The Angelic Writing of L.E. Silva

A writing blog, where I post short stories, snippets of novels, and the occasional opinion.

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Hiatus c:

hey! To those of you who read my blog, I’m going a brief hiatus. I’m at a writing camp right now and (I know, I see the irony too) I don’t have time to keep it up. Rather than giving you guys lots of bad things, I’m going quality-control myself and stop for awhile. <3 Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Week Two -- Historical Choose Your Own Path!

Alright, so first, the question that everyone’s asking--where is the paranormal romance? Alright, so this is taking me a ridiculously long time to even get the rough draft out because (a.), it’s the longest short story I’ve written so far, and (b.) I am at a writing camp settling into classes and the like. So, here’s the deal. I’ll update you when the rough draft is ready, away from the new story, because I will be working on this while I finish off Lovely Bodies, which is the paranormal romance. I promise you, it will be worth the wait!

Alright, with that all out of the way, here are the reroll loopholes:

Blocked Genres: Sci-Fi, Adventure, Romance

Blocked Character Prompt: Your character has the following traits: ______, _____, and _____!

Blocked Setting:  Dig up a project you worked on recently! Change parts of the setting for your new story!

Blocked Prompt:  Your story has a sub-genre! It is… _____!

Okay, so now it’s time to, hopefully, generate a workable prompt.

Unusable Prompts

Genre: Sci-fi

Character(s): Your character has the following traits: dishonest, self-disciplined, and thoughtful!

Setting: Dig up a project you worked on recently! Use parts of the setting

Prompt: "This is her ninth time trying to draw her sibling"

Violated for genre, setting, and character

Genre: Adventure

Character(s): Try using pure cliches, just for fun!

Setting: Your world is 13 degrees farenheit typically, and there is shortage of wildlife

Prompt: "This is my seventh time trying to crying myself to sleep"

Violated for genre

Genre: Romance

Character(s): Make your protagonist nonhuman.

Setting: Lake Bled

Prompt: Use an unconventional way of writing your story, such as 

rashomon

Violated for genre

Finally, after all of that, we have:

Genre: Historical

Character(s): Take a character you hate... got it? Find out the exact opposite of their personality. That's your character!

Setting: Store

Prompt: Use an unconventional way of writing your story, such as second person

Okay, okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. You know those Choose Your Own Adventure books? Yeah, you know where I’m going with this. :) See you soon and thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Saturday, Update!

Hey there! I’m unable to post the short story today due to one simple thing--I’ve been on a road trip. I could get only around 800 words in on a day one, and today, although I worked a lot, I could not finish the story. So, I will operate as normal, except one day late. I’ll still post the prompt on Monday, but the unedited short story will come out tomorrow, and the final story will come out Monday. :) Thanks for being patient, and, as always, thank you for reading!

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Thursday, Finalization

Hey there! I’m going to post the character finalization, a little bit about setting, and then the plot. :) Have fun reading!

Summer Jefferson & Aleicia Patel (1988)

Starting off with Aleicia Patel. Aleicia is a quiet, demure woman. She is the kind of person who wears mint-scented/leafy-smelling perfume. She never goes out without touching up her face or wearing her gloves. She rarely wears dresses, yet subtle jewelry is something that she never lacks. Her hair is always worn in some type of tight wrap, whether it been a braid or a bun. 

A germaphobe, she only removes her gloves to wash her hands or change her gloves. At all other times, her white gloves are firmly yanked over her hands.

She has a quiet, lilting voice. Soothing, it is the perfect voice for a receptionist, which she indeed is. She works at a therapist’s office, welcoming customers and informing their respective therapists when they arrive. There is one therapist, white with red hair, who seems suspicious of her life at home, but Aleicia has managed to evade further pressing from him.

She does indeed have an abusive boyfriend. Physically and psychologically abusive, he often blames her for the wrongs that befall either or both of them. Often, he takes out his anger on her in the form of slapping her face and punching her torso. She pretends that she is control of the situation, that she can break up with him whenever she wants, but the truth of the matter is that she’s kidding herself. She no longer has control over the situation, as much as she wants to. She never wears anything revealing, because, one, she doesn’t like to show off her body, two, she doesn’t want anyone to see a bruise.

Secondly, we have Summer Jefferson. Summer is, first and foremost, a dreamer. She has so many wishes and desires that she keeps a little book full of them. From visiting Venice to buying a new washing machine, she scribbles down every want that comes to her.

Summer’s dresses outnumber her t-shirts and pants 3-1. However, the dresses are not elaborate or fancy; they are homey, rather. Comfortable to wear and usually decorated with copious amounts of lace, Summer’s dresses are a little older than the fashion trends around her.

She comes from one of the few relatively well-off African American families. She was able to recieve her Bachelor’s in Library Sciences and is working to get her Master’s. She is full of ambition and cheer at all times.

She is also currently learning how to bake. Although her cakes and scones are in need of some work, she makes killer chocolate-chip cookies. She often brings them into work for her fellow librarians. 

Her coworkers are kind and sympathetic to her plight, as a black woman living in a relatively conservative area. Despite knowing this, they just treat her how they would treat anyone else. When a lender seems to be giving her flack for something, any one of them will come rushing to the rescue, if Summer doesn’t tell them off first.

Summer is attached to the world by a balloon string, and a fraying one at that. She often is lost in thought, dreaming about a better time, and a better place. Preferably a warm area with lots of sunrises.

Charming all of those around her wit her happy-go-lucky attitude, Summer appears carefree but also has razor-sharp instincts and notices more than most realize. For instance, besides the man who had been working beside her for years, Summer was the first to pick up on the fact that Aleicia was in an abusive relationship.

Marcus Zimmerman (2018)

Cold and calculating are only two of the words used to describe this man. Ruthless as a businessman, he has climbed his way to the top with his insane intuition and risky business plans. He now sits in a comfortable position in a company called Building Co. (often called BC by outsiders and workers alike). Despite its uncreative name, BC has found recent success of buying and selling apartments in the Cleveland area. A recent population boom has made their property there worth much more than before, quickly sky-rocketing their sales off the charts.

Marcus likes to play with women. He knows only lust, not love. For some, this is a life that they continue to live until the day they die, and when they do indeed fade away, they know nothing better than the short-bursts of passion that come from bedding a woman. However, when the ghosts of Aleicia and Summer contact him, he becomes acquainted with love and regrets that, when something so pure and fragile such as the love between Aleicia and Summer exists, he is having late night affairs with married women.

Before he changes, he was a cocky braggart. Believing that his position in BC was rock-solid, he never took precautions with his actions at work. He often flaunted his wealth by wearing new suits every day, each one fancier than the last, and wearing expensive watches to work.

He bought a large house tucked away on the outskirts of suburbia outside of Cleveland. It was run down and extremely cheap on the market. However, Marcus bought it so he could renovate it, further proving his obvious wealth to his “friends.”

Plot

This is definitely going to be a long story, so bear with me! I want to make his night/day times balanced, so there is a clear line between his story and Summer’s and Aleicia’s. I feel that neglecting either would lead to a less powerful story. :) Anyways, this is the plot.

The story starts out with Marcus and his buddies at work, rating their female colleagues on a scale of one to ten. Make sure to note that there are many more men actually doing work than the five (marcus and four unimportant friends) not doing so. 

Have a woman print something out, and head towards the printer that the friends are crowding around. When she gets close, Marcus reaches for the back of her skirt. Whirling around and turning bright red, she stabs a finger in his face and says that she doesn’t care how high up he is on the company’s ladder, if he did that again, she would report him. End section that day of work there.

Marcus goes to his house, where the bedroom, kitchen, and a bathroom have already been renovated. He recently moved out of his apartment, so there are a lot of boxes lying around.

He goes to bed, but hears a woman softly crying. Each sob is delicate, as if anything would break it. Confused, he gets out of bed to go downstairs and get a drink of water and to poke around. As he is getting the glass, the crying fades away, and he passes it off as pre-sleep audio illusion.

The next day, Marcus finds out the woman’s name who had threatened him yesterday. He spends a lot of time poking around before he can get someone to tell him. Most just give him disgusted looks before looking away. 

He goes to his boss and tells him that the woman has been lacking in her duties, that she rarely gives him the information that he needs to purchase buildings. His boss frowns and says that he’ll look into it. Marcus is triumphant. End of work day here.

The next night, Marcus hears the crying again. This time, he ignores it and goes straight to bed.

He dreams a strange, realistic dream of two women going to work. The weather is warm, almost balmy. Definitely summer. An African American woman is running to the stop, a side bag swinging by her hip and a lacey, pink dress forming to her figure. She nearly runs into an Asian woman. Who is standing, back-ridged, with folders neatly placed in her crossed arms. The African American gasps out a question, asking why she had never seen the asian woman before. The asian woman replies that her bike had recently broke and that she had to take the bus to her workplace from now on. The african american woman expresses sympathy, introducing herself as Summer. The asian woman says that she is Aleicia. Summer asks what bus she’s waiting for, and she says the 815. Summer is impressed that she’s there a whole 13 minutes early. Summer says that she’s waiting for the 800. Aleicia seems surprised and tells her that it pulled out about a minute ago. Semi-cursing, Summer thanks Aleicia and runs off, presumably in the direction of the next stop. Aleicia smiles after Summer’s retreating form.

The next day, Marcus quieter, weirded out by his dream. He half-heartedly participates in his friends’ conversation, but only mumurs mhhmms, and yeses to show that he is listening. When one friend asks him a question and he responds with ‘yeah, definitely,’ they ask why he is so spacey. Strangely protective of his dream, he shrugs off their concerns and goes back to his desk to do some work.

At night, Marcus dreams about the two women again. Some time has passed--it’s now a little chillier, and many clouds hide the sun from view. Summer is wearing a winter coat and Aleicia is wearing a turtle-neck sweater. They’re at dinner together, in a relatively laid-back restaurant. Summer and Aleicia talk about their jobs for a little bit, complaining but also rejoicing in the small joys. Through the conversation, the reader also learns that this is not the first time that they have gone out together. Suddenly, Summer turns serious and she fidgets uncomfortably in her chair. She comes out to Aleicia as being gay, and tells her that she really likes her. Aleicia, surprised and flattered, blushes fiercely as Summer continues, the first wall that has been breached in her emotional barrier for a long time. Summer rambles on, eventually stopping as Aleicia raises her hand to silence her. After a pause to gather up her courage, Aleicia says that she feels the same way. The dream ends with them looking into each other’s eyes in a totally different way from when they began.

Marcus goes through the motions at work, not even bothering with his friends. When he gets out, he drives to the library that Summer mentioned working at. He asks around about Summer, and one ancient librarian says that she knew Summer. He talks to her, and finds out about her dream book, her cookies, and her general kindness to her coworkers. He asks about Aleicia as well, but she says that she never knew much about her, except that she and Summer disappeared on the same day, over 40 years ago.

Shocked by this revelation, Marcus is slow to fall asleep the next night. When he does, he dreams of Aleicia and Summer standing at a dark balconly, presumbaly in Summer’s apartment. The air is biting and most of the leaves are gone from the trees. They talk about how rough their relationship is, with having to keep it mostly a secret in fear of being discovered as being gay. Summer keeps a hand on Aleicia’s arm as she confronts her about the hand-shaped bruise on her wrist. Aleicia stiffens, but when Summer reminds her that their relationship is built on honesty, she relaxes in a way akin to admitting defeat. She reveals that her boyfriend is ‘rough’ with her. Shocked by the things she hears, Summer can do nothing but shake her head and grasp tightly onto Aleicia’s arm. She also learns that her boyfriend, in a fit of rage, slashed her bike’s tires and knocked off the seat with a hammer, which is why Aleicia had to take the bus. The dream fades as Marcus wakes up. He is confused, terrified, but determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Continuing plot from here on 7/6/18 at 11:25!

Marcus calls in sick the next day, saying that he has the flu and would not be able to go into work. Over the course of the week, he gathers newspaper articles on everyone he meets in his dream, looks them up on the internet, and talks to the people who knew them in their time. There are none of Aleicia’s family left in the area, but Summer’s mother (~80 at the time) is still alive. He goes to talk to her.

Mrs. Jefferson is tearful, talking about the lost pea in her children’s pod. She had a son, who, after going to therapy for several years, was able to get over his sister’s disappearance. Marcus asked if Summer had any Asian friends, but her mother says that there was only one asian librarian, and they weren’t that close.

Frustrated that he knows so much about Summer, but next to nothing about Aleicia, he stays up for most of the night, trying to track down the therapy office that Aleicia used to work at. He found out that the building was torn down and replaced by a Wendy’s. However, he does find a living retiree who used to work there--the irish child therapist who suspected Aleicia’s abusive relationship. He talks about her fondly, saying that she herself could’ve made an amazing therapist if she had decided to pursue the career path.

He returns home late at night, around 11 or so. Aleicia and Summer were dancing at a night club together, cups of fizzy bear splashing their drinks everywhere as they skip-danced. They didn’t say anything, just laughed uncontrollably and smiled at each other brightly. Tipsy, but not anywhere close to drunk.

Smiling, Marcus draws closer to watch them. For a second, Aleicia sets her drink down by her feet, motioning at Summer to do the same. They join in a pseudo-waltz, picking up the speed of the dance to match the beat of the rock ‘n’ roll music. While they were busy whirling around, a man slipped by and discreetly slipped something in their drinks. Heart sinking, Marcus began to shout Summer’s and Aleicia’s names. Of course, he has no effect on the dream, so they continue dancing until their waltz is finished. They end the dance with a small kiss, a simple brush of their lips. All the while, Marcus is panicking, screaming at them to not drink what’s in their cups.

But, they pick up their plastic cups and knock back the rest of the contents. Instantly, they appear to become more drunk. The same man who had slipped the drugs into their drinks pretends to notice them wilting, and rushes over. He explains to a suspicious, burly looking guard that the Asian woman is his girlfriend. Aleicia is still lucid enough to answer the question, but not aware enough to know not to. The man throws the two unconscious women in the back of his car and, when he gets to the wheel, an angry muscle ticks in his jaw. As he pulls away, the dream leaves Marcus’s consciousness. 

Unable to comprehend what he had witnessed, Marcus could do nothing the next day but wonder. So, that was it. They were drugged and kidnapped. Somehow, Aleicia’s boyfriend must’ve found out about their relationship and decided to take care of ‘problem’ himself. For some reason, Marcus believes that the ghosts will no longer show him anything. He spends the day, shellshocked, trying to figure out a plan to exaplain what he had learned.

When he falls asleep that night, he is shocked to find himself in another memory/dream. He follows Aleicia’s boyfriend to his house, a large, strangely-familiar looking house. He slings Summer over his shoulder and drags Aleicia along the ground.

When they enter through the front door, it hits Marcus--this is his house. He was living in the same house that Aleicia’s boyfriend had been.

He watches as he drags the two unconscious women underneath a loose floorboard in the basement. He is too shocked to scream, just feels hollow as he watches Summer and Aleicia are dragged to their deaths. He knows that he can do nothing as Aleicia’s boyfriend ties them up and waits for them to wake up.

About twenty minutes pass before Aleicia twitches, her eyes opening. She exclaims the boyfriend’s name, Andrew, in fear and horror. He reveals that he had known she was doing something when she returned late every night, and that he had been following her for a long time before he had done this. He seems strangely sane, his voice cool and collected. He explains that he is going to make sure she regret everything she’s done. Suddenly tearful, Aleicia slurridly begs for Summer’s life, but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

Something that had never happened before during this dream--several days passed in a blur. He was aware for each of them, but remembers little but screams, knives, and blood. He believes that his brain blocked out the majority of the torture that Andrew inflicted on the two women.

Summer was the first to go, as Andrew was much rougher with her. Aleicia did not last much longer, perhaps a day or so. Even if Andrew hadn’t killed her, the wound in her soul was too great--as soon as Summer breathed her last, she was as good as dead.

After a week, Summer and Aleicia lay next to each other, their eyes glazed over with death. Marcus, covered in their blood, had slung them into a corner. They were missing all of their fingernails, patches of their hair were missing, and both had fresh cuts slicing up their bodies. Despite all the pain, their hands almost appear to be resting lightly on each other, their heads resting on top of the other.

Andrew spits at the bodies of the two women, suddenly appearing less sane than before. He calls them fags before turning to leave. Marcus sadly notes how quickly Andrew cut of connections to his girlfriend. He goes out of the basement, chuckling while humming to himself, pressing the floorboard back into place. The room is cast into darkness.

Waking up in a cold sweat at three in the morning, Marcus leaps out of bed, bolting down the stairs to the basement. He flicked on the lights, and pounded down the steps. When he reached the bottom, his heart sank when he noticed a floorboard slightly pulled up. Ripping it out of the floor, he is stunned to find two skeletons. Their clothing hangs on them like rags, barely even covering themselves up.

