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The Chocolate Box
The Chocolate Box will be under Probation. So if anyone acts up badly and abuses the chatbox we will reserve the right to remove it without warning.
Hi guys.... I suppose you all thought I disappeared off the face of this planet or something.....I do that alot. ^_^' Anyway, here is the next part of Mummified.....
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Meanwhile, Joey laid his hand on the doorknob and hesitated for a moment. Questions. They always battered him with questions, asking him why he was this way, why he wrapped himself up, what he was trying to hide. It was some sort of rite that every newcomer to the Show went through; that is, until he silenced them by his own silence, making them think that whatever calamity had befallen him had taken away his speech. It was just as well, for not only did he want their incessant questions to stop, he didn't want them to delve into the secrets of his past.
But Asmarelda knew. He could see in those evil black eyes of hers, that she knew who the real Joey Clarkson was. A traitor to his own kind...did she know everything? He got the gut feeling that she even knew that he WAS able to talk, if he wanted to; but if she did, the witch never let on.
Joey cautiously pushed the door open so it wouldn't creak. The room was dark, so he figured the girl was already asleep; her deep, gentle breathing confirmed this. Did she know what she'd walked into? Of course not. Asmarelda never told them outright what was really going on in THE SHOW. Letting the door click shut so as not to waken her, he sat down on his bed to think.
She didn't look all that bad, he decided, watching a shaft of winter moonlight play tag with the shadows across her thin, pale features. Hers must be a sad story. And she was pretty too---not the put-on kind of beauty that was only on the outside, like Charisma's, but an inner kind of beauty. Like a girl who would understand and maybe even respect his silence, because she'd been through something terrible herself.
Somehow, Joey found himself looking forward to meeting her.
Chapter Four.
Rachael woke up slowly, and for half a second she thought she was still dreaming, because she was sleeping on a real bed instead of a makeshift cot made from old newspapers. Morning light streamed through the window, shining golden on the yellow daisy blanket, and she remembered: the strange circus troupe of which Asmarelda was the leader.
And the family I’m a part of, Rachael yawned thoughtfully, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I wonder, is it anything really like a family, or is that a word and nothing more? But for Rachael’s hungry heart, love of any degree would suffice; that could prove to be her undoing.
Her gaze was arrested by the little dresser beside her bed, on which there was a tiny lamp. Maybe there’s something inside that I could wear, she mused, and, her curiosity piqued, she pulled open one of the drawers.
She’d guessed right, for inside there were sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, pajamas, socks, belts, and even under things---all which, she noticed, were her size. Could Asmarelda have planned ahead, and stocked the dresser just for her? But that idea sent a chill through her heart. How long, really, had Asmarelda been watching her? Weeks? Months? Years? Had she just been waiting for Alex to die so that she could step in and take over Rachael’s life? That thought was definitely unsettling.
After looking through the various choices of dress, she finally chose a long-sleeved shirt that was striped red, dark blue, forest green, and goldenrod-yellow. It felt nice to wear something clean for once. There was a brush on the vanity, so she raked it through her hopelessly tangled scarlet hair, working with it for a few minutes before typing her unruly tresses back with the customary yellow ribbon. Alex had gotten it for her as a Christmas present when she was ten, so she could make herself feel at least a little pretty. Rachael had never forgotten it.
Suddenly, though it was just for a second, Rachael saw the reflection of a beautiful girl standing behind her. She had long, luxurious golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight, and Rachael was entranced by the celestial blue eyes. They were so full of compassion and love and kindness, bringing back a faint, though cherished memory of her mother.
“Mommy, don’t close the door. I’m scared.”
The tall, graceful woman wrapped her arms lovingly around her daughter “Why is that, honey?”
“There’s monsters under my bed, and they’ll come out when you shut the door.”
Instead of trying to convince the little girl that there was no such thing as monsters under the bed, Mommy said, “Didn’t you know that every little girl and boy has an angel watching over them at night?”
“Really?”
“Sure. One was sent to you the moment you were born. So you see, Rachael, even if the monsters are under your bed, they can’t hurt you because your guardian angel will fight them with her sword if they try.”
