far more overwhelming than this was the fact she was lost. She had been paddling all night, in the direction she thought was home only to have nothing in sight. She had paddled much further and harder than she had on her way out, which means she had either rowed right past the island, or had been going in the complete wrong direction. Now there was absolutely no way of knowing which direction to turn to. She slumped back onto her raft. She looked up into the clear blue sky above and thought of home. It was somewhere out there, thousands of light years away and nothing but a collection of lost hopes and memories. Her families' ashes were out there somehow, floating aimlessly in the infinite darkness along with her hope of seeing them again. She had fled that planet when it had needed her most, running to save her own life while her commander and comrades stood to face the Evil. It had come down upon them and ordered them to kneel. Ordered a race of warriors to kneel. They stood and fought, like they always had and always would and it had cost all of them their lives. The Evil had swatted away thousands of them with nothing but a flick of its' wrist. Just like that an entire race of people was gone, perhaps just for her. When she saw the creature and its mighty armada she had felt the strength, the power and the cruelty running through her and she knew that they had no hope. Her comrades had pride and even though they felt it too they would never leave their planet to this monster and so they stood and fought anyway, while she had slipped away into a spaceship and out into the endless night. She had set her target on a nearby sister planet but when the explosion hit which ended her race she had sailed away her ship flipped end over end in perpetual motion. She had no idea where she was then, just like she had no idea where she was now. She had traveled like that for what seemed like years, finally to collide with an asteroid which stopped the spinning and allowed her to get her bearings. By then her computer had picked up the location of a habitable planet only two light years from her. The blue planet. She had set her targets for it and then landed in the wide blue ocean, just like this. Only then there had been an island, and a friend – Master Roshi. The wizened old man had taken her in, even though she was an alien, a stranger. She was cautious around him, as she had learned to be cautious around all men. He wore thick glasses which reflected herself back in them, and behind those his face appeared implacable. He had a broad, crooked smile, which grew wiser when asked a question or when he was about to demonstrate his prowess. His old, wizened frame had seen many years but he moved with the grace of a ballerina. His face betrayed no sense of pain or discomfort in his ancient bones and joints. In everything but appearance this man was young, vibrant, and comely. To look upon however his combinations of liver spots, drooping skin and a gleaming bald head left nothing to be desired, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and attractive. Fasha knew from years of experience that he must be attracted to her. She had arrived on the island in nothing but her fighting suit, which covered only the bare essentials. This left her athletic body open to air, the lust of men but more importantly for her – the flexibility to move, fight and tear limbs. To his credit the man had not even so much as glanced her way when bathing or training. He made no subtle moves and said no rude comments. He was much different to the men back in her home. She had become used to dark figures and towering brutes not so much as saying hello before they grabbed her. There was nothing subtle about what they had done to her, before she had become strong. Her home was a hard place to grow up in for a woman. Your job was to look after the warriors: in their bed and in their kitchen. You had no more use than a sack of meat. She had refused a husband, and without a man to protect her she was considered even less than that sack of meat. A sack of meat is property, which is sacred to its owner. She had no owner and so could be used as was seen fit. On her eighteenth birthday she had learned exactly what she was, what they thought she was. That night had broken her, destroyed the child inside of her and unleashed a fire which could never be tamed. That night she had woken bruised and broken, both inside and out and with the dawn of the new day she was reborn. Thinking back to those days she felt that same fire building inside. She was cold, hungry, thirsty and dying but she was a warrior and the fire inside her would never go out not so long as she took breath. She sat up with a start with anger boiling in her blood. The pain struck her like lightning to a fire, crashing through her body and igniting everything around her. She screamed, but in pain or pleasure nobody could say. She leaped to her feet, the wounds in her body weeping with the effort. She put her hand to her body and felt the fire move through the tips of her fingers, burning her hand with a pain so fierce she moaned. The fire erupted from her hands and spread out onto her body, searing the wounds closed and stopping the blood. She screamed in agony, which made the fire burn even brighter and stronger. By the time she was done her body was scorched black and her skin was twisted and scarred. Her flesh in smoking tatters. Her body had been scarred thousands of times, by men, beast and nature alike but it had recovered each time, only to come back stronger. She raised her eyes to look up and this planet’s fiery ball and felt new again, strong and angry. She leaped off the boat, diving into the trail of blood her body had left behind. The scavengers who had been following her scattered at the sight of her, diving down in the depths. She hovered there, scanning for something to destroy, something to quench this fire burning her from the inside. She dove down deeper, kicking furiously and angrily at the water around her, turning it into a thick white mess. She dragged herself down to the very bottom of that ocean, her head snapping back and forth, her eyes burning from the salt but unblinking in her rage. A shape cruised towards her, a great grey truck with eyes as black as coals and teeth as sharp as knives. Not not eyes, just one eye. Just one eye and one gaping, ragged dark hole where somebody had gouged the other one out. A hole so deep, so dark and desolate as the hole inside her soul, where all of her love and life used to be. The behemoth was moving faster now, its tail snapping back and forth like a slaver’s whip as it propelled through the water to its prey. Fasha let out a scream so loud and so ferocious the water ran away from her like hordes of frightened bubbles. The world about her shook with her anger so ferocious that the beast before turned, as sharp as a tac and swam in the other direction. She swam after it, just grabbing onto its long tail before it disappeared into the infinite blue. The water whipped by her face, blurring her vision as she clung on desperately to the frightened beast. She dug her claws into the creatures back, sinking them deep into the hard, strong flesh, climbing her way up the creature’s back. She grabbed its dorsal fin to get a better purchase and then reached down to its soft underbelly and began to hack away with her fingers at its flesh. She felt the creature squirm and writhe in her grasp as she reached her hand down into its gills – the most vascular part of its body. She burrowed her hand deep down into the blood vessels, clenched her hand around them and… let go and drifted to the surface. The terrified animal sped off, relatively unharmed but as close to death as a monster of that size has possibly ever come. She felt the fire inside her ebb, ebb and die down to smouldering coals of fury. She slowly rose to the surface, with gentle kicks, feeling the water wash over and around her and through her wounds. The salt stung her body, but it was soothing and cold. The ocean was empty around her, her rage scaring off every living thing in sight. The water had never felt colder, and the deep blue sapphire sea had never felt lonelier. The only monsters down here were the monsters inside, the ones she couldn’t tame with a strong hand, the ones which were consuming her a little more every day. Word Count 1680 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 07:54 PM Post #3 |
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Fasha