Marcus throws up outside of the room, onto the basement’s false floor next to hin. He calls 911, explaining that he had found a secret room in his basement while he was cleaning up, and that two bodies were located inside. He didn’t pretend to not know who they belonged to--eventually the research would tell them that he had been looking into Summer and Aleicia before he found their bodies.

Temporarily, he was held and questioned. When they asked why he had suddenly looked into Summer and Aleicia’s past days before he had found their dead bodies, he said that he had heard that the two women were missing and he was curious about their lives. Of course, many were extremely suspicious of Marcus, and theories ranged from him being a master detective to the killer who traveled from the past. Although his perculiar involvement in the case, no one could solidly connect him to the women. He suggested looking at the house’s previous owners to see if any of them had shared a connection. The previous inhabitant, an 80 year-old woman had never visited the house, but quickly, Andrew’s name was discovered. It was found out that he had been previously arrested for armed robbery, and that he was sent to a mental hospital instead of jail. While there, he hung himself with his belt from the ceiling.

The bodies were returned to the respective families. Summer’s mother was insanely grateful for Marcus, whispering that she didn’t know how he found the bodies, but was so grateful he did. He asked if she wanted to know the story, the real story, promising her that even he didn’t understand the specifics of it. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he made the offer, and he swore he could feel two ghostly hands interlace their fingers with each of his own. So, Marcus sat down on one of her couches, and began with, “I wasn’t always the best man...”

Ending this here! This is taking a lot longer than I thought it would take to write, so I will finish this tomorrow, seeing as I have to get up at 5 o’clock, and I don’t want to be a TOTAL zombie. c: So, see you tomorrow! Thanks for reading!

Phone died while I was on the road (on a car trip), so I didn’t have teh chance to finish this until I got to a hotel. Finished editing this at 7:21 PM!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Wednesday, Misc. Post

Since I’ve already outlined the characters + plot in the post from yesterday, I’m just going to do some research on the 1980s, so I can paint a relatively reliable picture of the past. :)

Basic information: Reagan was president, won in a landslide against dem

Reagan was a charming man, but he was against affirmative action -- Summer bitter?

Librarian’s wages were dropping, about 4k in 10 years. Maybe indicates how much Summer loves reading/learning/dreaming

Possibly live in Ohio?

Slang

Superlatives before words (really totally great)

Bad - used to describe something cooler than cool

Bag your face - don’t show your face, you’re ugly (r00d)

---> http://www.liketotally80s.com/2009/05/80s-slang/

----> https://bestlifeonline.com/1980s-slang-terms/

----> http://www.dictionary.com/e/s/80s-words/#dude

Mental health clinics/research’s funding was cut

20 degrees in winter, 80 degrees in summer

Not a lot of info, but enough I think to get me through the story :) Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Tuesday, Analysis of Prompt + Characters!

Hello there! I’ve actually been thinking about the prompt quite a bit, and I came up with an idea that I think is actually really interesting. Alright, so let me just thought vomit all over this post real quick.

Alright, so of course, the first thing that came to mind was Twilight. I mean, paranormal romance. A cynical, charming, and unreliable character? It seemed as if, against my wishes, I would have to write something as equally trash as Twilight. 

But I thought, no. No, I don’t want to do that. I want to make it something worthwhile. So, this is what I’m thinking.

The generated character is indeed the main character. However, he is not the one in the romance. He’s simply living in the house where it occurred. 

The story is about our main character learning about “true” love, the lasting kind, not the frivolous passions he has. He bought a house outside of the city he works and, fairly soon, he realizes that there is something strange in the house. He hears weeping in the middle of the night, but no one lives with him. He figures that he’s just dreaming the sounds, and continues with his life.

Throughout the story, he goes to work, does business-y things, and then returns home. When he falls asleep, he becomes a spectator to the love of Aleicia Patel and Summer Jefferson. He witnesses their romance’s struggle, facing obstacles such as Aleicia’s already established abusive relationship and the general bigotry of those around them.

Soon, the main character grows freaked out of these impossible to forget dreams, and asks around town about Summer and Aleicia. He soon finds that they did indeed exist, 40 years ago. He finds out about them, visiting the library that Summer once worked at. The most disturbing bit of information he learns is that they disappeared together without a trace.

His dreams about Aleicia and Summer become darker. Soon, instead of simple dates and blushing conversations, it’s Aleicia’s boyfriend screaming at her and threatening to beat her. It’s Summer’s struggle as the only black librarian. It’s their delicate love being pressed in on all sides, slowly being choked to death.

His colleagues notice the change in him. He’s quieter, less quick to laugh. In an effort to cheer him up, they do what they did in the beginning of the short story--point out a woman and comment on how easy or hard it would be to bed her. Disgusted, he shoves away.

When he returns home, he can’t fall asleep, dreading what he’ll learn about Aleicia and Summer.

He sees their kidnapping. Aleicia’s insane boyfriend drugs their drinks at a nightclub, and takes the two of them to a secret room in the basement, underneath a loose floorboard. He ties them up and slowly tortures them to death.

Terrified, the main character wakes up breathing heavily. He hears the screaming again, coming from his basement. He rushes downstairs, flings open the basement door, and pounds down the steps. It’s the exact same as it was in his dream. He rips up the floorboard, and to his dismay, he sees a set of stairs descend into darkness. He flips on a light switch on the wall, and it illuminates two skeletons, leaning against each other. He calls 911, telling them that, when he was cleaning his basement, he discovered a loose floorboard and found the skeletons. It was quickly deduced that they were the long-dead bodies of Summer and Aleicia. They were given to the families, who, the few that remained that remembered Summer and Aleicia, grieved deeply. They decided to bury them together when the main character said that they were leaning against each other. They were buried in the garden of the library, which they got specially approved by the mayor.

After all this, he quits his job and becomes a public speaker.

(: I actually really like how this story is shaping up. It’s a different direction to take paranormal romance, and I feel like it also has mystery and horror-esque qualities about it. It also feels like the perfect premise for a novel, so maybe one day, this’ll become just that. But, for now, it’s a short story.

Time to introduce the characters!

Marcus Zimmerman

An Asian businessman who is extremely successful. Smart and witty, he has been able to climb his way to the top. Now there, he has become rich and disregarding other people’s needs and wants. He often offers higher positions to the women in his work that will sleep with him.

He buys a small house that is in the suburbs, but set apart. It’s old and expensive, and that’s why he buys it. Soon, he discovers strange things in the house, such as cold spots, deep, knife-like marks in the floorboards, and small bloodstains. Marcus is a little concerned, but since everything looks so old, he figures that there is no danger. 

Throughout the story, Marcus becomes less and less like himself. He becomes, not exactly kinder, but less of a jerk. His character has completely turned around by the end of the story.

Summer Jefferson & Aleicia Patel

Note: outfits not final, although I do really like Summer’s. Also, Summer’s note about her being openly gay is no longer true.

Aleicia likes to be in control. If she’s not, she pretends that she is. She is also a slight germaphobe, wearing gloves wherever she goes. Cool and collected, she hides her fear and anger behind a wall of simple smiles and nods. She is the receptionist at a therapist’s office, which might give me the opportunity to weave in some irony about her abusive relationship. Aleicia is Asian as well.

Summer is a cheerful, hearty gal. She dotes on her friends, the few she has at the library, by bringing them baked goods such as cookies and pies. She loves to read (obviously, since she’s a librarian) but she dreams about living somewhere, some time else. Often caught up in these dreams, she spends more time in thought than in the real world.

They met at a bus stop, where Summer waits for the 8 o’clock to take her to the library, and Aleicia waits for the 8:15.

So, yeah! That’s about it for this post. :) Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Week Three - Paranormal Romance!

With week one and two behind us, I’ve decided to make a quick new rule about the generator.

So I don’t continuously write for one genre, if I roll a genre that I have done in the past three weeks, I must reroll. For the other, less pressing prompts, if it is something that I have done in the past week, I must reroll (i.e., getting ‘Make a character foil’ again this week). If I do roll something that I can’t do, I will still post it, and maybe one day I’ll write for it. :)

Blocked Genres: Sci-Fi, Adventure, -

Blocked Character Prompt:  Make a character from scratch, and then create a character foil (opposite of their personality) for him/her! Use your foil to be your protagonist!

Blocked Setting: Mount Everest

Blocked Prompt: “This is my ___ time crying myself to sleep”

Alright, with that out of the way, let’s see!

Genre: Romance

Character(s): Your character has the following traits: charming, unreliable, and cynical!

Setting: Dig up a project you worked on recently! Change parts of the setting for your new story!

Prompt: Your story has a sub-genre! It is... paranormal romance!

I attached a screenshot because this seems unbelievable.

holy cow, I’m crying at that character generated personality. Doesn’t that just scream edgy bad boy lover? Dude I’m dying right now, no joke. Also I got paranormal romance. OH BOY.

I’m going to break out of the box that Twilight has constructed around me. It’s not going to be a sexy romance; it’s going to be a difficult, delicate, and precious one. That’s my goal.

See you on the other side, and thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Sunday, “Everest’s Loneliest Creature”

!! After more than five hours of writing, two hours of editing, here it is, in all its glory: Everest’s Loneliest Creature! Okay, time for some life lessons:

What I’ve Learned: Journals are so hard to write. ;u; People who write stories with just letters, holy frick, props to you. Seriously, making this entertaining without making it seem like a regular piece was... difficult (not gonna say very because that makes for weaker writing see I definitely know what I’m doing).

Props to more people: historical fiction authors. It was hard enough researching something current. How you all can do it for something that has been gone for like at least 50 years, no clue.

EVEREST TAKES FOREVER TO GET GOING. LIKE, HECK, FORTY DAYS TO REACH CAMP IV? REALLY? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE A SHORT STORY AAAAA! no i’m not bitter

Characters are really fun to develop behind scenes! I thought that I would just throw the friends who came with Mallory to the side, but they were really fun to write about. I think that I gave them, certainly simple, but interesting personalities. I actually think that the characters are believable in this story, which is something that I think I struggle with a lot.

Final Word Count: 8,986

Final Time Spent (writing/editing): 8 hr 14 minutes

Trigger warning: being stranded somewhere, storms, big monsters who’ll love you to death, and sadness :(

Everest’s Loneliest Creature

February 28, 2018

Hello there, journal! I’m going on the climb of my life with my friends, Jasmine and Casey. We’re going back to my family’s birthplace, to a small country housing the most giant of mountains! A small fry taking reign of the largest shark! A teeny mouse housing a fierce African elephant! 

That’s right, we’re going to Nepal to climb the one and only Mount Everest! Just writing that feels unreal, wow!

Casey suggested the idea to me last year, around April or something. We were studying deer behavior in the field when he suddenly said that he wanted to climb Everest one day. I rolled my eyes at him and said that we would never have the money. I make plenty to keep myself afloat, but to afford an entire trip to Everest? 

Besides, I told him, I’m not great at keeping jobs. To do something like climb Everest when I’m not even sure if the research program is going to want me tomorrow would be dumb. He and I laughed about the time that I abandoned my (infinitely and endlessly boring) task of documenting the edible plants in Yellowstone to follow a goose and her goslings, and my subsequent firing. But, it’s fine. I didn’t really like the people who employed me at that time anyway.

After we stopped laughing, he said to think about it. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything with the idea, but Casey is really persistent. He kept bothering me about it, and finally, I threw him a scrap and said I’d talk to my parents about it. Now, mind you (or me, I guess?), I don’t need their permission to do it. I just thought that if I were to go climbing on Everest, they would want to know. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt if they could give me a little money, right?

So, I came to their house, served them a gourmet dinner of oven-baked dino nuggets, and then told them what I was thinking about Everest. I told them that it would be a good way to connect with great grandpa Hiransh’s roots. 

Mom looked at dad, and the two shared a concerned glance. They told me how dangerous it was to climb Everest, and I’m sitting here like, come. On. I am a field biologist. I work with giant snakes and bears, already have spent lots of time climbing mountains, in very dangerous areas, and you don’t think that I know that Everest is dangerous?

Anyways I just nodded as they warned me, smiling and occasionally saying, yep, yep. Or, yeah, I’ve heard that. Nothing disrespectful, just enough to show them that I had done my research.

Eventually, mom said what I was thinking--expenses. She looked over to my father, her hands wringing in her lap. She said that a permit alone could cost me greatly, but I told her that I had already done research on how much it cost. But, I also said, I would love if you guys could spare a hundred or something so I don’t, like, freeze to death on the mountain because I couldn’t afford a coat. My dad laughed at that, but my mom just bit her lip. I promised to pay them back.

My mom and dad talked, and they finally came to an agreement to give me $500. My dad said, jokingly, that if I didn’t pay them back, that he would get to shave off what remained of my hair. (long story short: I decided to get a pixie cut and dyed the tips of my hair dark green, and I think it looks pretty bad. Casey says it looks good, though, so maybe I’ll keep it like this)

So, I left with an extra $500. It wasn’t much, compared to the monumental expenses of climbing Everest, but it was a start. I had to basically empty my spend account and dump it in my growth account. Who knows, I thought. Maybe by the time I climb Everest, I’ll have a whole extra dollar! (I actually ended up getting about ten dollars! Score!)

I started to train for the expedition. At first, I just worked normally at the gym, and then I started to use a mountain training mask. Basically, it just lowers how much oxygen your body gets, and it gets you ready to breathe the thinner mountain air. I also had to work really hard at my job to work up enough extra money so I could go to Nepal and not be bankrupt by the time I got back. I volunteered for every job, even the extra boring ones, and did my best to stay on track. Gradually, my bank account grew.

My friend, Jasmine, heard about this and decided to jump in. Jasmine is more serious than I am (job wise, at least), and, although she’s only like 20, she’s really smart. Her parents were able to afford insanely great schooling for her, and they chipped in for a lot of our trip. We probably we would have had to delay it another year if they hadn’t helped us so much. She and I get along well since she can kind of reel me in when I’m ready to run off.

So, while I was training, I was slowly buying the equipment I would need. Of course, I got the usual clothing--sweat-wicking underwear, long-sleeved shirt and long pants, fleece jacket, coat, and then a larger, bulkier coat, etc, etc. Pretty boring stuff, if you ask me.

But the coolest thing I bought was this air tank. First off, it is a lot lighter than other air tanks, but it can last a climber much longer, because of an incredibly incredible reason that is so incredible that it might just blow your incredibly uninformed mind. It is split into two compartments. One is filled with oxygen, the other is the air breathed out by the climber. There’s something techy about breathing in opening a valve and then breathing out closing it, so it leads to two different compartments, but I’m not really in that field of science, so what do I know? The air that is breathed out is filtered into the one compartment. There’s this bio paper thing that’s kind of like a plant in which it takes in the CO2 to make oxygen, but I literally have no idea how it works. I think there’s something to do with genetic manipulation, maybe? Who knows.

I’ve worked with it more than any of my other tanks and I love it to bits and pieces. I think it can last up to a week and a few days before the bio paper becomes worn out. After that, it becomes basically just a normal air tank.

So, anyways, we’re taking a plane tomorrow. This is like the only notebook I haven’t written in yet, so I’m taking it along. Luckily, it’s really sturdy. Not exactly my taste in books, since it is butt ugly. It’s from like five years ago, so that doesn’t help either. Well, whatever. It’ll do.

It’s going to take more than an entire day to get to Nepal, but we’re making it! I just finished packing not even like five minutes ago. Wait, just glanced at the clock. This has taken me a lot longer than I thought--forty minutes, actually! Well, I better sign off, if I’m going to catch the five o’clock flight tomorrow morning. Getting up at 3:30, driving out for thirty minutes, going through security, and then boarding. Sounds like fun, right?

See you in the morning!

Mallory Woodruff

March 01, 2018 (well, technically, it’s the second but it still feels like the first sooo)

Casey snores so loudly. I swear, my seat is shaking with the sound of him. I don’t want to wake him up though. If I could manage to fall asleep, I would too. But I’m not a great flyer, so I’d probably wake up and vomit all over myself.

Jasmine isn’t sleeping either. She’s still getting caught up with work. She’s kind of a push-over and takes other people’s unwanted work even when she doesn’t feel like doing it. She says that it’s not because she doesn’t want to stand up to them, it’s because she wants to get a promotion. But, if getting a promotion equals ten hours of work on a plane that has spent forever sputtering its way over eternal turbulence with no overpay, uh, thanks, but no thanks.

