Week Eleven(Jan. 6 - Jan. 11) Topic: Vain
Winners(tied) Chandani and Monolith
Not His Time
By Monolith
His boots left momentary footprints on the wet sidewalk as he trudged on his way. He looked in his early twenties; he wore casual clothes: jeans and a t-shirt. Over this, he wore a large black trench coat. It would’ve been a fairly ordinary sight, him walking along the sidewalk, had he not been in the year 1849- the middle of the Victorian Era in England. His dark hair, hanging slightly over his green eyes, drew disapproving stares from the few people he passed. One elderly woman looked as though she was about to say something, but he growled as she passed, and apart from a slight gasp, she was silent. He grinned to himself, moving his chewing gum, which had long since lost its flavor, to the other side of his mouth.
Finally, he arrived on the street that was his destination. Four buildings ahead was a magnificent mansion, out of place on the otherwise mediocre looking street. The sun had recently set, and the light pouring from the many vast windows lit the street in front of the building. As the young man grew closer to the mansion, he withdrew a slightly elongated handgun from one of his many large pockets. He began loading a high-powered tranquilizer dart into the gun, cautious not to prick himself with the needle. With this strength, he’d be out in seconds, and he’d stay out for a good five hours.
When he reached the door, he peered through a window into the mansion, careful not to be seen. He immediately noticed that his caution was redundant. The interior of the building was in such chaos, none would’ve noticed even if he had knocked. People were running left and right, discord reigned. He slipped through the unlocked door and scanned the crowd of frightened people. All were English noblemen and women, dressed in their finest for an evening party exclusively for the richest and most respected in the city. The man scowled at the stupidity of the Victorian era itself; it was nothing but vanity, one’s image was all that mattered- and one certainly wasn’t going to stick up for any of the other nobles; they probably couldn’t even stand each other.
While he was thinking this, he spotted one of the problems: a man dressed in modern clothes, with a ski mask over his face. He was chasing a group of nobles with a long knife extended in front of him. The knife was devoid of blood, so it was evident that the man was merely having fun, possibly stalling for time. One dart to the chest was enough to stop him in his tracks. As he fell, a second man rounded the corner, also wearing a ski mask, this time carrying a gun. Bullets shattered the glass behind the young man as he ducked and ran for cover, loading a second dart into his gun. As soon as the dart was in place, he turned and shot the masked man easily. He quickly headed for the center of the massive hall, where there was an ornate staircase, leading up to a balcony. As he ran up the stairs, people moved out of his way, covering their heads, some whimpering. One balding man stepped out to block the man’s progress, fists raised halfheartedly before him. He did so at the obvious urging of his wife, who stood off to the side behind her husband. The young man raised his gun and pointed it at the center of the bald man’s forehead. The bald man opened his mouth, his eyes locked onto the tip of the gun. He then lowered his fists and slid out of the way, pressing himself hard against the wall as the young man passed.
When the young man reached the balcony, he waved his arms and called out to get everyone’s attention. This was obviously not necessary as both terrorists were no longer a threat, but he, in the eyes of the nobles, was.
“You don’t have to worry about me”, he said in as calm a tone as he could summon, while still yelling loud enough for all to hear. “But you do need to leave now. Something is coming that is far worse than me, or even those two”, he continued, gesturing at the unconscious forms on the floor. “I expect it’ll be arriving soon, so everyone please head for the exi-“
He was interrupted as the wall around the door he had entered from exploded. Once again, people scattered, screaming for their lives as though it could actually do anything to help them.
The young man scowled and stepped back to the wall, spitting his gum out as he did. It caught in the hair of a passing lady, who didn’t even notice as she screamed on her way. The man leaned forward and glanced into the dust, still clearing from the explosion. He could see more terrorists running into the hall, as well as what appeared to be a tank parked on the lawn. He swore quietly under his breath and lowered himself to the ground against the wall behind him. He deposited his dart gun in his coat, and from another pocket drew a different gun, also a handgun, but styled differently. This gun didn’t shoot darts. This gun shot bullets. This gun shot to kill.
The man sighed deeply to himself.
“This is gonna be a long night”, he muttered, and stood up.
Monolith's other writing: (None)
* * *
Underground
By Chandani
**************************Part one******************************
We are creatures of the dark. Demons who have been eternally damned to this hell they used to call earth. Under the cities we roam like savages. We kill ruthlessly and though some of us try our best to restrain ourselves, in the end all caution is to the wind. Resistance is futile, for fate has another plan. Through our passages we rove, killing our enemies, and fighting to survive. In this place there is no love, there is no light and there is no hope.
This is the land of devils.
I have been told of what our home used to be. So long ago, when the two legged wandered the earth. This place was a city, a great city of wonders and light. Now it is an abyss, one that rivals that which resides deep within our souls. Los Angeles is what they called it. A city of bright nights and of happier times. That was so long ago. That was before the disease and it was before the drop. It was long before the change, and in a time where monsters like us, were nothing but stories.
It is hard to believe that we were once human. We were once alive! Now the light has been robbed from our hearts, leaving them to rot from the inside out. Here life is an uncivilized purgatory.
The killing, the insanity and the darkness, it is all normal for me. This life is all I have ever known, but I beg to learn more. I grovel at fates feet and beg for light.