“It’s a she?” said little six-year-old Rachael, wide-eyed.
“Oh, yes. She’s a fair maiden with lovely blonde hair like spun golf and beautiful blue eyes full of compassion and love and kindness, that light up with a white fire whenever she is angry; which is very seldom, for she only get angry at evil. When she fights her soft white wings burst out of her back, and she pulls out her glittering sword to battle with a vengeance. But she is a loyal guardian and friend, when she is not in her angelic fury.”
“Oh…” Rachael said softly. “Is she in my room, right now?”
“She’s standing at the foot of your bed.”
Smiling happily, little Rachael said, “I won’t be scared anymore now that she’s here.”
Rachael awoke from the memory, realizing that the girl in the mirror was more than just a figment of her imagination; but as I said before, she was only visible for a spilt second, and as Rachael turned slowly to look, she was already gone. Instead, the boy called Joey stood behind her, holding a steaming plate of pancakes, slopped generously with a rich brown syrup that looked especially tantalizing to a girl who could not remember the last time she’d eaten.
“I saved you some breakfast,” his blue eyes seemed to say.
Slowly, cautiously, Rachael reached out to take the plate. “Thanks,” she managed. It was hard to look away from those intense, bright blue eyes. He was studying her intently, taking in every feature, every aspect of her. And she did the same to him. In that moment, Joey and Rachael exchanged a silent conversation, and got to know each other better than they would have in a million words.
Finally her stomach beckoned insistently to her, and Rachael tore her gaze away from him, sitting on the edge of her bed and wolfing down the breakfast that Joey had brought her. He had been careful to make sure that she would get enough, for the others usually thought of no one but themselves. That’s what came of trying to survive out in the streets, where everyone in THE SHOW had come from. Even so, it hadn’t ruined Joey, and apparently it hadn’t ruined Rachael either. There was still a heart behind those emerald-green eyes, a heart that still had the capacity to love, even after all that must have happened to her.
And whatever happened to her was probably my fault, Joey thought sadly to himself, as he turned to go. He slipped quietly through the door and closed it without making a sound. By the time Rachael looked up from her breakfast, the strange mummy-boy was gone.
Hallo, I'm back!!!! (temporarily) I'm sooooo sorry that I haven't posted more of "Mummified"; I've been real super busy with the friends I've made on HSB, and I've become a secret agent , a superhero, a superVILLAIN, a fairy, along with managing blogs for all three of my alter egoes.......Lavender, Elenya, and Raynea!!!!! LOTSA stuff, you understand!!!! But there is a new story I've been writing, that y'all might like to read--it's one of those superhero fantasies. Check it out On The Streets.
Jack Smith ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair and threw his pen down in frustration. Ten years and still he hadn't solved it! Just when he thought he had it, he ran into another dead end. He was supposed to be a genius, but maybe this was one of the things that even a rocket scientist couldn't figure out.
"Did you try asking God yet?" a voice whispered in his ear, as if someone was standing right beside Jack. "His wisdom is infinite."
God? Jack thought, his brown eyes widening. He hadn't talked to God once during this whole disaster. Was it because he felt responsible for unleashing the horrible epidemic that had killed thousands of people in America alone? Probably. Jack felt like he didn't deserve to talk to God after that. But who...?
The young man whirled around in his seat, expecting to find some beautiful creature---from her sweet, angelic tones of course---next to him. But he was alone in the tiny room. "I need to get some more sleep," he sighed aloud, rubbing his face with his hands.
It hadn't really been all that long ago. A man bustle down a street in the suburbs, one arm filled with groceries and the other clutching a strage briefcase with encrypted licks. Clyde von Mercury never liked leaving his house unguarded, even to pick up the supplies necessary to living. His sharp, clear green eyes betrayed a scientific personality, though his unruly dity-blonde hair and sloppy clothes tried to deny it. Indeed, he was a scientist, having worked for the government in the pathogens branch at one time. He'd been experimenting with smallpox, an essentially extinct disease, trying to advance its murderous ability to new and higher levels---for biological warfare, he hoped. But, of course, he'd been caught trying to mutate its DNA signature and fired, to say the least. However, Dr. von Mercury wasn't about to let some petty little thing like that stand in his way.