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----An Island---- She emerged from the water, sucking in a much needed breath of air. Her canoe was gone, and with it her despair because lying in front of her was a huge island. The island was a long way off, but Fasha’s eyes could make out many details. This island was one hundred times bigger than her new Master’s. It extended past her field of vision and was thick with green, thick cords and trunks. The beach was golden and glittered in the sunlight, its golden beauty a beacon for those looking from afar. This was only the second bit of land Fasha had seen since she arrived on this blue planet and she was wary. Her Master seemed like a nice man, and so far she had only been attacked by the one creature but there were other dangers out there. If the men on this island were even remotely similar the men from her home she would be better off dead. At this point though she didn’t have much choice: it was either drift endlessly in this huge ocean or go ashore and risk it with whatever she might find. The swim took her several hours, and by the time she was by the coral reefs which surrounded the island she was exhausted. It was now over a day since she had eaten or had any water and she could feel it in her body. She desperately needed to get ashore and find sustenance but the deeper part of her conscious which had been destroyed again and again told her to hang back. She slowly paddled in closer, keeping the water around her still and her head only just above water. She scanned back and forth across the beach which was clear, but the thick jungle ahead was full of shadows and unknown dangers. She kept as low as possible until she reached the shoreline, then she dropped into a low run. She moved with the speed of a cheetah, her feet barely disturbing the soft golden sand as she plunged into the jungle. Once safely nestled in the brush the warrior looked around carefully. The day was still and silent, the undergrowth was thick but did not move. She sat there, trying to control her breathing as she listened out for some sign of life around her. The smell of the jungle was strong and fragrant. The perfume of flowers lingered in the air, tickling her nose. The air was hot, and thick with moisture which made her breathing harder. Before the forests back home were touched by war the silence was filled with the songs of birds in chorus. Here there was nothing but her own beating heart and the rasp of her labored breathing. She began to walk through the bush, placing each foot carefully so as not to disturb anything underfoot. She kept her breathing slow and steady, scanning her eyes through the shadows for any kind of danger. Her ears were tuned in to the eerie silence of the island, listening for even the slightest sound. She heard the soft cracking sound of a twig breaking, but she wasn’t sure if she had done it, or someone else. The woman slowly lowered herself down to the ground, pushing herself into some thick vines to hide her pale white skin. All about her was darkness, only the smallest glimmer of light shone through the canopy, giving the area an eerie glow. Silence. After some minutes Fasha emerged from her hiding place to keep moving. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a brown mass, it stood out to her as it was a lighter shade than the surrounding trees. She slowly approached it, squinting her eyes to inspect its details. The bark was smooth and the tree ran down into two thick brown branches embedded in the mud. [i[Odd… I’ve never seen a tr---[/i] Suddenly the tree burst into life, white eyes snapping open to glare at her. Its long branches moved to grab her and she realized they were hands. All around her trees were leaping out of the mud, brandishing long sticks and yelling curses and war cries. Fasha lashed out with her fist, connecting with the tree’s chin and watching it crumple to the ground. She darted over the unconscious form and sprinted through the undergrowth. Behind her she could hear trees crashing through trees in their haste to catch her. Their tongue was guttural and deep. They made clicking noises and shrieked back and forth as they plunged through the bush after her. She leaped over tree roots, moving as fast as she dared but staying careful not to trip. Fasha was quick. She had never been the strongest and so she had to make up for it with fast legs and nimble hands. She sped through the undergrowth, with branches whipping at her face and thorns tearing at her legs. Fasha could still hear the trees behind her, but they were more distant. They were fast, but not as fast as her. She bolted past another tree, putting her hand down on its trunk for leverage when she felt herself get caught amongst its foliage. The warrior quickly turned around to unhook herself and found herself face to face with the white scowl of a tree man. His huge hands were clasped together, his trunks for arms wrapped around her body in a tight embrace. He began to hoot and squawk – probably to gloat to his fellow plants about his catch. Fasha leaned forward and sunk her teeth deep into his cheek and began tearing away chunks of dark flesh and mud. He screamed in terror, his grip loosening. The girl lunged again aiming for his nose but this time he let go, putting his hands up to protect his face. Fasha’s feet touched back down to the ground. She used her newfound leverage to gather momentum and slam both fists into his abdomen. He doubled over at the perfect time as her knee came crashing into the apple of his neck. He made a sickening choking sound as the cartilage of his windpipe collapsed. The alien was not around to hear him die however as she had was already fifty metres away, scampering through the brush like a deer. Word Count 1056 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 07:55 PM Post #4 |
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Fasha
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---Hunted---- Fasha had run for hours, blindy darting through the bush until her legs and arms were aching from the effort and the shrieking of the men had died away again to silence. She knew that they must be following her, but she also knew that she must find rest, food and water. She had come across a creek flowing from a rock wall. She had wedged herself in through the opening and found a small space, just big enough to lie in and relatively dry. She had been lying there, sucking water from the small stream and chewing on bits of moss. After she had drank what seemed like twenty litres of water she had drifted into a cold and broken sleep. Inside her small cave there was only ever darkness. She could never be sure if it was night or day so she just lay there, resting her tired muscles an replenishing the fluid she had lost from days of fighting and bleeding. She drifted in and out of sleep, her mind flashing through old terrors. In those nightmares she faced the things she has always faced, but she couldn’t fight back or run. She just lay there and suffered as an object suffers, when its owner likes to use it, and use it, and use it. Whenever she felt cold from the moist dampness of her cave she pushed down inside of herself to remember when she was an object, and the fire inside her burned. Food was scarce in the cave. So far, she had been chewing on small green plants she could find. They were full of fresh water and while they tasted bitter she still wolfed them down hungrily. Occasionally she would feel something crawling along her leg, or on her back. She would reposition herself to crush whatever it was then scooped it up into her mouth, savoring the sweetness and crunchy texture. It was no feast, but then again Fasha couldn’t remember the last time she had gorged as only men can. Fasha needed little when it came to the daily pleasures of life. So much had been robbed from her childhood that she had learned to live without them. The only thing she required to survive was 1500mililitres of water per day, fifty grams of fat, two-hundred and fifty grams of carbohydrates and one hundred grams of protein. Fat was something you could generally only find in rich foods like animal protein or exotic but protein and carbohydrates were in everything. Everywhere you looked you could find something that was edible. No scratch that, digestible. Fasha could lie here for days suckling on this brook and munching on insects, spiders and leafy greens. However, she knew that this was but temporary. Yes she was alive and existing, but she wouldn’t find what she had been searching for in here. She had begun to find it training with Master Roshi and she needed to get back there. I have to find it. Assuming she could survive on this island long enough, she would need a boat to get back to Roshi’s island. She would also need to spend some time trying to figure out where to go. This planet was a stranger to her, and so were the stars. She had relied on just one constellation before and this had betrayed her. Before she had run from her home planet she had sensed the great power much sooner than anyone else could or before The Evil had even arrived. She had always been able to feel people, without seeing or hearing them she knew they were there. Sometimes it worked and often it didn’t but she had felt it. Maybe she could sense her Master and use that to find him… it was not much to go on and would be even more difficult trying to concentrate while there were crazy tree men running around the island trying to kill her. They would be looking for her right now, because she guessed it wasn’t often that a half-naked pale woman appeared on their desolate island. She knew men. If she emerged from this cave to find wood for a boat, they would find her. She knew. I know. I remember. The warrior dragged herself from her cave, squinting at the brightness of the gloomy jungle. She stretched out her stiff joints, feeling her tendons snap and pop as they released nitrogen and tension. She walked over to a long, thin and gnarled vine and ripped three metres off. She bent he vine, coiled it and tested it. Yes. Then she sat in that clearing and waited, her mind calm and her thoughts of fire, dancing in a hearth. Word Count 787 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 07:55 PM Post #5 |
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Fasha