Thousands of years ago, the world began to change. Slowly but surely people began transforming into monsters. The changes did not show physically for almost a thousand years; it started with greed. Selfishness and power corrupted innocent minds, and forced foul thoughts into benevolent people. At a pace slow so slow that you could barely notice it, the human race began to change. Greed shone from the inside out, paling the skin to a sickening
complexion. Deception threw us into an everlasting crouch, and made our eyes dart suspiciously. Power hunger made us strong, ugly and cannibalistic. And vanity made us loathe all that was different. Now almost all humans have been wiped clean from the earth. All that is left now is the barbaric tribes, of monsters.
Around the same time that the human race became a nearly extinct one, there was a geological drop. An earthquake in San Francisco shattered buildings half way across the country. Houses were robbed, and never rebuilt. We learned to live within the rubble, and me made our lives out of sloppy seconds. The sewage systems remained undamaged despite the earthquake and we put them to good use. Different tribes have established their own underground communities, and passageways. Underneath fallen cities we build our homes. We have families, though the biological tie means almost nothing to most of us. I live in pipeline A directly underneath what used to be the Hollywood walk of fame.
The only time my estranged family and I speak to each other is on the hunt. “Deversus.” My mother snarled at me. I had been distracted looking through a small crack in the piping. “What is it?” I said, my voice abnormally high for my kind. “You never eat. You must become strong or someone is going to make a tasty meal out of you.” She licked her lips slightly. I groaned. It was disgusting to hear your family members talk about eating you. “I doubt they would. She’s too skinny!” My little brother Infestus chimed in. “I’ll eat later. Don’t worry about it.” I muttered not really paying attention to the conversation anymore. I heard a deep sigh from my father. I turned around again to stare at him. “What? Why do you all have a problem with me not wanting to eat right now?” I asked, on the very brink of my patience. No one said anything, so I simply got up and started walking away. “I’m going home. I’ll see you later.” I ran off towards my pipeline exhausted and hungry. I could have eaten right they’re with them, feasted on their cannibalistic meal but I did not. When I was much younger, I began to question our way of life. I began to wonder if there is not hope for us. I began to dream of a better life. So I promised myself that I would be different. I swore to remain abstinent from eating our normal food, which sadly is, our own kind.
************************PART 2**************************
In Los Angeles there are two clans of monsters. Atrox and Dirus. For hundreds of years we have been at war with one another. All over the world, groups fight over territory, power and food; we are no exception. Under and above ground, we have our boundary lines. Atrox mainly occupied northern Los Angeles, while Dirus, my clan inhabited the south. I felt a deep abhorrence towards both barbaric clans—even that which I call my home.
It was in late December when the raids began. It started with rouge Atrox members crossing the boundary line into our territory. Shrieks of fury filled our underground world. Fires spread like an airborne disease, melting our pipelines, and killing all in its path. As our city began to melt, I began to feel the alien emotion of fear. Adrenaline pumped through my dry veins, as I rushed above ground. Once outside the sewage system, I saw the sheer insanity of war. Children and adults a like attacked the Atrox’s. They set fire to their own homes, and killed their own families. At first I had been horrified; now I saw a chance. I could escape! Somehow in this madness I could slip away, to a different place. I could forget Los Angeles. Leave Dirus and Atrox to the past. I didn’t bother thinking twice, I ran long and hard towards the north. I ran past the madness and the killing, until I came upon the Atrox border. Every fiber of my being told me not to step over that line. Every lesson that this life had taught me, told me to back away. But I ignored these rationalizations. I leaped, and landed onto the Atrox soil, which was also war-torn and burnt, to a crisp. But I could care less. This was my freedom; this was me escaping the life I had always hated.
Cautiously I walked through the rubble of this foreign land. I planned on walking all the way through Atrox, into the Californian wilderness, where I could be free.
For hours I walked, listening closely as the battle cries from my old home faded into the back round. As I wandered I searched through the rubble, for a possible companion or simply for someone to talk to. I came across a building that was half standing, half leaning against the remains of another building. I slowly entered the building, looking around warily, for any potential threat or dangers. In the building I found only dead bodies and ammunition. Neither of which I cared for. I was just about to leave when I heard a strange rustle in the shadows. I twisted around and stared intently at the shadows.
“Whos there?” I said, trying desperately to make my voice sound as menacing as it should be, but it only came out as a frightened whisper. Slowly, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was an Atrox, that much could be seen from the large scar on his arm—the symbol of Atrox. It was tall but slender for our kind, its crouch barely more than a hunch, and as it came into the light, I saw that its skin color, like mine was an orange-ish tan, rather than the green we are so accustomed to. “Who are you?” the boy spoke finally. He was most likely no younger than I, yet his voice sounded like that of a child’s.
“My name is Deversus.” I said calmly. The boy cautiously inched closer to me, into the light. The light hit his face and revealed his features. He was like all of us, a strange looking head and pointy ears, but something was so…different. As I looked closer I saw his eyes. They were a sparkling green, brighter than anything I had ever seen underground. “What is your name?” I asked, still mesmerized by the sparkling emeralds.
“Decorous.” He said.
I knew right then, that together, we would discover the hidden treasures of love.
TO BE CONTINUED...WHEN I FEEL LIKE WRITING IT.
Chandani's other writing: http://www.goodreads.com/story/list/1234...
Read other stories from this contest here: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/9139...