He stopped suddenly as he saw his cozy little house surrounded by police squad cars, and a dirty scowl worked across his face. how dare they. Stalking through the broken-down door, he surveyed the chaos of a thourough search and angrily slammed the groceries on the table. Grabbing his keys, Dr. Von Mercury stormed down the hallyway to the room where he kept his...
...lab.
The place had been completely ransacked. Glass beakers were strewn everywhere, cabinets and drawers were thrown open and their contents dumped on the ground; a stern-looking police officer was in the process of burning the doctor's notes with a lighter. Looking up, one of them slapped handcuffs on Clyde's wrists and said: "Dr. Clyde von Mercury, you are hereby under arrest for tampering with Mother Nature."
The scenes changed, and as Dr. Clyde was being escorted into a blue-and-white vehicle two policemen stood conversing in low tones on the sidewalk. "Ed, I'm entrusting this to you until our FBI agent can get here," the sheriff said, gingerly handing over a glass beaker filled with some kind of strange green liquid. Nodding, Edward Smith tucked the dangerous substance into his breast pocket.
Jack could'nt remember falling asleep, but he woke up with a start just as a lovely girl dressed in white, unseen by any human eye, withdrew her soft touch from his shoulder. "Was that how my father got ahold of this killer smallpox?" he questioned aloud. Or had it been a dream and nothing more? Perhaps he was a vision, he found himself contemplating mentally; she smiled.
“And who’s that?” Rachael questioned, nodding in the direction of a figure wrapped up completely in cloth bandages from head to toe, wearing everyday clothes on top. He was busy occupying himself with a broom in the distant corner, trying to avoid her gaze.
“You needn’t worry about him,” Asmarelda said, that melting sweet confusing working into her voice again. “He’s a traitor to his own kind.”
Rachael’s glistening emerald eyes met his sad, stunningly bright blue ones, the only part of him that she could really see. They dropped after an instant, as if he were both ashamed and afraid of some dark secret she might discover there.
“So…..what am I gong to do?” Rachael wanted to know. She felt kind of stupid, asking Asmarelda question after question, but the woman seemed not to care and answered every single one of the,.
“You’re going to be a knife-thrower, of course, love,” she said, entering a long hallway that was off to the side of the huge room. “Do you know what that means?”
Rachael nodded. “Throwing knives at a big round board with a target on it, right?” she said. “Sometimes you spin it around to make it harder to aim, and sometimes-” She stopped short, horrified.
“And sometimes what, love?” Asmarelda prodded cruelly. She knew what the girl was thinking. She’s too soft, the woman thought. I was so sure that after the old coot died, she’d be perfect. It’s going to take a little hardening up before she can enter the virtual reality.
Swallowing, Rachael continued. “Sometimes you tie a person to the board and you have to be real careful not to miss or you’ll kill them. But,” she stammered, “I…d-don’t think that I’m that good.”
“Confidence is the key,” Asmarelda said. “If you don’t worry about failure, you won’t fail. Besides,” she laughed, “you’ll begin with a training dummy. Then we’ll move to higher levels. We have plenty of time before the show is complete.”I wonder what that means, Rachael thought, as Asmarelda opened a door to her right. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, love,” she announced. It was rather large for a bedroom; in fact, it looked big enough and had enough furnishings in it to account for two. A twin bed made up with yellow daisy-freckled linens, a small chest of drawers, and a silver vanity table accompanied the east wall, where a window presided; and on the west wall, a metal-rimmed bed covered by a midnight-blue comforter, a dresser made from dark wood. And a strange locked box was set. There was quite an extended space between the two beds, about twenty yards, Rachael figured.
“This side is yours,” Asmarelda said, motioning to the yellow bed. “And Joey sleeps in the other; but he won’t bother you. He never makes the slightest sound, not even so much as a squeak.”
“Joey?” Rachael said questioningly.