I’ve been passing the time by reading about Everest. Of course, lots of the writing is the “exciting” stuff that has happened on Everest, i.e., death, destruction, and the like. Maybe I should stop reading it. It’s interesting, but I guess it’s also kind of morbid for me to be reading it right now? Like, is it giving me bad karma? Does karma work like that? I don’t know.

We’re hitting more turbulence, and I doubt I’ll be able to make any comprehensible sentence in a few minutes. We’re supposed to land in like an hour, and then we take one final flight to Nepal.

Mallory Woodruff

March 03, 2018

Okay, so we’re in Nepal, and it’s warm. I mean, I know it was supposed to be warm, but I wasn’t actually expecting it to be this warm. With Everest so cold, it’s strange to me that, so close to the mountain, it’s warm. Anyways, update time.

So, we landed in Nepal smoothly. It was late, around one o’clock, when we landed. The other flight was supposed to get us to Nepal at ten, but it was delayed due to a storm. Talk about a bummer.

When we landed, I wanted to go out and eat somewhere nice. Casey had wanted to sleep some more, but when he heard about my idea, he instantly wanted to go, too. Jasmine eventually caved in, because, first off, food, and, second off, food.

So, we ate out. It was really nice, and I was so happy to not be eating plane/awful fast food. It was like a miracle, to have delicious spicy food again. I gobbled down my entire plate and then proceeded to wistfully mop up the remains of my dish and lick them off my finger. Casey had all of his, too, but then threw up later since he hadn’t eaten anything in like the past fifteen hours. (note to self: spicy food on an empty stomach is a no go. Learn from Casey’s mistake) Jasmine just ate some rice and had water.

Anyways, we have to take a short plane ride to Lukla tomorrow. We stopped in Kathmandu because it is gorgeous and I insisted on it. I accidentally left my camera at home, so you’ll have to make due with some crappy phone pictures.

The city is amazing, and, the best part, there are forests nearby. Like, national parks and stuff. If I were to move to Nepal, I would definitely come here. It’s really great. Wow, I sound so enthusiastic ending that sentence with a period. Shall I do it some more. Wow. I’m so excited that I’m going to climb Everest. Wow. Okay, I’ll stop now, haha. But seriously, it is beautiful around here!

It’s getting late, so I’m going to sign off. If anything cool happens on the flight, I’ll let you know!

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

The flight was only around 30 minutes, nothing crazy happened. The landing was terrifying though--the runway is so tiny! I swear, I was gripping Jasmine’s arm so hard that I’m surprised I didn’t break it. But, we’re safe and sound!

Today, we met with our guide. He speaks very limited English, but I’m sure that it won’t be a problem. After all, taking people places usually doesn’t require any words! I’m pretty good at reading expressions anyways, I think. Working with animals all the time has actually helped me learn people’s emotions and what they want to convey really well! It’s surprising, but sometimes I can guess what a person’s going to say even before they open their mouth. It’s a useful skill to have, I think.

We’re going to start our trek to Everest Base Camp today after we stretch for a little bit. I’ll probably write something once we stop.

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

Hey, for once I kept my word for doing something! For starters, let me talk about the villages.

So, people live on Everest. I don’t know if that’s common knowledge (I didn’t know before I started researching), but there you have it. They live in these small towns, with stone roads and stone houses. Although that sounds bland, they also have these amazing red roofs. The sun shines off of them softly, without the pernicious glare that reflective things back home have.

All our guide had to do was gesture at the village with a smile for us to freak out. Even Jasmine was in awe. There are a few cylindrical structures, with a small roof place on top. Tassels hang from the roof, which is shaped like a triangle but is kind of curvy. There are words written in a foreign language, in yellow-painted blocks. The main body is covered in red paint, and yellow and green designs line the top and bottom of the cylinder. It is just gorgeous!

They also have this line that runs throughout the village. There are faded cloths attached to it, colored in dim red and almost blushing blue shades. They are apparently prayer flags. Our guide told them that it’s not for gods; it’s for love and goodness. The flags apparently are made specifically to fly in the wind, to spread peace and joy. The village people believe it, and, if I’m being honest, watching the lines flicker in the wind, I do too.

We set up tents and are sleeping off the side of the trail. There are little lodges called tea houses, but we passed one, thinking we’d be able to make it to the next, since we were moving faster than expected. We were wrong. So, yeah.

I’m sleeping in Jasmine’s awesome tent (you can unzip parts of the tent for windows! In a tent! I wish my family was rich, then I could have cool tents too!), Casey brought his own tiny one, and our guide obviously has his own. I’ve seen at least six yaks, and we nearly ran into one on the trail. We had to walk around it, and the detour took a good twenty minutes to find a safe path, take it, and then get back to the trail. Definitely worth it, though! What I would give to study those yaks, though…

We have around another week to go before we make it up to base camp. I’ll try to update tomorrow!

Mallory Woodruff

March 09, 2018

Okay, so maybe I forgot about this and by the time I remembered I was too lazy to actually write in it. But! I’m writing now! We’re taking a quick water break and catching our breaths. I’ll catch you up on what’s happened since the fourth.

We’re about a day from base camp. We’ve actually made great time, and the weather has been super cooperative. The landscape has turned from green and gorgeous to pebbly and full of shrubs. It’s still pretty, and there are still prayer flags up here, it’s just not as welcoming as it was lower on the trail. Kind of crazy how different things can be just a little further up.

Remember those tea houses I mentioned? Well, we’ve only had to sleep in tents once since that first night. Our guide wanted us to be comfortable, so we’ve been able to sleep in one basically every night now. To sleep in beds is incredible, even if they are pretty stiff. You can also eat there, and by doing so, I’ve met a few people. Most are just going to base camp, hiking around, and then heading back down the mountain. A few have said that they’re attempting a summit, though! Glad to know that there are other crazies out there :)

Anyways, yesterday was the day that we had to sleep in our tents, and today we will too. The air is crazy thin up here. I am so happy that I trained really hard for this--I don’t think I would be able to make it up to camp otherwise. Our plan is to get to base camp, spend two days hiking, and then climb up to the higher camps.

So much has happened in the past nine days. Reading my old passages feels like they’re from a lifetime ago! It’s crazy; I don’t think time has ever held such meaning for me! Looks like we’re getting ready to move. I promise I will write as soon as we get to base camp.

Mallory Woodruff (why am I signing my name? I know it’s me. Maybe I should stop? Eh, too late now. Conformity!)

March 10, 2018

Haha! I did keep my promise! We’re here at base camp, and there are quite a few other climbers with their tents pitched. Some of them are really friendly, but most of them just want to be left alone as they enjoy the mountains. Our guide is going to accompany us on our first summit attempt, but after that, he’s leaving. (totally not because we couldn’t afford him any longer) He warned us against attempting a summit without a guide, but, although we didn’t tell him, we’re definitely going to do it anyways. Well, at least Casey and I will. Jasmine doesn’t seem too thrilled with the idea of climbing without someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

Anyways, like I said, we’re going to hike around for two days and then start climbing to the second camp. It’s going to take a really long time to get up to Camp IV, which is the camp directly before we attempt a summit. Like, 40 days long. I’ll try to update, but we’re probably going to be pushing pretty hard. :) See you later, I guess.

Mallory Woodruff

March 31, 2018

Halfway there! We just reached Camp II. It’s rough. So far, no need for oxygen tanks. Once we get to Camp IV, we’re going to need them, though. It’s crazy--every day feels incredible. Although, I do miss my bed… and the warm Wyoming sun… and my garden… BUT! It is still incredible to be on Everest. Besides, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll always be able to sleep, sunbathe, and garden, but I won’t always be able to climb Everest!

Our camp is situated on a bed of rocks. Not exactly the most comfortable, but it’s the least slippery surface out here. There’s also a large ice wall-like thing behind us that keep the wind from, you know, blowing us off of the mountain in our sleep. Despite all its discomforts, it has a killer sunrise. Seriously, the colors tint the mountains in gorgeous shades of oranges and yellows, and the sun pokes his head out between the peaks, as if playing a game of peek-a-boo with me. It’s beautiful.

Sorry I haven’t been able to write recently. Also sorry that this entry is so short. I kind of want to focus on the trip while it’s happening, though. Otherwise, it’ll be over and I’ll have no memories but writing in this old journal! Plus, Jasmine and Casey got into a fight over something dumb. Jasmine is paranoid about work, and Casey told her to relax, Jasmine was like, Oh, shut up. You don’t work at all. Casey called her a rich asshole.

So. Yeah. That’s unfortunate. They haven’t talked to each other in like the past two days, but I’m sure they’ll eventually get over it. Besides, there’s not much else for one to do up here but think and talk. So I bet, in a few more days it’ll blow over.

Mallory Woodruff

April 03, 2018

Yep. They’re back to normal now. Jasmine is still worried about work, but Casey’s cooled off from her jabs. I’m glad it’s over--they were kind of using me as a shield against the other person and it really sucked.

We should get to Camp III in about a week. My brain feels numb from all of the snow, but, holy cow, I am happy that I have sunglasses. It’s blinding sometimes, even with them on! The way the sun smacks off of the snow and into your eyes--it hurts! I’ve avoided sunburns since I’m basically covered from head-to-toe. I am so glad that I have all of this equipment.

Oh! I also decided to take only two of my air tanks with me. The trip up to Everest will take only a day. When our guide learned that I was carrying four tanks, he just laughed and told me to pick one. I decided, hey, why not take two?

One will last me around three days, and the other is the super special one that I was talking about earlier. Really, there is probably no need for the first one, since the special one will probably sustain me just fine. But, you know, just in case. :)

There are only a few puffs in the sky today. It’s gorgeous.

Mallory Woodruff

April 09, 2018

Again, we made good time and arrived at Camp III a whole day early! That leaves us some time to chill, and, for me, to write in my journal!

I’ve been taking some wickedly great pictures. I wish I could print them out right now, but I’ll have to wait until I get back home. Even then, they’re not going to be of the highest quality. But, Jasmine has a camera (as I have learned in recent days), and I have been slowly mooching it off of her. Maybe I can convince her to print out some photos from it when she gets home? Hopefully!

Our guide is really kind and helpful. He’s been sure to keep us safe. If there’s any sign of a storm, he warns us to be careful and sometimes turns us back. Nothing has happened, though… yet! Haha.

Anyways, from here on out, it’s going to be really tough. Things are going to be slow, since the air’s so thin up here, and we’ll have to stop every half hour or so. When we’re not moving, I’m going to be catching my breath. So, you’ll just have to wait until we get there for an update. I’ll make sure to give you all the “deets,” though! I’m sure Jasmine and Casey will have another absolutely awesome fight to talk about.

Mallory Woodruff

April 20, 2018

Finally made it. Christ, I am tired. As expected, Jasmine and Casey are fighting again. The air isn’t the only thing that’s running thin up here.

I think Jasmine has gone into super high-stress mode now that her phone has no service (i.e., no communication to work, i.e., no way to make sure that everything’s going alright, i.e., Jasmine’s hell). She’s even short with me. I try to remind her that we are, after all, climbing Everest, but she won’t listen. To her, it’s probably not even that special. Her family could probably afford a summer home on Everest.

Casey’s been alright. He’s quieter than usual, probably because of the drama with Jasmine and stuff, but at least he’s not yelling at me.

With no one really to talk to, I guess I have some time to write. But I don’t really know what to write about…

We’re going to spend a day resting and then go attempt our first summit, at midnight. Our guide said that it’s best to start the climb at midnight, so we can make it up the mountain before the light dies the next day. He said we should get up there by morning, hopefully.

It’ll probably be our only try, since Jasmine’s head is going to explode if we spend much longer up here. I’m inclined to agree with her. I think all of this time spent together is somehow doing our friendships more harm than good. Once we get back to the States, this should all be undone. Hopefully.

Anyways, I’m probably just going to take more pictures tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much, journal.

Mallory Woodruff

April 21, 2018

Ascent day! I’m really excited! Not even Casey’s and Jasmine’s bickering can make this day go badly. I am determined to make the most of this day/night. In about 30 minutes, we’re going to start climbing. There are a few clouds, and the wind has picked up a little bit, but our guide says it should be alright. He feels bad for how Casey and Jasmine have been bickering and promised us to try his very best to get us to the summit.

I should probably stop writing and help out. I’ll write later hopefully, once we reach the summit! Not much though, I’ll probably just write ‘summit!’ or something, since I’ll want to enjoy the view as much as I can. I’ll make the word very pretty though! Maybe I’ll curve the S specially and make the t wind underneath the whole word--that would look pretty great. :)

Mallory Woodruff

April ???

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I have no idea what day it is. At least three days have passed. I’ve been out for almost all of it, I have no idea what to do.

Shit.

I’ve lost everyone. I can’t move, either. The storm blew in way too much snow, every step is a risk. All I could do was build a snow den.

I have enough water for a while. I’m asleep (well, passed out), most of the time. I have no idea when rescue will arrive, so I’ve set my air tank to its lowest setting. Christ, I just need to explain everything.

We were climbing up the mountain when the winds began to pick up. It was about an hour after we had started. Our guide, being the careful man that he is, said that we should stop and go back to camp. He even offered us a free day of his labor so we could attempt the summit again.

So, we turned back. But the storm had crept up on us in the dark. The winds picked up, and kicked up the snow. My flashlight could barely scout out a few inches in front of me. It was pitch-black too, so that didn’t help anything either.

The howling gusts overpowered our voices. I screamed for Casey and Jasmine, but I never heard a response. Eventually, I had to assume that either they had run to camp, or they were dead. I built a snow shelter, basically a glorified hole in the side of the mountain.

I collapsed and turned my air tank down to the lowest setting. I think it has a day left in it. That’s what the meter says, anyway.

I am so infinitely happy that I was carrying my extra tank. I also have at least two dozen bottles of water. I have some food, but not enough for more than a few days. At least since I’m barely awake, I don’t need as much to stay alive. My clothing layers are all that’s keeping me warm enough. But I can already feel the beginnings of frostbite. You aren’t meant to stay still when trekking on Everest.

The snowstorm hasn’t stopped yet. It’s crazy how powerful it is. On one of the days I remember, I had to clear out my den, since it was filled with a fine powder of snow. Also, the fact that the storm isn’t over yet poses another risk--rescue. They obviously can’t send a chopper in this weather, so I’m just going to have to hold on as long as I can.

This might be my last entry ever. If so, mom, dad, I love you so much. I doubt that you’ll ever read this message if I die, but on the off chance that you do, know that I love you more than my job, despite what you probably think.

Jasmine, I love you too. Please chill once in a while. It helps all of us, but mostly you.

Casey, never stop being you. Find yourself a nice woman and have the romance you’ve been dreaming about.

I don’t even know why I’m writing. I should stop.

The storm is finally over. My first tank is empty, but it doesn’t matter because I have my second. I attached it without any issues.

I cleared away some snow and laid out my empty water bottles and bags of provisions, and my air tank. Forgive me for polluting, but this is the best way for someone to spot me. In my snow hut, I’m going to be invisible, despite my bright orange coat. But I can’t go out, in case it starts to snow again. Plus, everything is unsteady. If I took one step beyond my garbage signal, I would probably tumble down the mountain.

All I can do is hope, and wait. I’m too tired to continue writing. I have to turn my oxygen back down, just in case. It’ll make me pass out, but I’ll have enough to last me at least a few days. I’ll eventually wake up. I will.

Okay, so let me start this off by saying I have no idea what the hell happened.

I woke up in a strange cave. My stuff is all in the corner, but the floor is dirt and the ceiling is ice. So, if this is the government’s rescue mission, they chose a strange place to put me.

What concerns me is the shape of the cave. I’ve worked in the field for a long time. When an animal lives in an area for a long time, especially dig-outs, the walls become smooth from them constantly rubbing past them. Usually, the area has to be pretty small. Otherwise, their bodies won’t reach everywhere.

This cave is showing the same signs. However, it is a large cave, so the animal that supposedly lives here must be massive, easily eight or nine feet tall. More likely, its height is in the double digits.

At the same time, it just can’t be an animal den. It feels more like a person’s hideaway than a den. There are no bones or discarded branches. No urine smell. I’ve never seen an animal keep its den this clean. Hell, I don’t keep my house this clean.

Finally, there was just a pile of blackberries waiting for me. Fresh. As if picked a few hours ago. Do you know the last time I saw vegetation?

Before we reached base camp. Which is now more than 3,000 meters below me.

What. The. Hell.

Maybe it’s the abominable snowman, but he grows a really nice garden and heats it using his magic. Maybe he’s super civil and shit, and enjoys a strong cup of tea. Brushes his fur every night with a comb elegantly carved from pine wood. He’s probably so nice that he brought me FURTHER UP THE MOUNTAIN.