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----Hunter---- The men approached slowly. Every step a familiar surface. They moved like the cats of their jungles, pawing their way towards the prey. Relying on their smell as much as sounds and sights. This was their forest, they could run in their forest without making so much as a leaf whisper. Because whispers betrayed secrets, and this forest was full of secrets. Tion was the oldest hunter among them. He had been alive for three hundred moons and he knew this forest better than anyone, and he knew his prey better. He commanded here and the prize would be his, or somebody would suffer. He could see his prey: frightened and scared, huddling in a ball because she was cold and hungry. She had the skin of a pearl, and the beauty of an Other. She would be his prize to use and sell as he pleased. Girls with white skin were worth one hundred times their weight in skins and meat, and that was even after the tribe had entertainment for many nights. The men were hungry for her, hungry enough to break formation and take her first. Each man wanted to be the first, you could almost smell it in the air. When they hunted goats, each man would do his duty, creeping forward an inch at a time to close the circle. Escape was always impossible, and the goat was always their meal. This time they inched forward almost as if in a race in slow motion. Each time they sensed another tribesman inching forward they would shuffle forward just as fast. The wait became too great for Riok, one of their clan’s greatest hunters. When he thought he was positioned well, just behind his prize he pounced. The men watching him cursed, because they knew he would have her then, while they had to take their turn. They all darted forward, eager to be next in line but froze in their tracks as a crack ripped through the air. It was followed by a piercing shriek as Riok stumbled on his hands and knees, clutching at his crotch where his great manhood used to be. The whore stood, crouched like a cat, her vine tail swaying side to side, eying up her hunters. Nobody moved save for Riok who was writhing on the ground, muttering curses under his breath. The cat lady sprung, so fast they could barely see and in a second she was behind them and another man was down screaming, his face streaming with blood. Crack. Crack. Crack. More men fell, the screaming grew louder and louder. Tion shouted for his men to form around him and make a defensive stance. His shouts only met screams and nobody moved to stand with him. His eyes darted back and forth in those familiar shadows. He had hunted these shadows a hundred times before. Nobody could hide from him. He began to advance forward, his spear ready to maim his prize, but only enough to subdue her. He liked them meek. Crack Tion was on his back, his neck on fire and his breath stuck in his throat. His spear was ripped out of his hand and suddenly he felt a fiery pain ripping through his armpits. He tried to raise his arms but they wouldn’t move. His legs kicked uselessly as she attacked him, attacked him as if he was just a beast to be used. How could she do this to me, I am not an animal! She yanked him to his feet with surprising strength and looked him dead in the eye. He was about to curse her but the words caught in his throat when he saw her eyes. Her eyes were steel, the steel of the Others when they came with their sharp sticks and shiny clothing. Tion began to beg under the weight of the Whore’s gaze. She was half his weight and had to look up to look in his eyes but he cowered still at the sight of her unblinking eyes. What is this monster… He saw her begin to move her hand and suddenly his head snapped round from the impact of a blow. He looked back to see her staring at him again, motionless. His head snapped sideways again from another blow, and another and each time she stood as if not moving. Tears streamed down Tion’s cheeks as he begged for mercy. This seemed to only make her stare colder and the blows harder. She began to yell something at him, but he didn’t understand. She started to grab at his mouth, she was trying to open his mouth. Something wet, soft and covered in thick coarse hair was stuffed inside his mouth. He coughed and choked and pleaded, his words muffled by the gag. He was forced to his knees, bent over a rock like an animal, or a woman. Pain ripped through his body as his own spear was used on him again, and again until he felt no more pain and his whimpering stopped. The whore knelt in front of him, looked him in the eyes and took in his grief and despair. A smile crept up her smooth, beautiful face as she gazed on the Chief of men. The next instant she was gone, and the air was filled with the sounds of crying men. Word Count 897 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 08:11 PM Post #6 |
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Fasha
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A Feast--- Everything in this jungle was wet. The kind of wet that had been there for so many years it was a part of it now. When Fasha picked up the wood she felt the wood weep after so many years of decay. She had made a pile of the driest bracken she could find. Underneath this she had ground up the finest brush she could find and placed it over a small hole in the ground to allow air to come under her fire. She had also piled a small amount of not-so-wet sticks to one side, to add to the fire as she needed. The woman kneeled in front of her kindling and closed her eyes. She listened to the silent jungle all around her, the sound of the waves tapping the beach in the distance and the soft bubbling of the creek she had made camp beside. Ever so softly she could still hear the tree-men’s cries of anguish in that clearing many kilometres away. She turned away from the outside world and pushed her focus deep inside of her, winding through dark hallways and forgotten shadows to find that pit deep inside of her heart. In that pit emanated a glow from a deep molten flame which boiled and thrashed against its stony walls. Fasha peered down into the fire, watching a thousand men burn and scream for mercy. All around those men were thin, pale bodies. Woman, lying motionless with bright blue eyes wide and staring into nothing. The sound of a child’s cries softly rose from the pit. Fasha focused on the this, she knew this sound. It grew louder, the child’s sobs rising to a crescendo in the woman’s ears. It drowned out the screams of men and filled Fasha’s mind. The molten lava began to spit angrily, lashing out at the rock and throwing itself up to the ledge. It rose, like a thrashing, wild beast. Bubbling out of the pit to drown Fasha in screams. Fasha open her eyes and her pile of brush was burning, so bright that it might all be consumed. She quickly fed the hungry flame with her pile of small sticks. The flame cough and spluttered as it struggled to swallow the cold, wet wood. Soon it had overcome the damp and was roaring happily under the cold, bright stare of the fire woman. The woman’s belly rumbled as she reached for the thick slab of meat she had washed and prepared. She skewered it with sharp sticks and held it out over the flame, watching the edges of the meat char and curl among the orange dancers. When the meat had been seared along the outside she took it away from the flame, grasped it in both hands and buried her teeth into the soft flesh. Blood erupted from the meat and dripped down her face and into her mouth as she tore away chunks of flesh. The blood was so warm, she lapped it down eagerly. Her hunger was blinding, all there was in the world was that slab of meat. The crispy outside cracked as she sunk her teeth into another bite, swallowing it down and rolling the oily meat around inside her mouth. Her shriveled stomach groaned under the weight of the heavy meal but she continued to ravage the flesh, forcing more and more down into her belly. By the time she had finished the meat, she was so full she couldn’t move. Her pale face was covered in blood which dripped down to her chest and in between her breasts. Her eyes made of ice began to melt and glaze over as she felt sleep take her. She lay down on the mossy ground, folded her arms knowing that she was safe. She smiled with the taste of blood on her tongue, thinking about the proud man whose blood had once run strong through his proud, manly veins. Word Count 659 |
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| Fasha | Nov 15 2017, 08:11 PM Post #7 |
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Fasha
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-----A Boat for Home---- The jungle was full of thick, gnarled trees which twisted and rolled around each other. Finding a straight piece of wood was hard, and even harder was dissecting it from the mass of warped wood. Fasha had taken some weapons from the tribesmen who had ambushed her. Among these weapons was a sharpened stone block, strapped to a short stretch of wood to make an ax. She had also kept the bloody spear she had used on their leader. It pleased her. She used the short ax to hack several lengths of timber and then long strips of vines, much like her new whip. Bundling all of this onto her shoulders she made her way through the maze of foliage back to her campsite by the beach. There she cross-thatched smaller sticks across lines of bigger, thicker trunks and set about tying them together with fines. It was hard work, and often her vines kept coming undone or snapping when she tried to put too much tension on them. Often she would tie one section off and as she was battling to tie another off more would be coming undone. By this point her hands were bleeding and raw. She threw the vines down in frustration, staring at her mangled, haphazard raft. She could be hundreds of kilometres off from Master Roshi’s island. She would need a boat which could float for an indefinite amount of time, in any conditions which might come. She would likely need a sail, because rowing all that way would be exhausting. To make a sail you needed fine material, and people who knew how to weave. Fasha had trained as a warrior, she did not build or weave or tie knots. She took from those who could. The warrior tucked her hatchet into the belt of her undergarments, looped her whip about her shoulder, picked up her spear and began to run towards the beach. The sand sunk beneath her feet with each stride, pulling her down as she vaulted across the white, hot sand. She ran across the sand with the tireless effort of a gazelle in the Savannah. Treading on every angle and each drop as if she remembered from some other time when she was never there. In the distance she could see the thin tendrils of a campfire drifting up into that cloudless day. Her nose twitched, tasting the