“The mummy-boy,” Asmarelda responded. “He’s my acrobat---very flexible.” She fell into thought for a moment, and an awkward silence filled the room. So I’m going to sleep in the same room as “the traitor to his kind”? Rachael thought. But then again, this mummy-boy hadn’t seemed so vicious when she looked into those eyes. With her ten-year experience on the streets, she definitely knew what vicious looked like. Sure, he looked kinda creepy, wrapped up in all that stuff. Why did he wear it? Rachael wondered absently. Whatever he’d done had to have been an accident.
“Now then, you’re free to get settled,” Asmarelda said, breaking the silence so suddenly that she made Rachael jump. “We’ll start practice tomorrow.”
“I guess I’m going to find out,” Rachael said in answer to her own mental question, as the mysterious dark woman strode out of the room and left her alone.
Heylo everybody!!!!! Sorry I haven't been posting many comments on everyone else's stories.....I'm still just getting to know everybody!!!!!! And I only have an hour on the computer every day, and I have stories I gotta post on my blog and other blogs as well........I try to read and post a comment on everyone's stories who comment on mine. I believe in fair turnabout!
~~~~~~~
Chapter Two.
Running the currycomb carefully down Chocolate’s sides, Joey Clarkson brushed her rich brown coat until it shone. Asmarelda had elected him to do the job of grooming the team of horses, because the animals liked his gentle, quiet disposition. He couldn’t really help being that way, after all; Joey never spoke to anyone anymore. He’d found it better to listen and learn.
He jumped with a Start when his finely-tuned ears caught the sound of the heavy wooden doors closing with a band that echoed throughout the whole building. He was in a side room, the one that they used for a makeshift stable; but those doors were so big and the auditorium was so colossal that it amplified the noise so much that it sounded like an earthquake.
Joey put away his things and left the room, expecting to find his mistress back and inspecting their work, as was her custom whenever she returned from the city. However, he stopped short when he saw that Asmarelda had brought somebody with her.
It was a strange-looking girl, with scraggly shoulder-length hair the color of a glowing red sunset, tied back with a faded yellow ribbon. She was wearing a blue sports coat with a huge basketball on the back of it, at least five sizes too big for her slender proportions as defined by her mutilated jeans; her ancient, discolored sneakers were mismatched and one had a piece of wire where a shoelace should have been. Joey started at the girl curiously, wondering where she was from and what her “special talent” was. So here was another victim that Asmarelda had lured into her clutches; he kind of felt sorry for the newcomer. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.
Rachael stared in awe at her surroundings. The room was huge, the roof dozens of feet above her head, like that of a cathedral; the walls were painted white, the shiny gymnasium-like floor was white, and several huge windows let in as much light as possible, giving the whole place a rather blinding effect; and to top it all off, there was a sparkling, faceted skylight that was, in character, the ceiling. All in all, it was an imposing place, and it made one feel quite small, but Rachael kept her nonchalant dignity intact while Asmarelda introduced her to “the team”, who had all been practicing their acts when the pair walked inside.
There was Thomas, an excellent magician whose sleight-of-hand was so fast it almost looked like the real thing; Charisma, a beautiful blonde who did acrobatics with the animals; Marty, a female lion-tamer who specialized in all wild beasts; Dan, a strongman who could lift a hundred pounds over his head without breaking a sweat, even though her wasn’t close to being muscle-bound like most hulks in the circus; Kevin, the fourteen-year-old clown and universal utility man; and Jedd, a daring cowboy giant.
Every time Asmarelda introduced her to someone, Rachael could see something flash in the addressee’s eyes---once it was fear, another time it was pity, and once she even caught a strange sly wickedness. Something just wasn’t right about all this, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Hi, Azure here. I really am terribly sorry if this is a little spooky, because Mummified will get darker before it gets brighter. I do apologize, but once I start introducing other characters it'll start to get better.....I hope! Sometimes I can't really tell exactly how much Raynea influences my stuff.