Oh yeah, not kidding. I’m definitely higher up. I’ve had to turn up my oxygen input, because I will not wake up if I turn it any lower. Not in this temperature. Plus, I don’t want to be surprised again by whatever took me up here. My tank has about a week left in it, I think.

I need to start moving. I’m going to eat the blackberries and then head out. There’s no way that a rescue team will think to search for me higher up on the mountain than where I was when the storm hit. They’ll just assume I’m dead. I’m going to start walking down.

Okay, so I have two things to say.

One, I’m not going to be heading down the mountain for a long time.

Two, I found what brought me up here.

So, I walked out of the strange cave and not even five feet away was a gigantic creature. I have never seen anything like it. It has no fur. Rather, it looks like it only has scales. But there’s no way that it’s a regular reptile. A cold-blooded creature would freeze to death in seconds at this height. Anything would, but especially something that has no internal body temperature.

Its jaw jutted from its face, and massive teeth spike out from them. Angular horns formed from the side of its head and flanked its jaw. Crown-like ice structures (or perhaps more horns) poked out on its head. It looks like that, naturally, it would be white, but it is pale blue on every edge of its body. Almost like it’s suffering from frostbite, but all of its limbs have remained intact.

Its claws are massive, easily closeable and made for crushing. Its shoulders are rough and powerful. It has a tail with a claw-like appendage at the end, the use of which I can only imagine in my nightmares. Its belly is plated with sharp, curving scales that fold over each other to allow easy movement.

Although my biologist’s mind noted all of this in a moment, I was instantly drawn to its eyes. They were the only part of the creature that stuck out from the snow. They were a deep orange, blazing with life. I could see recognition in them. The way it focused on me was not in a normal, animal one. It was like… it knew me. I think it’s intelligent.

I’ve never seen something like it. I have no idea how it’s alive up here. Why hasn’t anyone seen it before? Why haven’t I heard of it?

After I saw it, I didn’t scream and I didn’t run. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time on the field is that the best thing you can do during a situation is be calm. I just turned around and walked back into the cave. Every step caused more blood to flow from my head and into my feet. Once I felt the dirt underneath my shoes, I passed out.

And now I’m awake. I’ve checked my tank--I haven’t been out long. Perhaps an hour or so. There are more blackberries on the ground. I have now realized that it put the blackberries there earlier. It’s keeping me alive. But why? Why not just eat me?

That’s another reason why I’m drawing the conclusion that it is intelligent. There is no other way to explain its strange, un-animal-like behavior. I’m going to go out again, but this time, I’m going to try to see what I can learn about it. I don’t think it means me harm. If it does, there’s not much I can do anyway. I’m bringing my journal, in the rare chance that I can get a sketch of it.

Wish me luck. I hope I don’t die.

It’s night now. Let me explain what happened during the eight hours in which I didn’t write anything.

It definitely means me no harm. When I came out again, it did nothing but watch me with those warm sunrise eyes. I approached and, despite my best abilities, I was shaking pretty badly. When I reached it though, all it did was lift its head.

It stared at me, as if drinking in every detail. From the tip of my hat to the toes of my boots, it memorized me. If I had any doubts about its intelligence, I forgot them then.

I felt like I was on the field again, but the roles were reversed. Suddenly, I was the animal being studied under the watchful eye of a giant. It was terrifying but thrilling. In a strange way, I felt as if I was being cared for by it, like its recognition was something to be treasured.

As the day wore on, our “friendship” grew. It showed me to its berry storage. There were dozens of fresh branches. How it brought them up the mountain, I don’t know. 

It also allowed me to sketch it. I have a few pages filled with drawings and rough measurements. My phone is dead, though, and Casey was the one handling the solar panels and extra batteries. So, no photos.

It is way more intelligent than I previously thought. I talked to it out of habit (and partially out of loneliness), and it looked at me with… interest. Understanding. Like it was learning the English language as I was speaking to it. I would kill to get a brain scan of this creature.

In less than three hours, I have been able to communicate it using simple hand gestures. It picked up on them quickly, far more quickly than even a moldable-brained toddler could. However, it doesn’t just know the hand signs, it understands them too.

We watched the sunset together. I sat with it near a cliff face. It stared at the sun as it dipped behind the tree line far below, its slitted pupils dilating and growing as they adjusted to the changing light. I watched the sunset by looking at the reflection of it on the creature’s eyes. It never looked at me once, entranced by the beautiful colors. Occasionally, it would close its eyes in a manner that I can only describe as longing. It would tilt back its head and breathe in deeply, its nostrils flaring, as if marking this moment in time, a sweet memory to savor in dark times. I understand the feeling.

When it was dark, the creature stood. Stretching, it motioned at me to move. We returned to the den, and there was just enough room for the both of us. I turned on my flashlight and tried to communicate more with the creature using hand signals. It couldn’t reply well, but it was obvious that it understood me.

I motioned at myself and held up one finger. Then, I gradually began to add more to my hand, until I had all five fingers up. Then I pointed down the mountain. I gestured at it and raised one finger, tilting my head inquisitively. The question was clear: where is your family?

The beast didn’t do anything for a second, silently staring at my finger, single among the other folded fingers. It closed its eyes and laid its head on the ground. Confused, I craned my neck to see why it had ignored me. A small tear leaked out of its closed eye, instantly crystallizing on its cheek. I turned away, my heart thudding painfully.

There are none left of its kind.

Is that why it took me? How long has it been alone? I think it’s lonely, really lonely. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t killed me yet.

…

I haven’t thought about escape much. Well, until now I suppose. This creature… whatever it may be, it is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t think about Jasmine or Casey. I have to focus on what’s going on in front of me. If they are dead, my tears will not help, and if they aren’t, then I have no reason to cry.

I’m going to sleep now.

Today was wonderful. The creature gave me more berries to eat. Although they are getting old (and are quite frostbitten), they still are tastier than the pre-packaged food I’ve been living off of for the past few weeks.

I’ve managed on my water well. I have to be careful, though. It’s cold enough up here that any dribbles will freeze. I don’t think it’s cold enough to freeze my mouth, but I’m going to be careful, just in case. I think if I drink about two bottles per day, I could live up here for about a week.

I have started calling the creature Hiransh. I don’t know many Nepali names, and, plus, I think my great grandfather’s fits him perfectly. Hiransh doesn’t seem to need food or water. Of course, he must eat and drink at some time; all creatures must. I believe that he is a predominantly hibernal animal. Almost like mountain goats, I think he spends most of his life on the mountains, coming down occasionally to eat, but, unlike goats, spends lots of his time sleeping. It makes the most sense to me.

His tail is the strongest part of his body, that much I have learned. Four large claws sprout out of the end of it, and, as he once allowed me to inspect it, I have discovered that, inside the claws, it is covered with tiny, hook-like bones. They curl inwards to the center of the tail. 

Here is my theory: Using his tail for balance, he climbs up and down the mountains every few months to get food. His tail is used almost like a fifth leg. He relies on it to grasp surfaces as he moves along the terrain, and, on occasion, to support himself as he climbs directly upwards. Despite his bulky build, he has shown himself to be fluid of movement. I would ask him if I’m correct, but he’s been icy since my question about his family. Pun definitely intended.

Anyways, Hiransh has kept me safe. He can’t keep me warm (he is cold-blooded, as I have found out. Still no clue how his body can deal with that), but he does block most of the wind with his gigantic body. I think he has come to see me as almost a hatchling of his own. With no one else around, it seems perfectly natural for him to do that.

He showed me a new den that he has been building. It is much bigger than his old one. He sat at the entrance, staring after me with a pleased expression in his eyes as I explored his cave. I have noticed over time that he’s meticulously neat--no piles of snow clutter the inside of the cave, no claw marks gouge the carefully patted-down floor, and branches from the berries are stacked in the corner.

I wonder how many caves he’s built. On top of that, I wonder how long he’s been alive. I would bet he has been around for quite a long time. He has an ancient, all-knowing air to him. Maybe that’s romanticizing things a little bit, haha.

I have to think of him as less as a subject to be studied, and more of as a friend. Perhaps it is because I am alone up here, but I like to think that, in any circumstance, Hiransh and I would get along well.

I almost wish I could stay up here forever. Hiransh is the discovery of a lifetime. 

Perhaps my mom was right. Maybe I do love my job more than my friends and family.

Spent three days without writing anything. Very sorry! I have been really busy--will tell you more about it tomorrow!

So, I’m heading to bed now. Let me tell you what’s happened over the past few days. So, the first out of the four that I have to talk about. Hiransh worked on his den. I couldn’t do much, but I helped pack in the walls, so they were more structurally sound. He was appreciative of my work and grumbled a low thanks in his chest. It made me feel warm inside.

We worked well together, with him doing the moving and me doing the sculpting. He was doing work that would’ve taken me weeks, and I was doing work that he would have to rely on time to accomplish for him.

By the end of the first day, the den was mostly done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much larger than his last home. Instead of his back scraping the roof, he would have to stand on his hind legs to brush it with his head. I’m serious when I said it was big!

We moved my stuff to the new den. I kind of just slung it in the corner, and plopped down. Hiransh shuffled around before coming to sit beside me. When I turned to look at what he did, I saw that my backpack and all the other things that I was carrying were neatly reorganized.

He and I are more different than two creatures could be. He’s in his comfort zone up here; that much is obvious. I’m not… but that has been made quite clear by recent events, right? He’s also meticulously neat for an animal. He rarely has a scale out of place, where, here I am, sometimes not able to remember which way is left and which way is right.

But, we do make quite a pair.

So, after that day, he let me ride him. Yeah, you heard that right. I rode this snow creature. It was terrifying, and he didn’t go faster than a trot, but it was incredible. I was so high up, and I felt almost connected to him through the roll of his muscles. I never stopped squeezing my arms around his neck for dear life, though.

He showed me how he hunted. It’s something that I’ve been wondering about. Surely a creature of his stature couldn’t survive on berries alone. He demonstrated with a tiny branch that has already been stripped of its blackberries. So, he buries himself quickly underneath the snow and, if needed, into the dirt. Then, he covers himself with the snow and waits for something to walk over him. When it does, he bursts out of the snow and catches the creature in his jaws.

Let me tell you, seeing this massive snow lizard erupt out of the snow just to “kill” a twig the length of my forearm is actually the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

We watched the sunset together, again. This time, I didn’t stare at him, though. I just looked ahead.

Yesterday, we just hung out in the snow. He and I dug random snow pits. Of course, his were always bigger. But mine were more elaborate, if I do say so myself. I love the idea of some random climber stumbling upon them and thinking that there are aliens on Everest making weird snow shrines. Hehe, but still not as funny as Hiransh killing a stick.

Today, he took me to where he finds his berries. It’s actually not that far down the mountain, surprisingly. If the gigantic claw marks in the wall have anything to say, I think that he actually planted it himself.

He has dug out a wide pit for the berries, down to the rock of the mountain, and filled the hole with soil. On top of the soil, he put dark black rocks, which is something I never would’ve thought of in a million years. It’s genius that he’s using colors to keep the berries warm. He lays thin layers of snow on top of the rocks, which melt and water the plants. Everything he does just makes me think that he’s that much smarter than I thought before.

I also sketched more pictures of him. I’m always learning something new about him. It seems that there is no end to his secrets. If only I had access to better lab equipment, I might be able to run some actual tests…

Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I’m tired. Tomorrow, we’re planning on some more snow fun! Maybe I can teach him how to make a snowman. Doubtful, with those big, clumsy claws of his, but I can try. :)

I’m back at base camp.

Only a day has passed.

I’ve never felt so hollow before.

May 13th, 2018

I think I can talk about this now. I’m sitting in a hotel room right now. Casey has finally left me alone. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the States. Goodbye, Nepal. Goodbye, Hiransh.

Let me explain what happened.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Coughing. It was so bad, I had to breathe in every five seconds, but I never had enough air. I was sick multiple times, all over myself. Hiransh woke up as well, his orange eyes snapping open instantly. I was grasping at my throat, trying to remove the empty air tank’s mask. Hiransh understood what I was trying to do and slashed off the mask with his claws. In his terrified rush, he left a deep cut on my cheek. Despite the mask being taken off, I was coughing and unable to breathe.

Finally, Hiransh seemed to come to a decision. He carefully scooped me up in his jaws. Strangely enough, the only teeth that he has are outside of his mouth, so instead of being impaled the moment he picked me up, I was just bounced along inside.

He made it down the mountain in record time. I passed in and out of consciousness. Only the splash of snow on my face kept me from slipping away. He would bound, bound, bound, skid to a stop, kick up snow, and then bound, bound, bound again. It was jarring.

Finally, we were far enough down the mountain that I could breathe. I took in the air in gasps, planting my hands on the side of Hiransh’s face. Once he realized that it wasn’t a fit for air, he let me from his jaws. Pebbly earth met my boots.

I held Hiransh’s massive head in my hands, feeling the rough scratch of his scales against my skin. A tear slipped down his face, but this time it did not turn to ice.

“Hiransh,” I whispered. I realized he wouldn’t understand me, so I tried to sign to him that I was heartbroken.

I told him that I couldn’t breathe up there. I was never going to be able to live with him. His shoulders slumped, and his ice-blue eyelids closed over his inner fire. I’m so sorry Hiransh. He’s alone. No one will ever be able to stay with him.

I told him that I would come back. I promised that I would meet him by the berry patch in the summer. I vowed to return.

I will return.

Hiransh, please do not give up.

2 Feb. ‘81

This took hours to find. My old bones made it such a pain, too. But, I have to, before I fade away.

Since I suppose that this journal will be given away, I must explain a few things. Like what happened with the rest of my life.

Well, I just kept living it. People discovered me where Hiransh had left me. I was stumbling down the mountain, crying and without a backpack, my phone, or anything really. All I had was the journal that was in my hands when I fell asleep. Luckily, the winds blew snow over Hiransh’s tracks. He was never discovered.

Of course, people were curious. I managed to hide the journal in time, but the press bothered me for days afterwards, when all I wanted to do was mourn the loss of a friend.

Casey and Jasmine were both alive. Jasmine had severe frostbite on her ears, and on three of her left fingers. Her pinkie had to be amputated. But, otherwise, they were miraculously unharmed. Our reunion was tearful. I don’t remember much but a blur. It seems as if all of my memories are like that nowadays.

I continued with my job when I got home and never told anyone about Hiransh. I hid the journal--I knew I should’ve burned it, but I feared that, if I did, I would lose my memories of Hiransh, convince myself that they were just a dream. So, I held onto it, quietly.

I went to therapy, obviously. Eventually, I stopped having panic attacks and got over my chronic sadness. I was able to stop when I was 35, 12 years after the incident. I was never the same, though. Never as excitable, never as fun-loving, never as... naive.

I never forgot Hiransh, like I had feared I would. The place he scratched me when trying to save my life has turned into a scar. I think of him almost every day, wondering how he is doing alone. It breaks my heart to have the terrible knowledge of him, alone on the mountain. Unless someone out there discovered him and is as good at keeping a secret as I am, I doubt he’s been found.

Casey and I married when we were 38. I know, a little later than most, but we wanted to be ready. We adopted a Nepali girl, four years old. We named her Lily. We had our first grandchild when we were 68. A boy named Thomas.

And then there’s you, sweet child. You were always my favorite grandkid (don’t tell your brother that). You loved my work so much. And so I will pass it onto you.

I have spent a lifetime tracking down the berry patch that Hiransh showed me all of those years ago. I have attached the coordinates, as accurate as I could make them, to this journal. You may choose not to believe me, but I implore you, please, please, please, travel to Everest, visit the berry patch, and you will find that I am telling the truth. Grandma Mallory was never one for dementia, right? Don’t be stupid, either. Tell people you are going, but don’t bring them with you. Take a guide, but leave them before the summit. Don’t tell anyone about him, even if you choose to not believe me. Go during summer, in April. He will be waiting.

I know he will.

I love you. Remember me when I’m gone.

Mallory Woodruff.

*wipes sweat off of forehead*

Finally done! If I ever want to revisit this story, it would be quite fun to write about Mallory’s grandkid, and maybe about her grandkid, and so on and so forth. Maybe it would gradually be integrated into the Woodruff family, a treasured family secret, perhaps? But, that’s a story for another time. :) Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Saturday, Rough Draft!

Edited in stats on 7/1/18 at 10 o’clock

Took me 5 hrs 35 to write. For comparison, S.O.S took me 5 hours and 33 minutes to write and edit. So, yeah, this one is going to be a painnnn to edit. I might cut out passages since it takes so long to get going (it takes forever to climb Everest, it turns out). We’ll see!