smoke and scent of people. This was the smell of men, and the seed of destruction. I know this smell. I know men. She perched on a rocky outcrop rising above the trees to peer down on her prey. Her eyes, brighter and colder than the ice seas pierced across the distance to see ants. Ants of people milling around the encampment. Working away each second of their simple lives only to die and have their children repeat such a complacent misery. The village below her was made up of several small houses, thatched together from uneven sticks and tied on with measures of vines. There were probably about thirty homes, each big enough for two privileged people uncomfortably, but somehow large enough to hold at least seven of these people comfortably. Back where there was no longer a home, her people lived in houses so wide and expansive you could keep yourself company with an echo. Her people were rich, taking from those who had nothing so that they could have everything. This village, these people had nothing. These were the people her warriors would descend upon and enslave, profiting from every scrap of spirit and soul in their strong bodies. This was the way of the Warrior, the way she had been raised. She leaped from her vantage point and stalked into the community. She moved slowly, her cold eyes freezing villagers as they saw her. She was a stranger, a stranger covered in blood. Her skin was so white it shone like the clouds and as a beacon drew each and every villager towards her. Her spear and whip kept them standing at a distance, teetering on the edge of curiosity and fear. These people did not look the same as the tree men she had maimed. They did not smell the same either. Their faces were warm and dark. Around their eyes were etched the old scars of happiness but in their eyes Fasha saw the fear. She had seen that look a thousand times when the soliders had marched their prizes back to her home. These were people who had been attacked a thousand times, by people who had plenty. They had their children taken, their homes burned and their hard-earned work trampled in the fields which they had bent their backs over. They yearned for simplicity and safety but all this world could offer them was men and greed. They feared her, she could tell. The sadness in their eyes flooded over Fasha in such a torrent that she felt the fire inside of her drown until it was nothing but whispering smoke, covering that crying girl inside of her that just wanted the same things as these people had. Her weapons fell from her hands and thudded to the ground just as her knees did and the tears began to fall. The ran in streams from a well so deep and so dark that no light had touched them in years. They were fire on her cheeks, clawing at her wounds and running like raging rivers through the hard-caked earth of blood on her cheeks. She felt warm hands touching her, holding her and moving her. Her strong wiry body was putty in their hands as they gently guided her along. Something inside of her and something she had seen in their eyes stopped her from resisting, she just followed. They lay her down on a mat and within moments she felt herself drift into a sleep so long and so silent she thought she had died. To the villagers her face slowly transformed from a snarling beast into a little girl, comfy in her bed. Word Count 1017 |
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| Fasha | Nov 16 2017, 08:25 PM Post #8 |
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Fasha
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----Family---- The girl woke to the smell of crisping bacon. The scent and filled the small room which she woke up into which was just wide enough to hold a pile of leaves in the form of a makeshift bed. The walls were gnarled wood, full of large gaps allowing her to see the midday sun peeking in through the roof. Fasha had no way of knowing how long she had been asleep for. She had gone to sleep in the day and woken up in the day. Which day? How long have I been lost? All that she knew was that she felt as refreshed as she had been in what seemed like years. She put a hand to her face and realized that all the blood had been washed away. Her whole body had been washed with the kind of delicate care that only a Mother could have. She had been changed out of her skimpy rags into a skirt and shawl made of big green leaves and coconut fibres. Who are these people The smell of the bacon reached her nostrils again, reminding her that she was ravenous. She swept aside the curtain that was her door and privacy and out into a small living area which doubled as a kitchen. Seven beaming faces snapped around at her. They got out of their seats so quickly that she shifted her right foot back to prepare for an attack. They ignored this subtle gesture and began gently urging her towards the table. “Afio mai,” they all told her, moving her towards a chair. The others hurriedly moved plates aside, grabbed a chair and set her a place at the table. Set into the middle of the table was a large pig’s head. It had been cooked over a fire with enough care to avoid burning the surface but also allowing the skin to crackle and crisp. The smell of it was so overpoweringly delicious, Fasha struggled to wrench her eyes off of it. Beside the pig’s head was coconuts split in half, full of sweet coconut milk. There was also bowls of mashed sweet potato mixed with coconut; mango slices; and a large plate of curried coconut crab. Fasha resisted her baser instincts to tear into the food and instead sat quietly, gazing about her hosts. There was one man with hair as white as snow that this island had never seen. He sat at the head of the long makeshift tablet and something in his stooped posture made Fasha think he was the leader. Around him were several other adults, as well as three children. Some big and some small. All sat with the same beaming smiles on their faces as they looked on at their guest. Dishes began to be passed down to the man with the snow hair. He took his serving first and then it was time for the dishes to be swarming around Fasha, the guest. She piled as much onto her plate as she felt polite to do so. She dove into her food savoring each bite as she rapidly tore away at the variety of foods. The coconut milk was so sweet and delicious and was so nicely balanced out by the sugar of the mango and the salt of the pork. She finished her pile of food, feeling absolutely content. Suddenly the villagers around her were piling her plate higher and higher and urging her to eat. “E te ‘ai,” they said, over and over. Fasha assumed this meant ‘eat’. She began to force food down her mouth, still loving the taste but feeling a growing sense of discomfort growing inside of her stomach. The eager smiles pushed her on until she felt so full that she literally might explode. The other members of the table continued to eat, gorging on the meat and fruits as if their stomachs were bottomless pits. It was another twenty minutes before every piece of food had been eaten and every coconut bowl licked clean. The villagers began to gather up their bowls and plates to make a pile. They then started moving out of the shack or into other rooms. Fasha sat there, unsure of what was happening. “Excuse me,” Fasha blurted out. “What is happening?” Several faces turned to her. “Oe mai,” one of the women said. She came forward and gently took Fasha by the arm. She lead her back into the room with the leaf bed and guided her down onto it. She pulled a feather blanket over her and tucked her in so tight she could barely move. The woman leaned down and planted a big soft kiss on her forehead. The girl felt a warmth she had never before felt spread through her. It started from her forehead and slowly moved down throughout her whole body, causes tingles and sparks to jump out as it went. The woman began to make gushing sounds, stroking Fasha’s bald head until her eyes closed and once again she was wrapped in the warm embrace of sleep. Word Count 846 |
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| Fasha | Nov 16 2017, 11:29 PM Post #9 |
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Fasha
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----The Village--- Fasha woke that morning after another refreshing sleep. She still felt an uncomfortable yet reassuring pang in her stomach from the sheer amount of food she had eaten yesterday. Through the gaps in her thatched room she could see the morning sun burning brightly through the morning cloud. She emerged from her humble room out into the living room to be greeted by the same beaming faces and another pile of food. “Talofa!” They all shouted in chorus. “Talofa,” the girl repeated cautiously. The family responded with even wider smiles, stretching their faces to unimaginable widths. Fasha figured she must have discovered the word for hello. “Talofa!” She said again with much more enthusiasm. “Talofa!!!” They all cheered happily. She took her place happily and waited her turn to be served. She once again shoveled food into her mouth, desperately trying to keep pace with the villagers around her. She soon slowed down and eventually stopped. She could only watch in awe as they continued to plow through the bountiful, creamy food. Soon everyone was done eating, but this time instead of everyone getting up to go for a nap they grew silent, looking at the young woman. The older man spoke, “O lo’u igoa o Kiki.” He pointed at himself and repeated “Kiki.” Fasha understood and pointed at herself “Fasha.” Their heads all nodded in unison, repeating her name and trying to feel it as it rolled off their tongues. “O aso nei tatou te galulue,” he said. He began gesturing with his arms as if to dig a hole or plow a field. “Afai e te mana’o e nofo,” he pointed at her bedroom. “Ona e galue ai lea.” He said again miming working in the fields. If you want to stay