~~~~
The half-amused expression on Asmarelda’s face did not change as she continued to speak. “I have put together a---team, if you will. Adolescents fro mall over America, each with a special talent that makes them stand out. They have a home, a family, with me…and I can see that you currently have none to speak of.” Rachael hung her head, and Asmarelda put one arm around her shoulder. “But come with me, love, and I can give you that and more---something to eat, a place to stay, people who recognize you not just for your talent, but who you really are, deep down inside…” A self-satisfied look spread over the woman’s face. She could see that this little fallacy of hers was working perfectly; before long, this naïve teenage girl would be completely and totally under her control. She bent down to whisper in her ear.
“Rachael, this is everything you ever wanted,” Asmarelda said softly. “Your life may be in shambles now, but with my help you can rebuild it and rise to become a bright and shining stay. My offer is one you cannot turn down, no matter how hard you think in your mind that you can.” She could see that Rachael was starting to break down. “Listen to your heart, Rachael. What does it tell you?”
“That…that I….I should go with you,” Rachael found herself saying, if only to get that sickly-sweet voice out of her head. It was something evil, that voice, laced with a poison that was too overpowering to resist. So what if she was selling her soul to the devil? At least she’d have a reason to live…a purpose. Out here on these streets she was good for nothing except for protecting herself against punks and criminals.
Of course, this was exactly the way that Asmarelda wanted her to think……
That strange smile touched Asmarelda’s lips again. “Good, good,” she said more to herself than to Rachael. “Come with me, then.” And with a flourish of her black cloak, the woman turned and led Rachael out of the alley to a sleek, blood-red car that was waiting for them on the curb.
Sweinson, ye clumsy bird!!! You just DROPPED me!!! And to think, you're supposed to be a graceful bird!!!!!!!
*climbs through the window and smiles sheepishly at everyone*
Sorry 'bout thet, Sweinson is one of the Falx, a breed of giant GRACEFUL falcons in Enaelo, they are the Creature of Dar-Bazel. But he is extremely clumsy and doesn't quite know how to fly quite well. ^^'
And I am so sorry that I haven't been posting, some of my characters were holding my "Mummified" notebook up for ransom and I didn't want to start posting another story and leaving y'all in the dark as to what happens next!
So here goes!!!!
~~~~~~~
Rachael wiped off the blood-covered blade and stuck it back into the depths of her pocket. She had to admit, she’d been good with a knife ever since she’d found this strange weapon with an elaborately carved handle in one of the abandoned houses that she and Alex had looted. Turning it over in her hands sometimes and studying it hard, she wondered if maybe the graceful runes on it actually meant something. Probably not. But still, she liked to pretend.
“You look awful lonely, love.”
The voice belonged to a woman with a soft English accent, and the words rolled off her tongue like so much honey. Rachael was almost afraid to get a look at her addressor, but she shook her head to clear it and turned to see the most beautiful person she had ever seen. She was wearing the deepest shade of violet imaginable, with a black cloak that gave her an all-around gothic air of mystery. Long, mahogany-colored hair and piercing sable eyes finished off her countenance.
“Who are you?” Rachael demanded. “And what do you want?”
A clear, rippling laugh echoed through the alley.
“My name is Asmarelda, love,” she returned silkily. “What do I want?” She walked circles around the confused girl, who stepped backwards and held her dagger out defensively. The woman chuckled and pushed the weapon away. “I know you as well as if you were my own sister, Rachael, and I have already witnessed your authority.”
“A-authority?” the girl faltered, not knowing what to do. No one on this face of this planet knew what Rachael’s name was, or even cared. Why this strange woman, and why now? A chill crept down Rachael’s spine.
Asmarelda smiled cunningly. “Yes, authority, love. Word on the street is that you remain unmatched due to that dagger and the incredible talent you possess. That no one has ever been able to hurt you without bearing a scar all their days, to remind them that you, naught but a sixteen-year-old girl, were able to defeat them. You see, love, I like that . . . People that stand out over the others with their brilliant abilities.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachael snapped. The tone in Asmarelda’s voice was getting on her nerves and setting her on edge. It was scaring her, and yet it was soothing her…saying things that she needed, wanted to hear. It was entrancing.