It’s also 7,929 words. *tears of agony* I wrote that in TWO DAYS. Someone end my miserable life. (i wonder how quickly I could write a novel? Around 18 days, it looks like, if I’m writing at the same pace as I was during this. Maybe another challenge in the future? LET’S SEE HOW MUCH MORE I CAN TRICK MYSELF INTO WRITING MORE! >u<)

I’m going to get started on editing it. If S.O.S took me about two hours to edit, this’ll probably take me about three and a half. Urk. Better get working.

February 28, 2018

Hello there, journal! I’m going on the climb of my life with my friends, Jasmine and Casey. We’re going back to where my family’s from. That’s right, we’re going to Nepal to climb the one and only Mount Everest!

Casey suggested the idea to me last year, around April or something. We were studying deer behavior in the field, when he suddenly said that he wanted to climb Everest one day. I rolled my eyes at him and said that we would never have the money. I make plenty to keep myself afloat, but to afford an entire trip to Everest? Besides, I told him, I’m not great at keeping jobs. To do something like climb Everest when I’m not even sure if the research program is going to want me tomorrow would be dumb. He and I laughed about the time that I abandoned my (infinitely and endlessly boring) task of documenting the edible plants in Yellowstone to follow a goose and her gosling, and my subsequent firing. But, it’s fine. I didn’t really like the people who employed me at that time anyway.

After we stopped laughing, he said to think about it. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything with the idea, but Casey is really persistent. He kept bothering me about it, and finally, I threw him a scrap and said I’d talk to my parents about it. Now, mind you (or me, I guess?), I do not live with my parents. I haven’t for five years, since the day I turned 18. But, if I were to go climbing on Everest, first, they would need to know. Second, it wouldn’t hurt if they could give me a little money, right?

So, I came to their house, served them my specialty dinner of warmed up dino nuggets, and then told them what I was thinking about Everest. I told them that it would be a good way to connect with Great Grandpa Hiransh’s roots. Mom looked at dad, and the two shared a glance. They told me how dangerous it was to climb Everest, and I’m sitting here like, come. On. I am a field biologist. I work with giant snakes and bears, already climbing mountains, in very dangerous areas, and they don’t think that I know that Everest is dangerous?

Anyways I just nod as they warn me, smiling and occasionally saying, yep, yep. Or, yeah, I’ve heard that. Nothing disrespectful, just enough to show them that I had done my research.

Eventually mom said what I was thinking--expenses. She looked over to my father, her hands wringing in her lap. She said that a permit alone could cost me greatly, but I told her that I had already done research on how much it cost. But, I also said, I would love if you guys could spare a hundred or something so I don’t, like, freeze to death on the mountain. I promised to pay them back.

My mom and dad talked, and eventually they came to an agreement to give me $500. My dad said, jokingly, that if I didn’t pay them back, that he would get to shave off what remained of my hair. (long story short: I decided to get a pixie cut and dyed the tips of my hair dark green, and I think it looks pretty bad. Casey says it looks good, though, so maybe I’ll keep it.)

So, I left with an extra $500. I started to train. At first, I just worked normally at the gym, and then I started to use a mountain training mask. Basically, it just lowers how much oxygen your body gets, and it gets you used to mountain air. I also had to work really hard at my job to work up enough extra money so I could go to Nepal and not be bankrupt by the time I got back. I volunteered for every job, even the extra boring ones, and did my best to stay on track.

My friend, Jasmine, heard about this and decided to jump in. Jasmine is more serious than I am, and, although she’s only like 20, she’s really smart. She and I get along well, since she can kind of reel me in when I’m ready to run off.

So, while I was training, I was slowly buying the equipment I would need. Of course, I got the usual clothing--sweat-wicking underwear, long-sleeved shirt and long pants, fleece jacket, coat, and then a larger, bulkier coat, etc., etc. But the coolest thing I bought was this air tank. First off, it is a lot lighter than other air tanks, but it can last a climber much longer. It is split into two compartments. One is filled with oxygen, the other is the air breathed out by the climber. There’s something techy about breathing in opening a valve and then breathing out closing it, so it leads to two different compartments, but I’m not really in that field of science. It takes some air from the tank, but also some from the air. This way, it mixes a little of pure oxygen with the mountain air, and then you have a tank that lasts a lot longer. When I breathe out, the air I breathe out is put into the other compartment. There’s this bio paper thing that’s kind of like a plant in which it takes in the CO2 to make oxygen, but I literally have no idea how it works. I’ve worked with it more than any of my other tanks and I love it to bits and pieces. I think it can last up to a week before the bio paper becomes worn out.

So, anyways, we’re taking a plane tomorrow. This is like the only notebook I haven’t written in yet, so I’m taking it along. Luckily, it’s really sturdy, but it’s pretty bland. It’s going to take more than an entire day to get to Nepal, but we’re making it! I just finished packing not even like five minutes ago. Wait, just glanced at the clock. This has taken me a lot longer than I thought--forty minutes, actually! Well, I better sign off, if I’m going to catch the five o’clock flight tomorrow.

See you in the morning!

Mallory Woodruff

March 01, 2018 (well, technically, it’s the second but it still feels like the first sooo)

Casey snores so loudly. I swear, my seat is shaking with the sound of his snoring. I don’t want to wake him up though. If I could manage to fall asleep, I would, too. But I’m not a great flyer, so I’d probably wake up with vomit all over myself.

Jasmine isn’t sleeping either. She’s still getting caught up with work. She’s kind of a push-over and takes other people’s work even when she doesn’t want to. She says that it’s not because she doesn’t want to stand up to them, it’s because she wants to get a promotion. I think she’s crazy.

I’ve been passing the time by reading about Everest. Of course, lots of the writing is the interesting stuff that has happened on Everest, i.e., death. Maybe I should stop reading it. It’s interesting, but I guess it’s also kind of morbid for me to be reading it right now? I don’t know.

We’re hitting some turbulence, and I doubt I’ll be able to make out any of my writing in a few minutes. We’re supposed to land in like an hour, and then we take one final flight to Nepal.

Mallory Woodruff

March 03, 2018

Okay, so we’re in Nepal, and it’s warm. I mean, I know it was supposed to be warm, but I wasn’t actually expecting it to be this warm. With Everest so cold, it’s strange to me that, so close, it’s warm. Anyways, update time.

So, we landed in Nepal smoothly. It was late around one o’clock when we landed. We were supposed to get to Nepal at ten, but our flight was delayed due to a storm. Talk about a bummer.

Anyways, when we landed, I wanted to go out and eat somewhere nice. Casey had wanted to sleep some more, but when he heard about my idea, he instantly wanted to go, too. Jasmine eventually caved in, because, first off, food, and, second off, food.

So, we ate out. It was really nice, and I was so happy to not being eating plane/awful fast food. It was like a miracle, to have spicy food again. I ate all of mine. Casey had all of his, too, but then threw up later since he hadn’t eaten anything in like the past fifteen hours. Jasmine just ate some rice and had water.

Anyways, we have to take a short plane ride to Lukla tomorrow. We stopped in Kathmandu because it is gorgeous and I insisted on it. I accidentally left my camera at home, so you’ll have to make due with some crappy phone pictures and my description.

The city is amazing, and, best part, there are forests nearby. Like, national parks and stuff. If I were to move to Nepal, I would definitely come here. It’s really great.

It’s getting late, so I’m going to sign off. If anything cool happens on the flight, I’ll let you know!

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

The flight was only around 30 minutes, nothing crazy happened. The landing was terrifying though--the runway is so tiny! I swear, I was gripping Jasmine’s arm so hard that I’m surprised I didn’t break it. But, we’re safe and sound!

Tomorrow, we’re meeting with our guide. He speaks very limited English, but I’m sure that it won’t be a problem. After all, taking people places usually doesn’t require any words! I’m pretty good at reading expressions anyways, I think. Working with animals all the time has actually helped me learn people’s emotions and what they want to convey really well! It’s surprising, but sometimes I can guess what a person’s going to say even before they open their mouth! It’s a useful skill to have, I think.

We’re going to start our trek to Everest Base Camp today, after we stretch for a little bit. I’ll probably write something once we stop.

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

Hey, for once I kept my word for doing something! For starters, let me talk about the villages.

So, people live on Everest. The live in these small towns, with stone roads and stone houses. Although that sounds bland, they also have these wonderful, bright roofs. The sun shines off of them beautifully. All our guide had to do was gesture at the village with a smile for us to freak out. Even Jasmine was in awe. There are a few cylindrical structures, with a small roof place on top. Tassels hang from the roof, which is shaped like a triangle, but is kind of curvy. There are words written in a foreign language, in yellow-painted blocks. There are yellow, red, and green designs all over it. It is just gorgeous.

They also have this line that runs throughout the village. There are faded cloths attached to it. Dim reds and almost blushing blues flap in the winds. They are apparently prayer flags. Our guide told them that it’s not for gods, it’s just for love and goodness. They apparently are made to fly in the wind, to spread peace and joy. The village people believe it, and, if I’m being honest, watching the lines flicker in the wind, I do too.

We set up tents and we’re sleeping off the side of the trail. There are little lodges called tea houses, but we passed one, thinking we’d be able to make it to the next. We were wrong. So, yeah.

I’m sleeping in a tent with Jasmine, Casey brought his own tiny one, and our guide obviously has his own. It’s been great so far. I’ve seen at least six yaks, and we actually nearly ran into one on the trail. We had to walk around it, and the detour took a good twenty minutes to find a safe path, take it, and then get back to the trail. Definitely worth it, though!

We have around another week to go before we make it up the trail. I’ll try to update tomorrow!

Mallory Woodruff

March 09, 2018

Okay, so maybe I forgot about this and by the time I remembered I was too lazy to actually write in it. But! I’m writing now! We’re taking a quick water break and catching our breaths. I’ll catch you up on what’s happened since the fourth.

We’re about a day from base camp. We’ve actually made great time, and the weather has been super cooperative. The landscape has turned from green and gorgeous to pebbly and full of shrubs. It’s still pretty, and there are still prayer flags up here, it’s just not as welcoming as it was lower on the trail. Kind of crazy.

Remember those tea houses I mentioned? Well, we’ve only had to sleep in tents once since that first night. Our guide wanted us to be comfortable, so we’ve been able to sleep in one basically every night now. To sleep in beds is incredible, even if they are pretty stiff. You can also eat there, and by doing so, I’ve met a few people. Most are just going to base camp, hiking around, and then heading back down the mountain. A few have said that they’re attempting a summit, though!

Anyways, yesterday we had to sleep in our tents, and today we will too. The air is crazy thin up here. I am so happy that I trained really hard for this--otherwise I don’t think I would be able to make it up to camp. Our plan is to get to base camp, spend two days hiking, and then climb up to the higher camps.

So much has happened in the past nine days. Reading back on my old passages is like a blur! It’s crazy; I don’t think time has ever passed so quickly for me! Looks like we’re getting ready to move. I promise I will write as soon as we get to base camp.

Mallory Woodruff (why am I signing my name? I know it’s me. Maybe I should stop? Eh, too late now. Conformity!)

March 10, 2018

Haha! I did keep up my promise! We’re here at base camp, and there are quite a few other climbers with their tents pitched. Some of them are really friendly, but most of them just want to be left alone as they enjoy the mountains. Our guide is going to accompany us on our first summit attempt, but after that he’s leaving. (totally not because we couldn’t afford him any longer) He warned us against attempting a summit without a guide, but, although we didn’t tell him, we’re definitely going to do it anyways. Well, at least Casey and I will. Jasmine doesn’t seem too thrilled with the idea of climbing without a guide.

Anyways, like I said, we’re going to hike around for two days and then start climbing to the second camp. It’s going to take a really long time to get up to Camp IV, which is the camp directly before we attempt a summit. Like, 40 days long. I’ll try to update, but we’re probably going to be pushing pretty hard. :) See you later, I guess.

Mallory Woodruff

March 31, 2018

Halfway there! We just reached Camp II. It is rough. So far, no need for oxygen tanks. Once we get to Camp IV, we’re going to need them, though. It’s crazy--every day feel incredible. Although, I do miss my bed… and the warm Wyoming sun… and my garden… BUT! It is still incredible to be on Everest. Besides, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll always be able to sleep, sunbathe, and garden, but I won’t always be able to climb Everest!

Our camp is situated on a bed of rocks. Not exactly the most comfortable, but it’s the least slippery surface out here. There’s also a large ice wall-like thing behind us that keep the wind from, you know, blowing us off of the mountain in our sleep. However, it has a killer sunrise. Seriously, the colors tint the mountains in gorgeous shades of oranges and yellows, and the sun peeks between the mountains, as if playing a game with me. It’s beautiful.

Sorry I haven’t been able to write recently. Also sorry that this entry is so short. I kind of want to focus on the trip while it’s happening, though. Otherwise, it’ll be over and I’ll have no memories but writing in this tiny journal! Plus, Jasmine and Casey got in a fight over something dumb. Jasmine is paranoid about work, and Casey told her to relax, Jasmine was like, Oh, shut up. You don’t work at all.

So. Yeah. That’s unfortunate. They haven’t talked to each other in like the past two days, but I’m sure they’ll eventually get over it. Besides, there’s not much else for one to do up here but think and talk. So, I bet, in a few more days it’ll blow over.

Mallory Woodruff

April 03, 2018

Yep. They’re back to normal now. Jasmine is still worried about work, but Casey’s cooled off from her jabs. I’m glad it’s over--they were kind of using me as a shield against the other person and it really sucked.

We should get to Camp III in about a week. My brain feels numb from all of the snow, but, holy cow, I am happy that I have sunglasses. It’s blinding sometimes, even with them on! The way the sun smacks off of the snow and into your eyes--it hurts! I’ve avoided sunburns, since I’m basically covered from head-to-toe, but I am glad that I have all of this equipment.

Oh! I also decided to take only two of my air tanks with me. One will last me around three days, and the other is the super special one that I was talking about earlier. Really, there is probably no need for the first one, since the special one will probably sustain me just fine. But, you know, just in case. :)

There are only a few puffs in the sky today. It’s gorgeous.

Mallory Woodruff

April 09, 2018

Again, we made good time and arrived at Camp III a whole day early! That leaves us some time to chill, and, for me, to write in my journal!

I’ve been taking some wickedly great pictures. I wish I could print them out right now, but I’ll have to wait until I get back home.

Our guide is really kind and helpful. He’s been sure to keep us safe. If there’s any sign of a storm, he warns us to be careful. Nothing has happened, though… yet! Haha.

Anyways, from here on out, it’s going to be really tough. Things are going to be slow, since the air’s so thin up here, and when we’re not moving, I’m going to be sleeping. So, you’ll just have to wait until we get there for an update. I’ll make sure to give you all the deets, though! I’m sure Jasmine and Casey will have another absolutely awesome fight to talk about.

Mallory Woodruff

April 20, 2018

Finally made it. Christ, I am tired. As expected, Jasmine and Casey are fighting again. The air isn’t the only thing that’s running thin up here.

I think Jasmine has gone into super high-stress mode now that her phone has no service (i.e., no communication to work, i.e., no way to make sure that everything’s going alright, i.e., Jasmine’s hell). She’s even short with me. I try to remind her that we are, after all, climbing Everest, but she won’t listen. Whatever, I’ll just deal with her.

Casey’s been alright. He’s quieter than usual, probably because of the drama with Jasmine and stuff, but he’s at least not yelling at me.

With no one really to talk to, I guess I have some time to write. But I don’t really know what to write about…

We’re going to spend a day resting, and then go attempt our first summit, at midnight. Our guide said that it’s best to start the climb at midnight, so we can make it up the mountain before the light dies. He said we should get up there by morning, hopefully.

It’ll probably be our only try, since Jasmine’s head is going to explode if we spend much longer up here. I’m inclined to agree with her. I think all of this time spent together is somehow doing our friendships more harm than good. Once we get back to the States, this should all be undone. Hopefully.

Anyways, I’m probably just going to take more pictures tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much, journal.

Mallory Woodruff

April 21, 2018

Ascent day! I’m really excited! Not even Casey’s and Jasmine’s bickering can make this day go badly. I am determined to make the most of this day/night. In about 30 minutes, we’re going to start climbing. There are a few clouds, and the wind has picked up a little bit, but our guide says it should be alright. He feels badly for how Casey and Jasmine have been bickering, and promised us to try his very best to get us to the summit.

I should probably stop writing and help out. I’ll write later, hopefully once we reach the summit! Not much though, I’ll probably just write ‘summit!’ or something, since I’ll want to enjoy the view as much as I can. I’ll make sure to take plenty of pictures, though! Hopefully those will tide future me over. :)

Mallory Woodruff

April ???

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I have no idea what day it is. At least three days have passed. I’ve been out for almost all of it, I have no idea what to do.