here, then you have to work. Do I want to stay here? I want to go home? Where is home? What is home? Am I home? This was the first time the warrior had ever sat down with such happy, smiling people to a meal. It was certainly the first time she had ever been treated with such respect as a woman. Never at her home was a woman expected to work in the fields for her keep. The work of the females in her race was in the bedroom and the kitchen. She nodded to the Elder. Yes I will work. She walked out with the family through the village. Beaming faces greeted her, brighter to her than the big shining star overhead. “Talofa!” She called out to them, greeting them with her own beaming smile. They chattered amongst themselves with delight and went about their business. They came to the field which had several lines of churned dirt. There was still a significant amount of land left to be cultivated. Fasha had never planted anything before in her life. Her people had no fields, no crops, no mills or factories. They only had warriors and swords and training grounds. She stared blankly at the untouched earth in front of her. Kiki shoved something into her hands. It was a long thick wooden stick. Attached to the end was another stick sharpened to a point. The look on her face must have betrayed her confusion because Kiki pointed his two fingers to his eyes and then set about showing how she could churn the soil. The work was hard, and the sun was hot. Fasha’s pale skin was ravaged by the sun rays, soon resulting in pink warm blotches forming on her bald head. The kind woman who had soothed Kiki to sleep approached her with a hat made from banana leaves. She offered it to her as well as a bowl of water. The new farm hand accepted it gratefully, draining the bowl and putting the hat on top of her head. She instantly felt better under the shade of her hat. The woman smiled at the obvious relief and clapped her hands excitedly. She pointed to herself “O lo’u igoa o La’ei.” “La’ei,” Fasha repeated, stumbling over the broken name. The warrior gave the woman her brightest smile. Conjuring it from somewhere deep down inside of herself where once happiness had been. The woman smiled and turned to go and take care of somebody else. Fasha turned back to her work, driving the stick into the ground and churning up the soft brown dirt. She liked the way it felt when she drove the wood into the soft ground; the way the rough would felt against her calloused hands and the absent of thought and memory she had as she worked. By the end of the day her back was aching and her arms were lead from lifting and driving the shaft of wood a thousand times. Her line stretched about halfway along one length of the field. She looked across to see her fellow workers standing at the end of their lines which were all the way across to the end of the field. Devastation washed over Fasha as she looked at their prowess. She felt ashamed to have eaten these people’s food and worked hard all day to achieve what felt like nothing. The other workers began to slip away into the fading night. Off to dine with their families and celebrate another day of hard work and progress. Fasha gritted her teeth and dove her shaft into the ground again. She began to stab furiously into the earth, dirt flying everywhere as she worked. Tears were forming in her eyes as she attacked the ground. The pain in her arms and back was forgotten amidst her fury. Her hands bleed under the heat and movement of the rough wood but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t feel anything but the burning fury inside of her as she felt home slipping away. The home she never had and felt like she never would. “Fasha,” a voice spoke softly from behind her. She turned to stare into the warm, brown eyes of Kiki. He put a large brown hand on her shoulder and looked at her as if he could see every hurt that had slashed her heart and every hope which had died inside of her like a child in the womb. “O mai e ai.” Come eat. His smile shone like a beacon, and she followed it all the way to her home. Word Count 1065 |
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| Fasha | Nov 17 2017, 05:42 AM Post #10 |
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Fasha
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----Living----- The days danced away like a dancing fire. Her days were filled with work in the warm sunshine and her nights were filled with food and her family. She sat and listened at the dinner table and had begun to pick up words and phrases. La’ei had become her best friend: they would often sit up for hours after dinner, talking in a mixture of the island language and Fasha’s language. They would talk about everything, holding nothing back. This woman knew more about Fasha than anybody knew, and had explored things about her past that were so deeply buried that only hours of digging would reveal. Fasha had learned a lot too. This island was called Filemu, named after peace. Her people had lived her for hundreds of years, exploring from here to see far off lands. Each time they returned because they loved it here. The land was fertile, the weather was warm and the people were happier than in any other her people had visited. They lived a simple life, finding entertainment and purpose in hard work and companionship. They relished the opportunity to live and work under the sun all day. They had peace here for generations. Recently their peace had been disturbed by a group of men, covered in mud and leaves. They were strong men and had such evil in their hearts that nobody in the tribe dared to stand up for them. Last time they had come to steal their crops and woman the men had fought back. Those men had been strung up in the streets, their skin stripped from their bodies and pieces of them cooked one by one. Their screams echoed through the minds of the villagers for weeks. When the men came again the people of the village did nothing to stop them ransacking their food stocks and taking slaves away. Now each time they came they had their sacrifices prepared. They had to work harder every year as the other tribe’s demands increased. This the people of the village could take, but what tore away at their heart every time was watching their children and family be carried off to a fate worse than they could imagine. They never saw their family again and it weighed on their hearts and minds each day. Still they smiled and appreciated what they had. When Fasha had heard about this from La’ei she had been thrown into a fiery rage. “I will kill them if they come back here!!!” She roared. La’ei had such a sweet, gentle nature. She has taken back the sudden ferocity that erupted from Fasha. “No please dear. There’s nothing you can do,” She started in her island language. “They will hurt you and us. It is easier this way.” Fasha had tried to argue but La’ei wouldn’t speak of it. If she ever brought it up La’ei would just walk away with the same smile on her face. Once Fasha had approached Kiki about this, who was a village elder. “Violence only brings more violence,” he said, speaking in his soft voice. “If you try to stop them, it will only bring more pain.” His deep brown eyes showed the pain which he was talking about. She knew when she looked in his eyes that this decision weighed down on his hunched back each moment, of each day. It was the decision he had made with a heavy heart, and something he had thought about very carefully, for the greater good. “Kiki, I can stop them,” She confided. “I have done it before and when there is nobody left they will never bother you again.” “If we kill them, as they would us, then we would be as they are,” he said staring off into the distance. “Maybe someday somebody would then kill us, and maybe we would deserve it.” With that he walked off and Fasha didn’t bring it up again. She had taken to her work in the fields with the vigor of the people. She had planted the seeds for her crop and had water the fields each day. There were other jobs too: fences had to be put up to keep their animals from running away; animals had to be butchered and milked; fish and crabs had to be caught and coconuts and mangos had to be picked. She eagerly took to these jobs, enjoying the thrill of creation. Her favorite job was to build: she loved colleting the wood on long walks in the jungle, taking it back to the village and trying to construct beds, tables and houses out of it. One day there would be a flat patch of dirt and a pile of sticks, and then there would be a home where a family could rest and enjoy meals together. Word Count 804 |
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| Fasha | Nov 19 2017, 05:47 AM Post #11 |
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Fasha