*ahem* It’s Srrindi again. This is my latest "fantasy" story, and if you look closely you will be able to tell which of my writing characters was at work in which part. It's about a group of superhumans that have been banded together by a renegade ringmaster(who is the villain of this story, and also a girl). If this part is too long/short for you, please tell me and I will make the next installment different.
Chapter One.
A chilling blast of wind swept across Rachael’s face and threatened to yank her bright red hair from its loose ponytail as she trudged down the sidewalk, slouching into her loose, baggy coat. The sky was lit by a bleak winter sun, and several scraggly wisps of cloud lined the pale blueness; the streets were dismally empty, as they had been ever since the catastrophe. So the wind was free to rattle its discordant notes around the looming grey skyscrapers that had been boarded up and abandoned a long time ago.
This place had once been the biggest city in America,---New York City, the Big Apple, Gotham, even "the capital of the world". But "quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore’"; for that was what they called it now. A hulking ghost town, inhabited only by the precious few who had stayed behind to scratch a living from the elements when all else fled---either because they were crazy, had nowhere else to go, or a member of some street gang.
And Rachael? She’d been just a little girl when her parents were shot by angry rioters desperate for food, who had burned her house to the ground and left her for dead. If Alex Williams hadn’t stumbled upon her and taken Rachael under his wing, surely she would have met some horrible fate, either from starvation, the numerous gangs that roamed around, or the corrupted state, whichever found her first. He was just a poor man, without a home and without a job; but Alex protected her because "they needed each other," he once said. Tears swam in Rachael’s brilliant green eyes. She loved him so much…but he was gone now, frozen to death only last week. Rachael buried him in the backyard of some abandoned house and tried to go on with her life; but somehow, life just didn’t have any meaning if you had no one to share it with. She was all alone in the dark, cold, deserted streets of Nevermore.
Or not completely alone.
A shadow lurked along the grimy brick wall as Rachael continued her trek through the tangled labyrinth of cramped alleyways and dirty side streets; she’d worked her way deep into the heart of Skid Row. Dangerous place, for any other girl besides Rachael.
A man suddenly burst out of nowhere and lunged for her, thinking he had the element of surprise to his advantage; but in the blink of an eye Rachael spun around to meet him, leaving a deep gash in his arm with the dagger she’d been holding at the ready all this time. Almost as if she’d been expecting him. The man cried out in pain and ran like a whipped dog, not thinking it worthwhile to attack someone who knew how to fight back so well.
Before I say anything. I suppose I better tell you that Mary Norton wrote The Borrowers, a book about tiny little people who live in our houses and call us "Human Beans"….no REALLY! I love that book,(and besides, all of my favorite authors have been taken already…)
For those of you who didn't know. I am GothamCityNights, and it was Miss Pippin Armour who introduced me to the Inklings and took all the trouble of getting me in.
Now, about me. Let me make this perfectly clear: my pen name is NOT from any language on earth other than the one I made up; the word srrindi means "sister light" in Old Enaeloan. I picked that name because we are all brothers/sisters in Christ, and we are the light of the world. Azure, my last name, is good-old-fashioned English for a sky-blue color(my eyes). I have dark blonde hair and usually wear earthy colors.
I have three different characters who are different aspects of my multi-faceted personality; and they are ALL writers like me! Lavender Westmarch is a good friend and fun-loving person, who enjoys reading/writing adventure stories; Elenya Súlimë is my serious and melancholy side, lashing out at evil with her hot temper and fiercely protective of her friends; and Raynea Blackstone is my dark ego, a mysterious rogue authoress of gothic horror stories and specialist of the spine-chilling and blood-curdling specters of the world. Don’t worry, though, she doesn’t like people and won’t show up too often. (you all breathe a HUGE sigh of relief)
As for me, I like writing fantasy stories; but these are not limited to medieval elves and faeries, as I also like angels, superhumans, and mystic beings. Generally I create things that could never REALLY happen in the real world.
Well, I guess that’s all folks! I'm looking forward to meeting all of you and your characters! Til next time…*salutes playfully and wanders off the weather-beaten path, singing merrily as she disappears into a thick forest*
"The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began…"