Shit.

I’ve lost everyone. I can’t move, either. The storm blew in way too much snow, every step is a risk. All I could do was build a snow den.

I have enough water for awhile. I’m asleep (well, passed out), most of the time. I have no idea when rescue will arrive, so I’ve set my air tank to its lowest setting. Christ, I just need to explain everything.

We were climbing up the mountain when the winds began to pick up. Our guide, being the careful man that he is, said that we should turn back. He even offered us a free day of his labor so we could attempt the summit again.

So, we turned back. But the storm had crept up on us in the dark of night. The winds picked up, and kicked up the snow. My flashlight could barely scout out a few inches in front of me. It was pitch-black too, so that didn’t help anything.

The howling gusts overpowered our voices. I screamed for Casey and Jasmine, but I never heard a response. Eventually I had to assume that, either they had run to camp, or they were dead. I built a snow shelter, basically a glorified hole in the side of the mountain.

I collapsed and lowered my air tank down to the lowest setting. It lengthed its life by a day. I think it has a day left in it. That’s what the meter says, anyway.

I am so infinitely happy that I was carrying my extra tank. I also have at least a dozen bottles of water. I have some food, but not enough for more than a few more days. At least since I’m barely awake, I don’t need as much to stay alive. My clothing layers are all that’s keeping me warm enough. But I can already feel the beginnings of frostbite.

The snowstorm hasn’t stopped yet. It’s crazy how powerful it is. On one of the days I remember, I had to clear out my den, since it was filled with a fine powder of snow. Also, the fact that the storm isn’t over yet poses another risk--rescue. They obviously can’t send a chopper in this weather, so I’m just going to have to hold on as long as I can.

This might be my last entry ever. If so, mom, dad, I love you so much. I doubt that you’ll ever read this message if I die, but on the off chance that you do, know that I love you more than my job, despite what you probably think.

Jasmine, I love you too. Please chill once in a while. It helps all of us, but mostly you.

Casey, never stop being you. Always persevere, and stick with your job. I can tell you love it.

I don’t even know why I’m writing. I should stop.

The storm is finally over. My first tank is empty, but it doesn’t matter because I have my second. I attached it without any issues.

I cleared away some snow and laid out my empty water bottles and bags of provisions, and my air tank. Forgive me for polluting, but this is the best way for someone to spot me. In my snow hut, I’m going to be invisible, despite my bright orange coat.

All I can do is hope, and wait. I’m too tired to continue writing. I have to turn my oxygen back down, just in case. It’ll make me pass out, but I’ll have enough to last me at least a few days. I’ll eventually wake up. I will.

Okay, so let me start this off by saying I have no idea what the hell happened.

I woke up in a strange cave. My stuff is all in the corner, but the floor is dirt and the ceiling is ice. So, if this is the government’s rescue mission, it’s a strange place to put me.

What concerns me is the shape of the cave. I’ve worked in the field for a long time. When an animal lives in an area for a long time, especially dig-outs, the walls become smooth from them constantly rubbing past them. Usually, the area has to be pretty small, since otherwise their bodies won’t reach everywhere.

This cave is showing the same signs. However, it is a large cave, so the animal that supposedly lives here must be massive, easily eight or nine feet tall. More likely, it is in the double digits.

At the same time, it just can’t be an animal den. It feels more like a person’s hideaway than a den. There are no bones or discarded branches. No urine smell. I’ve never seen an animal keep its den this clean. Hell, I don’t keep my house this clean.

Finally, there was just a pile of blackberries waiting for me. Fresh. Do you know the last time I saw vegetation?

Before we reached base camp.

What. The. Hell.

Maybe it’s the abominable snowman, but he grows a really nice garden and heats it using his magic. Maybe he’s super civil and shit, so nice that he brought me FURTHER UP THE MOUNTAIN.

Oh yeah, not kidding. I’m definitely higher up. I’ve had to turn up my oxygen input, because I will not wake up if I turn it any lower. Plus, I don’t want to be surprised again by whatever took me up here. My tank has about a week left in it, I think.

I need to start moving. I’m going to eat the blackberries and then head out. There’s no way that a rescue team will think to search for me higher up on the mountain than where I was when the storm hit. They’ll just assume I’m dead. I’m going to start walking down.

Okay, so I have two things to say.

One, I’m not going to be heading down the mountain for a long time.

Two, I found what brought me up here.

So, I walked out of the strange cave and not even five feet away was a gigantic creature. I have never seen anything like it. It has no fur. Rather, it looks like it only has scales. But there’s no that it’s a regular reptile. A cold-blooded creature would freeze to death in seconds up this high. Anything would, but especially something that had no internal body temperature.

Its jaw jutted from its face, and massive teeth spike out from them. Angular horns formed from the side of its head and flanked its jaw. Crown-like ice structures (or perhaps more horns) poked out on its head. It looks like that, naturally, it would be white, but it is pale blue on every edge of its body. It looks like its suffering from frostbite, but all of its limbs are intact.

Its claws are massive, easily closeable and made for crushing. Its shoulders are rough and powerful. It has a tail with a claw-like appendage at the end, the use of which I can only imagine in my nightmares. Its belly is plated with sharp, curving scales that fold over each other to allow easy movement.

Although my biologist’s mind noted dall of this in a moment, I was instantly drawn to its eyes. They were the only part of the creature that stuck out from the snow. They were a deep orange, blazing with life. I could see recognition in its eyes. The way it focused on me was not in a normal one. It was like… it knew me. I think it’s intelligent.

I’ve never seen something like it. I have no idea how it’s alive.

After I saw it, I didn’t scream, I didn’t run. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time on the field is that the best thing you can do during a situation is be calm. I just turned around and walked back into the cave. Once I felt the dirt underneath my shoes, I passed out.

And now I’m awake. I checked my tank--I haven’t been out long. Perhaps an hour or so. There is more blackberries on the ground. I have now realized that it put the blackberries there earlier. It’s keeping me alive. But why? Why not just eat me?

That’s why I’m drawing the conclusion that it is intelligent. There is no other way to explain its strange, un-animal-like behavior. I’m going to go out again, but this time, I’m going to try to see what I can learn about it. I don’t think it means me harm. If it does, there’s not much I can do anyway. I’m bringing my journal, in the rare chance that I can get a sketch of it.

Wish me luck. I hope I don’t die.

It’s night now. Let me explain what happened in the eight hours in which I didn’t write anything.

It definitely means me no harm. When I came out again, it did nothing but watch me with those warm orange eyes. I approached and, despite my best abilities, I was shaking pretty badly. When I reached it though, all it did was lift its head.

It stared at me, as if drinking in every detail. From the tip of my hat to the toes of my boots, it memorized me.

I felt like I was on the field again, but the roles were reversed. Suddenly, I was the animal being studied under the watchful eye of a giant. It was terrifying, but thrilling.

As the day wore on, our “friendship” grew. It showed me to its berry storage. There were hundreds of fresh branches. How it brought them up the mountain, I don’t know. It allowed me to sketch it. I have a few pages filled with sketches and rough measurements. My phone is dead, though, and Casey was the one handling the solar panels and extra batteries. So, no photos.

It is way more intelligent than I previously thought. I talked to it out of habit (and partially out of loneliness), and it looked at me with… interest. Understanding. Like it was learning the English language as I was speaking to it. I would kill to get a brain scan of this creature.

In less than three hours, I have been able to communicate it using simple hand gestures. It picked up on them quickly, far more quickly than even a toddler could. And it also remembers them. It’s terrifying.

We watched the sunset together. I sat with it near a cliff face. It stared at the sun as it dipped behind the tree line far below, its slitted eyes occasionally shifting to glance at a bird. I watched the sunset by looking at the reflection of it on the creature’s eyes. It never looked at me once, entranced by the beautiful colors. Occasionally, it would close its eyes in a manner that I can only describe as longing. It would tilt back its head and breathe in deeply, as if marking this moment in time.

When it was dark, the creature stood. Stretching, it motioned at me to move. We returned to the den, and there was just enough room for the both of us. I turned on my flashlight and tried to communicate more with the creature using hand signals. It couldn’t reply well, but it was obvious that it understood me.

I motioned at myself and held up one finger. Then, I gradually began to add more to my hand, until I had all five fingers up. Then I pointed down the mountain. I gestured at it and raised one finger, tilting my head inquisitively. The question was clear: whereis your family?

The beast didn’t do anything for a second, silently staring at my finger. It closed its eyes and laid its head on the ground. A small tear leaked out of its eye, instantly crystallizing on its cheek. It was heartbreaking.

There is none left of its kind.

Is that why it took me? How long has it been alone? I think it’s lonely, really lonely. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t killed me yet.

…

I haven’t thought about escape much. Well, until now I suppose. This creature… whatever it may be, it is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t think about Jasmine or Casey. I have to focus on what’s going on in front of me. If they are dead, my tears will not help, and if they aren’t, then I have no reason to cry.

I’m going to sleep now.

Today was wonderful. The creature gave me more berries to eat. Although they are getting old (and are quite cold), they still are tastier than the pre-packaged food I’ve been living off of for the past few weeks.

I’ve managed on my water well. I have to be careful, though. It’s cold enough up here that any dribbles will freeze. I don’t think it’s cold enough to freeze my mouth, but I’m going to be careful, just in case. I think if I drink about two bottles per day, I could live up here for about a week.

I have started calling the creature Hiransh. I don’t know many Nepali names, and, plus, my grandfather’s fits him just fine. Hiransh doesn’t seem to have need of food or water. Of course, he must eat and drink at some time. I believe that he is a predominantly hibernal creature. Almost like mountain goats, I think he spends most of his life on the mountains, coming down occasionally to eat. It makes the most sense to me.

His tail is the strongest part of his body, that much I have learned. Four large claws sprout out of the end of it, and, as he once allowed me to inspect it, I have discovered that it is filled with tiny, hook-like bones. They curl inwards to the center. So, here is my theory. Using his tail for balance, he climbs up and down the mountains every few months to get food. His tail is used almost like a fifth leg. He relies on it to grasp surfaces as he moves along the terrain, and, on occasion, to support himself as he climbs directly upwards. Despite his bulky build, he has shown himself to be fluid of movement. I would ask him if I was correct, but he’s been icy since my question about his family. Please forgive me for my pun.

Anyways, Hiransh has kept me safe. He can’t keep me warm (he is cold blooded, as I have found out. How he survives, I have no clue), but he does block most of the wind with his gigantic body. I think he has come to see me as almost a hatchling of his own. With no one else around, it seems perfectly natural for him to do that.

He showed me a new den that he has been building. It is much bigger than his old one. He sat at the entrance, staring after me with a pleased expression in his eyes as I explored his cave. I have noticed over time that he’s meticulously neat--no piles of snow clutter the inside of the cave, no claws gouged the carefully patted-down floor, and branches from the berries are stacked in the corner.

I wonder how many caves he’s built. On top of that, I wonder how long he’s been alive. I would bet he has been around for quite a long time. He has an ancient, all-knowing air to him.

I have to think of him as less as a subject to be studied, and more of as a friend. Perhaps it is because I am alone up here, but I like to think that, in any circumstance, Hiransh and I would get along well.

I almost wish I could stay up here forever. Hiransh is the discovery of a lifetime. But… there must be a reason why he hasn’t approached a human sooner. I don’t want to take away his privacy. I’ll keep this journal a secret.

Perhaps my mom was right. Maybe I do love my job more than my friends and family.

Spent three days without writing anything. Very sorry! I have been really busy--will tell you more about it tomorrow!

So, I’m heading to bed now. Let me tell you what’s happened over the past few days. So, the first out of the four that I have to talk about. Hiransh worked on his den. I couldn’t do much, but I helped pack in the walls, so they were more structurally sound. He was appreciative of my work, and grumbled a low thanks in his chest.

We worked well together, with him doing the moving and me doing the sculpting. He was doing work that would’ve taken me weeks, and I was doing work that he would have to rely on time to accomplish for him.

By the end of the first day, the den was mostly done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much larger than his last den. Instead of his back scraping the roof, he would have to stand on his hind legs to brush it with his head. I’m serious when I said it was big!

We moved my stuff to the new den. I kind of just slung it in the corner, and plopped down. Hiransh shuffled around before coming to sit beside me. When I turned around, I saw that my backpack and all the other things that I was carrying were neatly placed.

He and I are more different than two beings could be. He’s in his comfort zone up here; that much is obvious. I’m not… but that has been made quite clear by recent events, right? He’s also meticulously neat for an animal. He rarely has a scale out of place, whereas I sometimes can’t remember which way is left and which way is right.

But, we do make quite a pair.

So, after the first day, he let me ride him. Yeah, you heard that right. I rode this snow creature. It was terrifying, and he didn’t go faster than a trot, but it was incredible. I was so high up, and I felt almost connected to him through the roll of his muscles. I never stopped squeezing my arms around his neck for dear life, though.

He showed me how he hunted. It’s something that I’ve been wondering about. Surely a creature of his stature couldn’t survive on berries alone. He practiced with a tiny branch. So, he buries himself quickly underneath the snow and, if needed, into the dirt. Then, he covers himself with the snow and waits for something to walk over him. When it does, he bursts out of the snow and catches the creature in his jaws.

Let me tell you, seeing this massive snow lizard erupt out of the snow just to “kill” a twig the length of my forearm is actually the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

We watched the sunset together, again. This time, I didn’t stare at him, though. I just looked ahead.

Yesterday, we just hung out in the snow. He and I dug random snow pits. Of course, his were always bigger. But mine were more elaborate, if I do say so myself. I love the idea of some random climber stumbling upon them and thinking that there are aliens on Everest making weird snow shrines. Hehe, but still not as funny as Hiransh killing a stick.

Today, he took me to where he finds his berries. It’s actually not that far down the mountain, surprisingly. I think he dug out an area for the berries, and planted them himself. They’re hardy. This is also further proof of Hiransh’s intelligence.

I also sketched more pictures of him. I’m always learning something new about him. It seems that there is no end to his secrets. If only I had access to better lab equipment, I might be able to run some actual tests…

Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I’m tired. Tomorrow, we’re planning on some more snow fun! Maybe I can teach him how to make a snowman. Doubtful, but I can try. :)

I’m back at base camp.

Only a day has passed.

I’ve never felt so hollow before.

May 13th, 2018

I think I can talk about this now. I’m sitting in a hotel right now. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the States. Goodbye, Nepal. Goodbye, Hiransh.

Let me explain what happened.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Coughing. It was so bad, I had to breathe in every five seconds, but I never had enough air. Hiransh woke up as well, his orange eyes snapping open instantly. I was grasping at my throat, trying to remove the empty air tank’s mask. Hiransh understood what I was trying to do and slashed off the mask with his claws. In his terrified rush, he left a deep cut on my cheek. Despite the mask being taken off, I was coughing and unable to breathe.

Finally, Hiransh seemed to come to a decision. He carefully scooped me up in his jaws. Strangely enough, the only teeth that he has is outside of his mouth, so instead of being impaled the moment he picked me up, I was just bounced along in his mouth.

He made it down the mountain in record time. I passed in and out of consciousness. Only the splash of snow on my face kept me from slipping away. He would bound, bound, bound, skid to a stop, kick up snow, and then bound, bound, bound again. It was jarring.

Finally, we were far enough down the mountain that I could breathe. I took in the air in gasps, planting my hands on the side of Hiransh’s face. Once he realized that it wasn’t a fit for air, he let me from his jaws. Pebbly earth met my feet.

I held Hiransh’s massive jaw in my hands, feeling the rough scratch of his scales against my skin. A tear slipped down his face, but this time it did not turn to ice.

“Hiransh,” I whispered. I realized he wouldn’t understand me, so I tried to sign to him that I was heartbroken.

I told him that I couldn’t breathe up there. I was never going to be able to live with him. His shoulders slumped, and his ice-blue eyelids closed over his inner fire. I’m so sorry Hiransh. He’s alone. He’ll be alone forever.

I told him that I would come back. I promised that I would meet him by the berry patch in the summer. I vowed to return.

I will return.

Hiransh, please do not give up.

February 2nd, 2081

This took hours to find. My old bones made it such a pain, too. But, I have to, before I fade away.

Since I suppose that this journal will be given away, I must explain a few things. Like what happened with the rest of my life.

Well, I just kept living it. People discovered me where Hiransh had left me. I was stumbling down the mountain, crying and without a backpack, my phone, or anything really. All I had was the journal that was in my hands when I fell asleep.

Casey and Jasmine were both alive. Jasmine had severe frostbite on her ears, and on three of her left fingers. Her pinkie had to be amputated. But, otherwise, they were miraculously unharmed. Our reunion was tearful. I don’t remember much but a blur. It seems as if all of my memories are like that nowadays.