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----The Spring---- -----Spring------- Within a year Fasha had become one of them. She knew every person’s name within the village and could speak the language as fluent as anybody might hope. The villagers took time to listen to her attempts and invited her to speak every day. She had never learned another language before. She found it so invigorating to learn because it was so challenging. You take it for granted when speaking in your primary language how complex our communication is. We only allow each other microseconds to react to what we have said before changing the subject or continuing to speak. We assume and expect instantaneous processing of what we tell people and expect responses immediately and shun those who don’t as ‘socially awkward’. The warrior had never been good with people. For one she didn’t like them, and often had nothing to take about but the deep-seated dread and anger she felt in her heart each day. She felt even worse with people when she tried to talk to the villagers, but they smiled until she eventually thought of a response. If she struggled for a word she would act it out and they would do their very best to interpret her charades and often enjoy themselves in the process. Eventually she needed to do this less and less until one day she caught herself thinking in Filemu. A broad smile had crept across her face that moment at the dinner table. She had grown more and more accustomed to smiling recently but a smile this big did not go unnoticed amongst her family. They looked at her quizzically until she laughed and yelled, “I CAN SPEAK FILEMU!” They all cheered with delight, patting her on the back and giving their widest smiles. This was the happiest Fasha could ever remember being. She had everything she ever wanted here and she could feel the dark void inside of herself being filled with their loving and kindness. The seasons had passed without Fasha ever even noticing. The temperature here was always hot. Sometimes it rained more than others, but mostly it was just beautiful weather here all the time. Time had passed so fast that Sasha was shocked when she walked out onto the fields one day to see the plants sprouting out of the ground. She had grown potatoes. She danced around the field, taking nimble steps around her vegetable children. “WHOOOPPEEE!!!!” She screamed. “WE DID IT!!” She felt like the fire inside her was crackling with delight, igniting with the warm energy of purpose and success. That night she sat looking out at her creation letting that warm feeling wash over her. She sat with La’ei all night talking for what seemed like the thousandth time. “If you could do anything, or be anyone, what would you do?” Fasha asked her. “I would be me, and I would plant these crops, take care of my family and live right here,” La’ei replied with more confidence and strength than any warrior Fasha had met. Strength in Fasha’s home was through force or cruelty, anything else was weakness. To her people La’ei from Filemu would be weak. She was weak because she was kind, selfless, wise and patient. She was everything Fasha’s people were not, and she loved her more than anybody. The warrior gripped the farmer in a tight hug, so tight La’ei was struggling for breath. “I love you La’ei,” Fasha said with tears in her eyes, “Thank you, to you and your people for showing me..” “Showing you what?” “Showing me that life isn’t a ladder.’ People fight and claw for each rung on that ladder, pushing other people off as they go. But I know now that all that is at the top of that ladder is thin air,” Fasha paused, gazing off at the fields which she had worked on for countless hours. “Life is creation, not destruction; life is a hot meal and a warm conversation with family and friends; life is forgiveness; life is peace in the undisturbed beauty of this world. Life is your family, and the gift of happiness they have given me. Life is you, La’ei and everything you represent.” La’ei sat staring at Fasha, a glimmer of knowing dancing across her eyes. “I love you too,” she said as she leaned in to kiss Fasha. Fasha had been kissed before, by cruel hard mouths trying to convince her that she wanted it. The kisses never convinced her, but they did it anyway. This kiss was soft and tentative. It moved only as far as either person let it. Her lips were full and warm, like two great big pillows that Fasha just wanted to bury herself in. The kisses became more frantic, their hands beginning to explore each other’s bodies as they succumbed to one another. La’ei was so warm and soft. She resembled nothing of the chiseled hunks of meat that had taken her before. That night Fasha discovered what it truly meant to love: to be caught up in the passion of another person and completely lost in them. That night they were one person, writhing in sheer joy. They lay there afterwards, warmed by each other’s naked bodies, staring up at the stars. Every one of those stars had planets. On some of those planets were people looking up at the night sky just as they were. Fasha wondered if there was anybody in the Universe as happy as she felt right now. Word Count 918 |
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| Fasha | Nov 20 2017, 03:42 AM Post #12 |
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Fasha
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----The Harvest----- They were a bit worried slipping back into the house just as dawn broke. La’ei usually slept with her sister and her absence both would not have gone unnoticed. The dinner table was being set as they slipped in. Kiki and his wife Sali looked up at them. Kiki cocked his head to one side, as if trying to solve a puzzle and the final puzzle piece just wouldn’t fit. “I’m sorry we were ju-“ Fasha began. Kiki, the elder held up his hand. “You need not lie, nor tell me any sort of explanation,” he began. “There are people in this world who judge others, and there are those who do not.” He gestured to the table, “Would you please give us a hand with breakfast?” Fasha and La’ei took over the setting of the table and the final preparations to their breakfast. Breakfast was simple but delicious: crushed oats cooked in mango and coconut milk. They were busy but every now and then they would catch the other person’s eye and a smile would creep onto their faces. They had not slept, but each moved with the bounce of a rabbit on a hot sunny day. The rest of the family walked in, each giving the two knowing smiles as they sat down to take their breakfast. Fasha never grew tired of the meals that were cooked here. The flavours the Filemu people used were so fragrant and so sweet. Each bite was like a celebration in your mouth and gave her so much joy that she was rushing to gobble down the next mouthful. She had come to match her family in appetite. Often, she would be one of the few to be politely fighting for the last spoonful of food. They would dance in a ritual offering it to each member of the family first, each too polite to accept until somebody finally yielded and wolfed down the last of it. There were never any leftovers, food was too precious and was worked too hard for. Her body was once sinewy muscle, clinging to a stack of bones. Her pale white skin used to stretch over her skeleton like latex. So taut that her bones jutted out, looking like spiky armour. Her body had gradually begun to fill out. The mountains and valleys of the bones of her body covered to make her body a flat pasture land. She was startled one day to find she had breasts. The things that a warrior would disdain because they made her slow but now she loved because it made her feel like a woman. One day she started bleeding. She had heard of this happening but never actually experienced it herself. It was the mark of a woman grown, and she had often wondered why she had never had it. She panicked a bit when it started, she didn’t no how to stop it dripping all over her bed. She ran straight to La’ei’s room and showed her, a look of fear and embarrassment painted all over her face. The villager smiled, with that patient knowing smile that Fasha loved. She then showed Fasha how to keep herself clean while the bleeding happened. It was a nuisance, especially out on the fields where each movement made her anxious that the padding might slip and she would embarrass herself in front of her friends. As annoying as it was it felt like another spade-full of humanity to put into the empty hole where her childhood had been. This was an important day. Today they would reap what they had sown and harvest the hundreds of sweet potato they had planted a year ago. The girl was so excited she fidgeted and twitched as she cleaned up, itching to get outside. The fields were covered in green, leafy plants. There were so many that no brown dirt could be seen beneath the foliage. There was no much food here that it would last the village for a year, feasting each day on that beautiful sweet taste of the potato. They walked among the plants with big baskets woven from leaves and sticks. They would knee on their hands and knees, picking the potatoes out by the bunch and tossing them into their baskets. As always the sun was hot and the work was hard. It was painful to stay in one position for so many hours, but everybodies’ excitement outweighed any pain they were feeling. Fasha was the most enthusiastic of them all, clawing up potatoes like a pig in the dirt. Potatoes flew into her basket so quick that she was constantly running back and forth to empty her basket. Sweat poured off her under the gaze of that hot sun. The potatoes would be piled up in a granary. Half of them would be moved to an elevated platform in a cool dark room. There would be enough light for sunlight through the walls, but no light through the roof so that rain couldn’t reach them. They would be covered with blankets woven from hemp to avoid mildew or scavengers getting to them. The other half would be moved for long term storage. They would be moved into a large pit that had been dug days before. Once inside the potatoes would be covered with dirt so that they could be stored for months on end. Nothing was wasted in this village, food was never taken for granted. By the time the sun had begun to move down towards the horizon they had finished. When the last potato had been put in storage everyone breathed a sigh of relief. They stretched their backs, wiped the dirt off their hands and clasped hands in congratulations. Each man and woman had a smile on their face as they walked arm in arm to the hall in the middle of the village. It was roofed but not walled. Open to the warm night air and the beautiful golden sunset stretching out across the sky. A few volunteers, men and woman alike had prepared a feast for the workers. There were all kinds of dishes, and sweet potato prepared in every kind of way: baked, fried, mashed, boiled, curried and roasted. A meat glaze had been made out of sweet potato and applied to several whole-cooked sheep. The smell of that hall was absolutely mesmorizing. To anyone else the sheer volume of sweet potato would be sickening after one plateful. To the people who had slaved hundreds of hours over this produce they could not eat enough. They gorged themselves and laughed with each other. There were bowls of the beautiful Kava stretched throughout the table which had been supplied especially. It was made from a crushed plant root to make this extremely bitter concoction. A bowl of Kava had wonderful effects. You would become happy and unconcerned about anything. Your memory would be the sharpest it had ever been, so much so that you could recall your first encounter with each person. Drinking Kava with friends you would sit around and laugh about old times, enjoying the company of your companions in the blissful serenity of your stupor. The warrior had a lot of Kava. Substances were no stranger to her and her to them. She had tried everything, but never this. She kept draining each bowl, becoming happier and happier, her brain rewarding her each time she finished one. Any care in the world that she had ever had was gone, replaced by the peace of mind somebody might achieve through decades of meditation and reflection. Her sensory inputs were dulled so that nothing came in and all that came out was a river of happiness. The happiness flowed so thick and so strong that soon they were all drowning in it. Floating on a sea of happiness so vast that they were lost. Stranded at sea hoping never to be found. Word Count 1325 |
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| Fasha | Nov 20 2017, 04:39 AM Post #13 |
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Fasha
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---The Fire---- Fasha awoke to the sound of tears. Not once in one year of living here had she heard that sound. She put her hands up to her blurry eyes and tried to rub the sleep out of them. Her mouth was dry and sore, her throat sore to swallow and crying out for water. Her mind felt like it was trapped in a thick, grey cloud. She shook her head, trying to disperse the cloud but it was stuck there. She moved slowly, taking each step carefully as she struggled to maintain her balance. She pushed aside the curtain to find her family in pieces. Her mind fell out of the cloud to fast that she almost felt herself come crashing back down to earth. They were crying, their chests heaving, rasping for breath as they struggled for air through their sobs. Kiki sat alone, the same expression on his face as his deep face stared off into the distant land of the past. “What the hell happened?!” Fasha yelled at him. He slowly dragged himself back from wherever he was in his mind and turned to look at her. “They came last night, Fasha,” he said tears welling up in his deep dark eyes. “They came when we were all in a state and took everything in our granary. They took the woman without so much as a scream from their beds. They were taken while in the warm embrace of Kava, an absent smile on their lips as they were taken off to another life, a worse life.” He looked back to the same blank piece of wall, struggling with something in his mind. The battle waged beneath the surface of his brown eyes, the fight between love and hate, anger and calm, war and peace. He spoke so softly, his words like the scratching of a pen on paper, “They took her.” There was an eruption within the warrior. It was so fierce and so silent that she felt her entire vision filled with red flame. She felt her arms and legs moving and the land flying past her as she stormed through the jungle. She wore nothing at all, so each branch she past tore into her bare skin. Cuts opened up all over her body, flecks of blood spreading over her breasts, arms and legs. With each cut she roared. The sound she heard when she opened her mouth sounded more beast than man, more dead than alive. Her shriek carried across the island like a thunder clap. Every living thing scuttled away in terror as she tore through the bush. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, scanning every shadow, searching furiously for something to kill. Every muscle in her body was taut with fury, standing out like thick ropes. Every sense was alive, she could smell everything. All of the fear, all of the hate, the lust, the greed. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” She screamed, snapping her head back and forth trying to home in on the scent. Off to her right a familiar smell drifted in: an earthy smell, fragrant of sweet potato and mangos. The smell of the village, of home, of La’ei. She sprinted in that direction, her pace blinding fast. As she grew closer she could smell them. The men. I know men. Lust and hate filled the air like locusts. It filled Fasha’s every sense, her rage building with each passing second. Only men could lust and hate at the same time. Only men. She burst into a wide clearing where their village stood. Behind closed doors soft whimpers slipped out into the breaking dawn. Men snored, some grunted and some yelled abuse. She heard the sharp crack as a man made himself feel powerful over his new slave. She was still fighting, as Fasha had once fought. Memories flashed back through the alien’s mind of stinking breath, fists of iron and the dull thud each time they forced their manhood into her, and her childhood out of her. Fire erupted in the form of a scream. Silence followed, not even a whimper. Seconds past before slowly they emerged from their shacks. First their heads peeked out, cautiously scanning the area. When they saw her each of them adopted the look Fasha knew better than any. Lust and hate. Only men. A man pushed his way through the forming army. He was once straight-backed and strong. His very gaze could break a man beneath him and if not then his thick tree-like arms would snap them in half. Now he was stooped and walked with an odd shuffling gait, struggling to lift his legs from the ground. He moved with pain, each movement sending lightning rippling through his body to emerge as a wince. His coal-black eyes met hers and Fasha knew who he was. Tion, the Chief of Men. Word Count 811 |
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| Fasha | Nov 21 2017, 03:01 AM Post #14 |
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Fasha
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----The World Burns---- “Where is she?” Fasha demanded, unafraid. Tion sneered as the local tongue streamed from her mouth, “You are going to suffer, demon.” “WHERE IS SHE!?” She roared, taking a step toward the Chief. He moved back, fear dancing across his eyes. The men around him had no such fear, they were not in the clearing that day. A sly smile crept up the Chief’s lips. “Who?” He sneered. “La’ei,” Fasha replied, hate seeping out from every pore. “The Chief’s daughter.” Her face did not betray anything, but beneath her stone skin was a tremendous, uncontrollable, boiling anxiety. The warrior had seen how the spoils of war were treated; she had been made to watch once. She could still see their eyes, pleading to her for help. Tion let out a great bellowing laugh, the fear from his eyes replaced by hate. “Bring her,” he sniggered, gesturing to some of his men. They dragged her out, her head down and body limp. Her clothes had been stripped off her body, revealing the pain she had suffered in the last few hours. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts. She was bleeding from small cuts all over her body, but the most blood was coming from her crotch. There was a steady drip onto the ground from the wounds between her legs, where they had made themselves feel powerful. “La’ei!” Fasha screamed, running forwards. The Tree Men stepped out and grabbed her, wrenching the weapons from her hands and pinning her to the ground. “LAAAAAAAA’EEEEEEIIIII!!!!!” The men had begun to drag La’ei back to the hut she had been kept prisoner. “Don’t worry about her, Demon,” Tion said, his face leaning close to hers. “She will be dead soon, as you will wish you were.” He motioned to the men to spread her legs, forcing her knees painfully down onto the ground as Tion knelt in front of her. Her mind flashed back to when she was a girl, alone on the streets. Nobody’s wife and everybody’s property. Men would spot her walking around with dirty clothes and unwashed hair and knew on sight she was nobodies’ property. They could do anything to her, and in that place that she called home the Law had nothing to say. She was the lowest person of society; a woman without an owner, without a husband. She was only thirteen. I know men. “You are going to be my slave, bitch,” he whispered in her ear. “After I am done with you, everybody here will have their turn. Then we will make you watch as everybody has their turn with your girlfriend until she is dead.” A spark was struck, and the world was on fire. A light so bright that everything disappeared erupted from her body. She could hear the screams of the men as they burned, the flesh melting off their bones, and their bones turning to sand as the blaze spread. Fasha was lost, out of control as the flame erupted from her to engulf everything. Pain was everywhere, all over her body as her skin withered under the heat. She couldn’t breathe, there was no oxygen, only flame. She tried to speak but the fire only filled her mouth. She tried to look around but could only see fire, and only hear screams. When the flames subsided, there was nothing. For a kilometer around the earth was black and scorched. There were no huts, no village, no people. Nobody. The men had disappeared, but so too did the woman. Fasha sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face as they had when she had first met La’ei. She was gone, and with her was any hope of happiness. The world was dark, devoid of hope or happiness and Fasha was alone. Any pain she had felt from the fire was gone, replaced by an anguish so deep and unrelenting that she wished for death. The tears flowed until there was nothing left, but still she sobbed uncontrollably. She had been hurt before, but never like this. Never had she lived with such hope and happiness, she had never allowed herself to. Not since her childhood was destroyed. Everything beautiful in this world had been destroyed, replaced by black, hard earth. She had killed the men, but she had also killed every girl and woman that had been taken this day and on any other day. I know them, but who am I? I am a monster. Word Count 752 |