I continued with my job when I got home, and never told anyone about Hiransh. I hid the journal--I knew I should’ve burned it, but I feared that, if I did, I would lose my memories of Hiransh, convince myself that they were just a dream. So, I held onto it, quietly.

I went to therapy, obviously. Eventually, I stopped having panic attacks and got over my constant sadness. I was able to stop when I was 35, 12 years after the incident.

I never forgot Hiransh, like I had feared I would. I thought of him almost every day, wondering how he was doing alone. It breaks my heart to know that he was indeed alone. Unless someone out there discovered him and is as good at keeping a secret as I am, I doubt he’s been found.

Casey and I married when we were 38. I know, a little later than most, but we wanted to be ready. We adopted a Nepali girl, four years old. We named her Lily. We had our first grandchild when we were 68. A boy named Thomas.

And then there’s you. You were always my favorite grandchild (don’t tell your brother that). You loved my work so much. And so I will pass it onto you.

I have spent a lifetime tracking down the berry patch that Hiransh showed me all of those years ago. I have attached the coordinates, as accurate as I could make them, to this journal. You may choose not to believe me, but I implore you, please, please, please, travel to Everest. Don’t be stupid, either. Go without a guide. Go during summer, in April. He will be waiting.

I know he will.

I love you. Remember me when I’m gone.

Mallory Woodruff.

Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Friday, Update!

An update for everyone!

I’ve written ~2.5k words of the rough draft, and I’m at the part where they are at base camp! I’ve gotten through the more boring part of the story, and I’m at the interesting part now! I’ve spent around two hours writing this so far. :) I’m guessing that the story is going to at least be 5.5k words, possibly closer to 6k. 

The story is a lot of fun to write because don’t have to worry about amazing vocab and well constructed sentences since it’s supposed to be a ~23 year old writing it. It’s relaxed, and I’m hoping Mallory’s voice really comes through the writing. However, I’m still going to make sure that I have plenty of awesome description, especially later in the story. c: I’ll probably have the rough draft up tomorrow around three or four o’clock. 

Anyways, I’ll be signing off (to go play some Splatoon and work on other writing project :P) Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Thursday, Finalization!

Oh my gosh! It’s not midnight! And I’m posting on my blog! Am I actually getting better at this??

probably not

So, I updated last post with better pictures (because I’m a great person) and I’ve also done color images of my characters. c: I really like how the beast turned out, 10/10

note about the monster’s coloration, except for the white area on its claws, and dark blue spots on its shoulders, the pale blue of its scales can shift depending on how cold it is. The colder it is, the more blue the creature becomes.

I’m also going to go more into depth about the characters.

Mallory

Mallory is 5 ft tall, exactly. She is short, but full of spunk. At 23 years old, she is outgoing and curious. She is the one to chase a pretty butterfly in the field. She’s a field biologist, but, although she loves her job, she isn’t great at remembering that it is a job, rather, she is quick to go off and study what she wants to, not what someone tells her to. This has gotten her fired from numerous jobs.

She loves the color green, so much so that she has a garden full of leafy vegetables. She doesn’t even like to eat kale or lettuce (she’d rather go for a bowl of cocoa puffs), she just likes how it looks in her garden. And, that bowl of cocoa puffs? Well, with her being a slob, it probably will sit in the sink for a few days before it gets cleaned.

She is passionate about what she does, and, because of this, she is often sent off to schools to give presentations. She talks the ears off of any adult and entertains the kids with hands-on learning, bringing in giant snakes and fierce owls for them to oggle at.

Her great grandfather was from Nepal, so when her friends approached her with the idea of going to Nepal to climb Everest, she instantly agreed. She brings along a journal and a camera

When she is separated from her friends and sherpa in a freak snowstorm, she begins to shut down. She is terrified, mourning the loss of her friends. She doesn’t write anything in her journal until the beast approaches her.

When it does, she begins to write again. The beast reminds her of why she is alive, why she continues to fight for her life. The old Mallory starts to come back.

Continue story from there  :)

Beast

The beast is lonely. The last of its kind, there is no one left for it. It roams around at the summit of Everest, and when it’s not moving, it’s sleeping. For months at a time, the beast just sleeps.

It is intelligent, but has no language. Smarter than an ape, it can read facial patterns in humans. However, due to its strangely shaped mouth, it cannot speak, and its clumsy limbs cannot form structures. Despite this, it is likely that it could learn any human language if given the chance to be around humans.

It keeps its den freakishly neat. Refusing to brings it kills into the den, it will often spend a few days outside of it to wash itself off of the prey’s blood. Inside, there is no snow. Instead, there is dead grass and dirt, which the beast has carried up the mountain. 

Patience is its game. It hunts when the storms are rough. Climbing down the mountain after an awful storm, it buries its massive body under the snow. When it sense something up above, it rushes out to snatch the prey up in its jaws.

The beast is also very, very bored. It no longer finds interest in life. Everything it the same for it. Sleep for four months, eat a small meal, watch a sunset, and then sleep some more. It shows no signs of age, and it has come to believe that it is invincible (which it very well may be).

However, when it stumbles across the fallen form of Mallory, it no longer is quite as bored.

Story Plot

REMINDERS: date each entry, lots of description, and the fact that Mallory is writing this story!

The story beings with Mallory stating the plan to climb Everest. She’ll introduce (the most minor) a few side characters. She’ll also do a bit of exposition on herself, about what she does. If it fits in naturally, also put in a little bit about what she looks like. Also, tell how she prepared for the climb (buying stuff, especially special oxygen tank, researching, calling, and oxygen masking).

The journal’s entries become few and far in-between as they climb. Despite her desire to continue with the diary, she often forgets about it in favor of hiking. But, through a few weeks of entries, reader is informed that base camp has been pitched, and they are spending a few weeks to acclimate to the air. Talk about oxygen tanks

Mallory says that, after a few days, they will attempt a summit.

vvv days pass before any of the below is written, maybe a note or two when she’s conscious, but there’ll likely be very little vvv

However, the attempt goes awry when a storm suddenly blows in. Mallory is separated from the sherpa and her friends. She tries to rush down the mountain, back to camp, but becomes lost in the storm. Instead, she settles for a cave.

For eight days, Mallory is trapped high on the mountain. She has to use her oxygen tank for the brief moments that she is awake, otherwise her lungs would not be able to deal with so little oxygen. On the eighth day, it stops snowing, Mallory gathers enough strength to attach her final tank. Expensive, it is relatively light and gives her enough oxygen by, not just supplying a constant stream, but taking in atmospheric air and mixing in oxygen with it. By doing this, this tank can last for several days. She wasn’t planning on using it on the trip, but brought it just in case.

She passes out again, and this is when the monster discovers her. It had been traveling down the mountain to hunt, but caught her strange scent and quickly located her bright orange coat. It knew that she was a human, but it had never seen one so close to death. It recognized the fight in her and it respected her. Curious, it brought her up to its den.

When Mallory awakens, there are some blackberries by where she was resting. Instantly, she finds it strange that she is in a cave with no snow in it. She takes off her oxygen mask, and, when she takes a breath in, she realizes how high up she is. Alternating between breathing through the mask and eating the berries, she eventually gets through the food. Her stuff is neatly stacked in a corner.

Her first thought is that a wild mountain man rescued her. She checks her tank to see how much air she has left--about three days’ worth. She’ll need to start moving down the mountain if she wants to make it to a safe altitude in time.

She walks out of the cave, and discovers the monster patiently waiting outside. She’s drawn to its fiery eyes. She recognizes the intelligence in them. Scared out of her mind, all she does is walk back into the cave and pass out.

Waking up an hour later, she wonders if it was a dream or not. Looking around, she quickly realizes that it was not a dream. She goes outside to find the monster waiting for her patiently. Although huge and terrifying, it does not seem to pose a threat to her. 

After a few minutes of staring, she sits down away from the monster. She begins to talk to it, and she realizes the extent of its intelligence when it seems to understand the gist of what she is saying. She also realizes that it probably understands her more through the movement of her hands rather than her words.

Eventually, her curiosity gets the best of her, and she gets closer to it. She begins to inspect it, all of which the monster calmly accepts. She calls it gentle, a strange feat of nature, etc.

^^^ Now Mallory begins to write and recap all that happened ^^^

She watches the sunset with the creature, but through its eyes. They waver slightly as they stare at the sunset, but the reflection within is pure and bright. Mallory realizes why she is alive and why she wants to continue living.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to find herself back in the cave. This time, the monster is in the den with her, watching her. She uses her knowledge of gesturing to ask if its the only one left. It just closes its eyes and sets its head down. Ice crystalizes at the corner of its eyes. Her heart cold with sorrow, Mallory falls asleep once more.

The next day, Mallory draws up images of the creatures and describes it extensively in her notes. She affectionately names the creature after her great grandfather, Hiransh. Refer to monster as he from now on, not it. She fully describes the creature and says what she has learned about him through “sign.” She talks about that, when she went through her pack and left things about, the monster came in and reorganized her stuff.

She writes the review of the day, wrapping it up by saying that she is writing it while lying on Hiransh’s back.

The next day they bond some more. Less of a creature and more of a friend. Mallory expresses her wishes to stay and study the monster, but recognizes that they are polar opposites and need very different things.

The next day, Mallory wakes up and she is choking. Her oxygen tank’s levels are low--too low. Hiransh, terrified, carries her down the mountain in its jaws. When she starts to revive, he sets her down. He clears a spot for her to lie in. Mallory, in tears, tells the monster that she can’t live with it. She can’t survive in its environment. The monster knows this, and accepts it. She promises to return one day.

Years pass, and Mallory does not write in the journal. When she’s 86, she writes in the journal to wrap up her life. She says that she was never able to return to the Himalayas. She says that she wants to burn the journal so that the information may not get into the wrong hands, but fears that the monster will live alone forever if she does so. Instead, she decides to pass it onto her grand daughter, who also loves the outdoors. She says that she knows that Hiransh is alive, and that she wants her grand daughter to visit it when she’s old enough. The last part of the story is a note to the grand daughter.

This opens up an interesting idea as well--perhaps a short story from the monster’s perspective, living through generations of Mallory’s grand children, every decade or so, one visiting him. That idea seems very bittersweet--I may have to explore that!

I tried to do as much research as possible, but I was fitting in what should be weeks of research in a few hours, so if anything is inaccurate, I’m sorry! I tried my best to make this story close to how someone would actually climb Everest (minus the monster, of course)

Alright, almost eight, nowhere near to 11/12, I’m amazing at this now. :) Anyways, this took me like two hours to write, and I’m tired now and I don’t know how to end it, so thanks for reading! 

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Wednesday, Characters!

11:33, not midnight this time! >:) Getting better at timing, yay! not really but shhh

Anyway, this story has two main characters. The first is a field biologist who has been abandoned on Mt. Everest due to circumstances that will later be explored. She is likely going to die, when a strange creature visits her. Unlike anything she’s ever seen before, life is rekindled inside her and she studies it. The creature, the last of its kind (also due to circumstances that will later be explored), is intelligent. It is complex enough to feel loneliness--there is nothing on Everest for it. With none of its kind left, it has become lonely. Mallory (main character, biologist gal) was the first human it has ever approached. 

Mallory keeps a journal of her discoveries. Due to the intelligence of the creature, the two quickly bond. I have a few ideas for the ending, some of which involve Mallory dying, some of which don’t, but almost all end up with the monster lonely and depressed. :) whoops

Anyways, quick outline of both characters, which will be fully fleshed out tomorrow. (also hoping to get this in on time so excuse the sideways pic thanks)

Mallory is a field scientist, and she loves the work part of her job more than the job part of her job. If she’s sent out to research a specific animal, but she finds one that she thinks is more interesting, she’ll abandon her duties to chase her curiosity.

As the above has outlined, she is curious, but she is also quick to make decisions and is slightly rash. She can also be considered bumbling since she is disorganized and somewhat of a clutz.

Her great grandfather was from Nepal, which is partly why she wanted to go to Everest.

Also yes, I know that I can’t draw characters with pixie cuts shhh

Okay, so the above image has a bunch of things of me justifying this creature’s existence with pseudo-science, so if you want to read some of the biology of the creature, it’s up there. :P

This creature is extremely patient. It also needs very little food, warmth, or even air. Tougher than nails, it was practically built for Himalayan survival. 

Has survived due to its aloofness from humans, but, since its pack is gone, it has become desperate for attention. Watching Mallory struggle on the mountain convinced the monster to help her.

Also is meticulous about leaving its footprints around, covers them up with sweeping tail

Foil: patient vs impatient, cautious vs impulsive, suitability vs fish-out-water

Yes it’s a short post but it’s in on time and it’s not awful SO LOVE IT >:) (note to self: stop procrastinating until literally seven minutes before it’s too late)

Also, side note, I saw Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom today and it was meh. I think it was better than Incredibles II in that people are honest that it’s just meh. It’s crazy to me that Incredibles II has a ~90% on rotten tomatoes. 

Anyways, thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva 

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Tuesday, Analysis of Prompt

So, what I’ve been thinking about this prompt...

first idea that popped into my head was that this girl was going on a trip up everest with her friends/parents, who died due to something, and now she has to survive long enough for someone to rescue her

but then I thought to myself, that’s relatively basic, I feel like anyone would get that idea when looking at this prompt. So, I stepped back and looked at it again.

I thought, okay, so why would someone cry themselves to sleep? Easy answer: sadness. But why are they sad? Why have they cried themselves to sleep eight times?

So, obviously, my first thought was ‘mourning.’ Someone would cry if someone else died, and night is the time to explore those emotions. However, that led to the prompt above, so I thought further. Then, I got to another idea--loneliness. Someone who cries at night because there is no one there for them. 

Now, I had to think. Who would cry on Mount Everest, not out of mourning, fear, or the like, but out of loneliness? Obviously, they have to be well-suited to the environment and unafraid of dying, so that they can focus on the less pressing matter of social health. And, stick with me, this is what I thought of:

The above prompt about the girl will be a parallel story to a snow monster living in Everest. They will be character foils to each other, to follow the prompt. However, they have one basic similarity--they are alone. The snow monster, to its knowledge, is alone, the last of its kind. 

This is the basic outline that I have laid out for the story. I’m going to quickly look at the other points of the prompt.

The fact that this is an adventure story is important. To me, adventure has to be filled with descriptions, beautiful descriptions that take the reader where the characters are. I want to convey the beautiful danger of Everest (i.e., ethereal, untouched snow that hides the dangers of Everest--bodies long forgotten)

My character foil will be between the two main characters. While in the same situation, their personalities will come out differently. I have yet to figure out the extent of their differences, but once I do, I will definitely post.

Unlike the last story, probably the entire story is going to take place on Everest. 

The prompt is interesting because it tells me three things: one, the story is going to be first person/present tense POV. Two, the character has likely been on Everest for only eight days/eight days have passed since whatever thing caused her to lose her parents/friends. Three, the main character does NOT want to be on Everest.

I’ll probably post later today with some character designs, which shouldn’t take long, since there are only like two characters, but we’ll see. :) 

Thanks for reading!

-L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Week Two - An Adventure on Everest!

Added some more character generator features! Now, it can generate some traits about your character, which I think will be quite interesting. c: 

So, now that I have more character prompts in the system, let’s see what this week’s prompt is!

Writing Challenge!

Genre: Adventure

Character(s): Make a character from scratch, and then create a character foil (opposite of their personality) for him/her! Use your foil to be your protagonist!

Setting: Mount Everest

Prompt: "This is my eighth time trying to crying myself to sleep"

Mount Everest, and in the Adventure genre no less! :0 And that prompt makes the story really dark sounding. This’ll be a fun one, I do believe!

I’ll post my ideas and thoughts tomorrow!

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Sunday (shh it’s not Monday be quiet), “S.O.S” (completed short story!)

 no just because it’s midnight doesn’t mean it doesn’t count (need anymore negatives, angel? xp)

Here it is! Polished, shiny, and hopefully error-free, S.O.S, my first story for my Short Story Summer challenge, is officially completed! I’ve had such a blast doing this, and, although it isn’t excessively sci-fi-y, it forced me to step out of my comfort zone. 

What I’ve Learned: hOly cow, exposition is hard in short stories. I do think that, at times, S.O.S suffers from a bog of exposition, but I really shouldn’t edit it anymore considering it’s already Monday,,, ;n;

Also, procrastinating is bad. I am so bad at getting things done it is 12:10 as I am writing this.