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| Fasha | Nov 22 2017, 06:58 AM Post #15 |
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Fasha
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----Her Family---- The day was fading as she walked through the village. She felt the eyes boring into her as she had once felt them over a year ago. A stranger walked among them. This woman was not the same woman who had shared those hours under the sun, toiling at the fields. This woman was the one who had run away from their Chief, to exact a vengeance which had been in their hearts but not in their minds. Now she returned empty handed, trailing guilt and shame. No smile crossed their faces as she looked back at them. Due to grief or spite for her she could not say, but the sight was a slap to a crying face, a cruel jape to a crippled child. She wanted to turn and run, go back to her scorched earth and cry and cry and cry. She kept walking, Kiko’s deep brown eyes on her mind and heart. His house was silent, once full of life and bubbling laughter. The silence was deafening here. Not even in the middle of the night had she ever known such a stillness in the air. It sent a chill down her spine. She pooled back the curtain to find her family sitting in mute silence. They were mechanically spooning food into their mouths, each bite swallowed, tasted briefly and then passed on to the stomach and intestines to produce energy. Their faces were masks. Crying a lot will do that to you. Every muscle in their faces was so exhausted from anguish that they couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not in their face, nor in their hearts. Kiko looked up at Fasha. His brown eyes swallowing her up as he gazed into her soul. He waved a hand to an empty chair, inviting her to eat. Nobody looked up at her. She ate the food, shoveling it into her mouth as the rest of her family did. It was a coconut crab stew. Usually the dish was so full of flavor Fasha would demolish three bowlfuls before anyone else had even time to finish one. The taste was washed away in the torrent of despair swirling around her body and mind. When they had finished eating the Elder got up slowly and silently from his chair. He walked outside into the still night, not looking back. Without an invite the warrior followed. She had to tell him. She found him gazing out over the empty field where their sweet potato had once grown. This was the place she and La’ei had first made love. The sight of it was a knife stabbing into her stomach. “Violence brings only violence,” he said softly after a long silence. “You don’t even know what happened!” She exclaimed. He held up a hand. “I do not need to know,” Kiko spoke. “I said goodbye to La’ei and the other girls. I knew they were not coming back.” “But you don’t know what I did!” He looked out to where the Tree Men’s village had been. “I felt it, Fasha. Everybody felt it.” “I am so sorry, I- I- I was trying to help her! I loved her!” She sputtered. “You have to believe me I only wanted to bring her back to you.” “I know,” he said abruptly. “Did you ever wonder why I didn’t have a wife? Why I there wasn’t a Mother to all these children of mine?” A realization dawned on Fasha. Of course. “I was once young as you are now. I was a fool in love and my arms were strong and my spear was sharp,” he began. “Men came to my village one day when I was out hunting, they took my beloved Tai away.” Tears began to form in his eyes. “I went to their village, with all the men I could muster. Hate was in my heart and death was on my mind. I wanted to kill these men. I wanted to savage them as I knew they would be savaging her and her sisters.” There was a long silence as the memory drifted through his mind. “I killed all those men. Every one of them. Each one I made suffer before they died. I made them suffer till they apologized for what they had done and begged the Sky above for forgiveness. It made me feel good. Tai was never the same.” Tears were flowing down his cheeks in streams now, but still his face was solemn, betraying nothing. “I tried everything to make her feel better. I cooked for her, picked flowers for her, organized to take her hiking up to the Volcano. I wrote beautiful music for her, singing to her for hours on end until my voice cracked and my drums broke. She just sat there, not eating, not sleeping. Stuck in the endless nightmare of that night with those men.” He slammed his fist into a tree, “I hated them for what they had done! If I could have killed them all over again I would. I had so much anger, and nothing to do with it. It ate me up inside, and made me a hollow man. Meanwhile Tai slipped away, day by day until she was nothing but a bag of lifeless bones. One morning I found her dangling from a tree. She looked the same. She had been dead for a long time.” They stood in silence, looking over the empty fields. Fasha didn’t know what to say. The story was so sad, so horrible, and the entire time all she could think of was La’ei, dangling between those men – broken. Finally after minutes of desolate silence, he spoke, “Violence brings only violence, Fasha. No matter what you do, no matter how many people you kill it will only bring more destruction on you and your family. When you kick, they always kick back. It will never end, not until everything you have ever loved is gone.” It is. “There is something terrible inside of you, child,” he turned to her. “A hate so deep and dark that you are lost in it.” Fasha lost control. Her face contorted as she wailed, tears crawling down her cheeks. He held her close as she cried. The tears came out of her eyes like acid; coming out of her eyes and burning her, like the fire had done. He held her firmly, holding her up as she wept onto his shoulder. Her body heaved with the effort of the torrential flood of emotion. “I loved her so much,” she sobbed. “I know, I know.” When she had finished crying he finally pushed her away and looked her in the eyes, “I want to help you, child. I can see my wife and daughters in your eyes and I want to help you so badly.” She looked at him expectantly. “I thought I was helping you when I brought you into my home. You were smiling, you were happy and it filled me with so much joy! I just wanted you to be a normal girl, have a loving family and just be happy!” He had a smile on his face but sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry my dear, sweet Fasha, but I don’t think the answer you are looking for is here.” It felt like La’ei had died all over again. He’s telling me that I can’t stay here? After all of this!? “This is a decision I make with a heavy heart. I want you here with us, but what I want more is for you to find happiness. I want you to find what it is that can fill that hole in your heart where hate lies.” “But you did fill it! I was happy!” He sighed. “You were. We were. We loved you, we all did. But there will only be pain for you here now.” “Where will I go? What will I do?” “We will give you everything you need, and tell you how to get back to that island you came from,” he explained. “There is more out there for you than this, child, you have to find it.” “Find what?!” “It. Whatever it is that will make you happy! Not just pretend happy but truly happy and at peace with what has happened to you. You will not find it here child, you cannot stay here.” Fasha’s head dropped as she realized that he was right. He lifted her chin so that their eyes met, “I love you like my own child. Please come back to me one day.” She hugged him, so forcefully that he was thrown off balance, awkwardly dangling in the air in her arms. A little startled he hugged her back. They embraced for a long time. When they separated they looked each other in the eyes, and in that glance they said everything they needed to be said. They said their final goodbyes that next morning. The whole village had come out to the beach to see her off. She thought they hated her, but they were grieving, just like Kiki. She said goodbye to each and every one of them, staring into each of their eyes and silently thanking them, telling them how much she would love them and miss them. She pushed her raft out into the surf, battling out against the waves as she headed for home. Whatever that was. Her raft had every provision aboard that she could need to survive, to exist. What she was leaving behind was more important than food or water. She was leaving behind purpose, meaning and love. What lay on the horizon she did not know, but she had to find it, or let this hate consume her. That night she lay on her raft, staring up at the night sky as she and La’ei had once done. The water was still. A light wind pushed the raft’s sail along in the water, gently back towards Master Roshi’s. Above a thousand stars shone their beautiful gift of life. Up there was an infinite space, full of life and possibility. She had left behind something she thought was her saving grace, but maybe there was something else out there for her. Maybe, one day she could get better, and be happy. La’ei, I love you so much. I am so sorry for the pain I brought you and your family. Wherever you are I hope that you are happy and at peace. Word Count 1752 Total Word Count 16,333 |
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