Finally, cinnabun characters are so perfect. Ta’hua is meant to be that kind of character, and, if I ever revisit this universe, I think I’ll either set the story in Ta’hua’s past or the life he lives with Ashley and, his now adopted brother, Sterling. >u<

Final Word Count: 5,336

Final Time Spent (Writing/Editing): 5 hrs and 33 minutes

And, now that I have teased the ever living hek out of you, enjoy reading S.O.S

Trigger warning: blood, implied death, suicide, slavery, cruelty, dead family

S.O.S

“S-Sani is dead.”

The words are whispered to Sterling. The young boy’s gaze flicks to the side, meeting the dull, but worried, eyes of his friend, Ta’hua. The young Avian’s head feathers droop in sadness, his hands shaking as he pushes his mop along the deck. Sterling glances down at his own motionless mop before replying.

“How? When?”

Ta’hua turns back to his task, replying quietly. “After br-breakfast. He ju-umped.”

Sterling swallows a lump in his throat. It hurts to do so. Suddenly, his ribs feel much more pronounced, the bags underneath his eyes much heavier. “I’ll look for one this time.” Sterling says. Shoulders sagging in relief, Ta’hua gives an almost imperceptible nod before directing his mop away from Sterling.

When he is sure that his friend is out of earshot, Sterling whispers to himself in a voice devoid of emotion, “Fourteen.” Sani marks the fourteenth body. Over four years, Sterling has slowly killed fourteen different slaves aboard this ship. In the beginning, it was almost impossible to ask for others for their measly food, for their blind labor. It has become so dreadfully easy. He feels little guilt when he begs the kind-hearted, the weak-willed, the elderly, the mothers, and anyone else, for food. No shame rushes him when he manipulates others. Now, it is more of an annoyance than anything else when someone dies, because it means that he has to find a new target. He knows that he should feel guilty, disgusted at himself, devastated, anything but the cool numbness resting in his chest.

But, quite simply, he doesn’t.

He used to amend his guilt by telling himself that he needed this food, that the meals given to the slaves aboard this ship weren’t enough for anyone. While true, it didn’t become true to him until two years ago. Up until then, he would shake in his cot nightly, going insane with guilt. With every person he starved, every innocent victim to his unholy crimes, the only face he could see was his father’s. His father, who only ate enough to make it to the next meal time, just so he could feed his son most of that, who whispered stories late at night about a forgotten life, who died of starvation because he cared too much about his son.

But taking advantage of his fellow slaves now? Easy. There weren’t many weak-hearted slaves on board, but sometimes, newer ones were easier to convince. They didn’t understand the truly horrible conditions, and, before they did, they already found themselves caring about Sterling and Ta’hua. They would begin to form a one-sided parental bond with the children. They would feed them. They would take part of their workload. They would eventually die for them. Sterling swallows another hard lump in his throat. It is no easier to swallow than the first.

He turns to look at Ta’hua. His head is lowered and his back is hunched over his mop. As usual, his body shakes with every step. Everything about him screams that he doesn’t belong on this ship. His sun-like eyes and vibrant blue and yellow feathers speak of island life. His stutter and quiet demeanor are far too delicate to survive on this ship. Every time Sterling looks at Ta’hua, he sees an escape from reality, the rebellious call to something long dead. The only spring blossom untouched by winter’s greedy kiss. A person worth sharing his food with.

A whip cracks over Sterling’s head, causing the boy to flinch. The sudden motion brings instant, fiery pain to the deep sunburns on his face, and he struggles to push back tears. Looking up, a slaver yells at him in a language he doesn’t understand. He stabs a clawed finger at his motionless mop, and Sterling realizes that he had stopped working. He pushes himself to move again. The whip snaps again, although, this time, fresh agony washes across his body. Sterling can no longer hold back tears as fresh blood drips down his back. The blood, at least, cools his burned skin.

Sterling has been watching a certain slave for about three hours now. He works on the hauling team, pulling the net full of diamonds from the bottom of the ocean. It takes a strong set of slaves, at least a hundred, to pull up such a hefty net. The diamonds, which are formed under the ocean’s immense pressure, are said to be worth more than diamonds on earth, due to their rather exotic formation underneath the Oilcean.

Sterling’s mother had educated him all about the Oilcean before they travelled to it. He remembers the wondrous tales she spun about the immensely deep ocean, filled with riches such as diamonds and oil. Every moment she spent with him was precious, simply because they were so rare. It was always his older sister who took care of him and his younger sister. It was she who would kiss them goodnight. Sterling can’t remember her name, her face, or even her voice. Just the warm, cherry-scented comfort of her arms. She loved cherry soap. He wondered where she is now.

He learned bits of Avian from his mother, for which he is immensely grateful. Ta’hua was also taught some basic English and, together, they have created their own language that is a mix between the two. He remembers his first words in Avian. It was a quick “hello” to the bird-like people who welcomed him onto the cruise ship. His mother had been so excited to board that ship. 

Sterling blinks, and his mind clears. His back stings a reminder; thoughts have done him no good today.

Instead, he chooses to think about the slave he has his eye on. While the creatures themselves do not call their kind this, humans have dubbed their kind Frog Men, clunkily so. Despite this, the name is apt.

The slave is to the far right of the net--his bleeding hands are proof that he has not yet had time to develop calluses. On top of that, his clothing is not yet caked with blood or stiff with salt. His feet slip against the wave-soaked, peeling floorboards of the ship.

What’s beneficial about targeting Frog Men is that they are given much to eat. This is due to the facts that they tend to have the heavy-lifting jobs and that their massive bodies need plenty of food to function. If Sterling could convince one to share some of his food, he and Ta’hua wouldn’t have to worry about starvation for a long while.

The only trouble is convincing them to help. They’re not the smartest creatures, and there is more than a language barrier between Frog Men and everyone else. It might be too much trouble to coax food out of one. Nonetheless, Sterling has managed to do it before.

The sound of a scream jolts him out of his thoughts. A human is curled over her dripping arm, screeching in pain. The wooden planks beneath her are stained darkly. A mop rests next to her shaking body. Sterling bites his tongue slightly, trying to block out the screaming. Even so, he can’t take his eyes away from the scene. A slaver stands above the fallen slave. His leathery skin stretches to accommodate a widening smile.

The slavers are disgusting creatures. Tall and gray-skinned, their body is covered with wrinkles and spider-webbing veins. Their faces have only a mouth, one that is constantly pulled into a sharp, yellow-toothed grin. Their eyes hang from muscular tubes that sprout off of the top of their heads. Sterling has heard some slaves mutter about tearing off their eyes from their heads. He also holds this wish close to his heart.

Sterling tears his gaze away as the slaver slices at the slave’s exposed neck. Their innate violence scares him; he can never show any reason to be punished. Even the smallest things can have severe repercussions. Plus, the slavers don’t bother bandaging any injuries they cause. Either you deal with it yourself, or you die.

They love to cause pain, but hate to lose. If a slave is caught attempting to jump off the deck, the slavers will torture the unlucky soul for weeks before they put them out of their misery. They would sooner kill the slaves than let any of them escape.

Sterling spots Ta’hua gagging, but still working. It kills Ta’hua to see anyone treated this way. It seems at times that he is the only one on deck lamenting the lives lost. He sings songs to those who pass away, songs from his tribe, meant to guide the dead to their final resting place. But he cannot afford to sing now. For now, he must continue to work. If he stops, he opens the door to pain and death. Ta’hua may be mournful, but he’s no fool.

The deck must be cleaned at all times, otherwise, salt will settle into the wood and rot it. This makes it instantly clear who slacks on their duties above deck. All day, the deck slaves work under the boiling sun on a never-ending task. The boat is so large that it takes fifty slaves just to keep the deck from rotting. Every day, they clean the deck. Scrub it. Ignore the painful splinters that wedge underneath their nails. Avoid the slaver’s wrath. And the next day they do it all over again.

It begins to have a wear on your brain, this life. Sterling has started to forget anything but the boat, but the work, but the endless waves. He can’t even remember the last time the boat was docked at a port, even though he was sure it was less than a few months ago. Perhaps. Or was it last week? He doesn’t know. All he knows is how to push a mop across the deck floor.

And how to manipulate innocents.

Finish your work. Finish your work. Sterling chants to himself.

Finish your work. Finish your work.

A stick suddenly jabs into Sterling’s back. Flinching, expecting further punishment, Sterling draws his shoulders into his body to protect himself.

Nothing.

He cracks an eye open, met by blinding sunlight. Gradually opening himself up again, he turns to meet whatever poked him.

An elderly Avian stands in front of Sterling. Through the layer of thinning red feathers, a pair of tired, wrinkled eyes blearily stare at him. “My apologies, young man,” the Avian says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t see you there.” His mop stick is now lowered, away from where it had accidentally bumped into Sterling.

He rubs the spot on his back. The seemingly harmless prod peeled up skin from the sunburn there. Through his shirt, he could already feel specks of blood pushing to the surface. The pain is not unbearable, but it stings badly. He lets his eyes water slightly, biting his lip. “It’s al-alright,” he sniffs. “I’m fine.”

The Avian’s beak twitches slightly. “Good man,” the Avian replies. Underneath all the bumps and grooves of his voice is a tone of deep sadness.

Sterling inclines his head ever so slightly before continuing with his work. Once he hears the old Avian shuffle away, he considers his new option.

Fortune smiled on him today. The old Avian would be a perfect temporary food source for Ta’hua and him. Already, the elderly are among the easiest to convince to share. Thanks to the incident today, Sterling has been able to plant the seeds of empathy in the slave’s heart. Hopefully, within the week, he would feel comfortable enough to give food to Sterling and his friend.

The only issue with the elderly is that, unlike younger slaves, they cannot last long without all of their food. They are also more likely to be punished since they work at a much slower rate than anyone else.

Sterling contemplates his options as he continues to mindlessly scrub the deck. He could set up a temporary food source with the Avian while he worked on the Frog Man’s willingness. That way, they could both be fed and, given some more time, perhaps convince a second slave.

He ignores the pang of a buried emotion, and continues to work.

Sterling lives for the sunsets.

Despite the coldness and unyielding waves, the sunsets on the Oilcean are gorgeous. For the first time all day, the heat abates to let in an embracing coolness. It wraps Sterling in its shivering arms, soothing his burns and splintery hands.

The sun lights up the waves. Bright flashes skitter across the water. The sky is painted in rich purples and delicate pinks, and, as the night progresses, it deepens into the most magnificent starry blue. Sometimes, Sterling feels a quiet desire to know why the sky changes to such beautiful colors.

As if called by the ensuing darkness, phosphorescent creatures rise from the depths. When the sun disappears, thousands of pulsating squids, octopi, and jellyfish take its place. Now, instead of cheerful gleams off of the waves, green and blue lights float regally beneath the frigid waters. Miles upon miles of open ocean are lit up in an underwater celebration of hope and light in the face of darkness.

And, best of all, the sunsets bring the promise of a break.

The familiar hiss of a slaver makes Sterling giddy with excitement. He gets a rest. He doesn’t have to work for the next five hours. His aching muscles and burning skin will no longer need to cry out for a bed.

He gathers up his cleaning supplies--his mop, sponge, and bucket coated with suds. Without a backward glance, he eagerly turns away from his workspace. He is the third in line to the locked door that leads downstairs. A slaver stares at them, his two eyes swinging down by his chin, as he watches the line. Once he deems that everyone is ready, he unlocks the door with a definite click.

The slaves hurry inside. Although relieved to be inside, none run. The last time someone was caught running below deck, they were thrown overboard and fed to the waiting squids.

They file steadily to a large cabinet, in which the mops are neatly stacked in a corner. The slavers will take any opportunity to hurt their slaves, so if anything is out of place, someone is guaranteed a beating.

As soon as Sterling makes sure that his bucket is facing the right direction and that his mop is not leaning against the wall, he quickly walks out of the room. Now that he has stopped working, his stomach begins to growl, as if it is just now noticing that it is empty. Eagerly, he makes his way to the cafeteria.

The gem cleaners and polishers, who work below deck, are already eating their food in silence. Sterling’s gut clenches in anger--they get the easiest job. Never burned by the sun, never doing the hard work, but always first to dinner. They claim the spots by the walls, so their backs are supported nicely. His gaze slides past their gaunt faces and onward to the line ahead of him.

Once he receives his dinner, he searches the line for Ta’hua. The blue and yellow Avian is easy to pick out of the crowd. He stands hunch-shouldered between a human and a Frog Man. His feet drag with every movement of the line. Sterling waits patiently for his friend to receive his meal.

Ta’hua approaches him right away and, without a word, make their way to a part of the room with fewer slaves. They sit down together, Ta’hua’s hands shaking as he holds his food.

“So little,” Sterling murmurs. A bread crust is all they have for tonight. Touching the rim of the crust, where bread once was, Sterling can feel teeth marks and a certain wetness.

He tears the corner of the crust off, places it in his mouth, and chews it slowly. He’s learned that he can trick his stomach into believing that there is more food if he eats it piece by piece. So, every bite is savored, every crumb licked from his hand.

“Di-did you find anyone?” Ta’hua asks.

Sterling shrugs slightly. “I may have found someone to temporarily support us. An old Avian. Red feathers.”

Ta’hua’s head droops further. “Another el-el-elder?”

Instead of getting angry with Ta’hua’s pickiness, Sterling nods wearily.

“Is there an-anyone else-se?”

“Maybe a Frog Man. He’s new.” Setting his head on his knees, Sterling bites his fingernail. “I’m not sure though.”

“I hate it here,” Ta’hua says suddenly. Sterling glances up sharply. Ta’hua’s stutter is gone. Although his words are quiet, each shakes with anger and sorrow.  “I hate it so much. I hate what we do. I don’t care if we have to, I hate it so much. I want to go one night without crying or having a nightmare or hating myself so much that I want to die. I want one day to pass where I’m not whipped. I want…” Ta’hua trails off, his eyes dulling with tears. “I wa-ant…”

Despite Sterling’s best efforts, tears form at the reminder that he once had something better. His heart is hollow, his stomach even more so. A sudden wave of disgust at his earlier excitement washes over him.

He remembers his sister. Her comforting words. Her cherry soap. Mom will be back soon, she’s just on a business trip with daddy right now. She always knew what to say. Now it is his turn to know what to say.

“We’re not going to be here forever.” Sterling whispers. He closes his eyes, letting tears drip off of his eyelashes. “It just can’t happen.”

The rest of dinner is spent in silence.

As a bell rings, slaves hurry to stand up. Many just finished savoring their meal. Slavers let whips trail from their claws threateningly. They bark orders in their language at the slaves and, although no one knows what they are saying, their meaning is clear. They file out of the room in a hurry, their heads bowed submissively as they make their way to the slave’s quarters.

They enter the dark room one by one. There aren’t any beds, just rows and rows of wooden shelves. There are at least three hundred sleeping spots packed into a room meant for twenty.

Each slave climbs onto a shelf. There is nothing to stop one from rolling off in the middle of the night. Many prefer to take the bottom shelves so they don’t break a bone. However, the shelves closer to the floor tend to have rat infestations.

Sterling climbs up a ladder to take a shelf in the back of the room. Four shelves up, far enough from the rats but not too far from the ground to take a potentially life-threatening tumble. He bends his knees slightly, wishing to draw them up to his chest. If he did so, he would be too wide for the shelf and fall out. His clothing scratches painfully against his burns and, where there are holes, the wood does the same. The cold is now unwelcome, making his whole body shiver and promising him a restless night.

Nonetheless, Sterling knows that, if he is going to have energy for tomorrow, he will have to sleep. So, he closes his eyes and continues to tremble with cold.

His dream is filled with laughter and light. Nothing is coherent, except for the warm sense of peace and happiness in his chest. His sister holds him close, tightly. It is not painful; he is not burned. He enjoys the hug, nestling into the crook of her shoulder. Her hands rub up and down his back comfortingly. I love you so much, Sterling… Never give up… When tears splash onto his cheek, he looks up. Why are you crying? he asks softly.

Because I’m going to lose you…  because I have already lost everyone…

You’ll never lose me, Ash. I promise.

Brave boy… stay brave, will you?

I will.

He sits up suddenly, hitting his head on the shelf above him. The slave above him pounds an angry fist against the wood plank. Sterling drags his legs to the side of his bed, so they can dangle, as he rubs the sore spot on his face. What woke me up…? His dream had been pleasant. No nightmare to shock him out of sleep tonight. Shaking his head, he listens closely to what seems like only waves. But soon, he can hear it again--shuff, shuffff. Shuff.

Heart rising in his throat, Sterling pulls his legs back into his cot. Those sounded like footsteps. Not the confident stride of the slavers, but someone trying to be sneaky. It was either someone trying to escape or--

Someone screamed, and gunfire filled the night.

Instantly, everyone was awake in the slave’s quarters. Some started to wail with fear, others prayed, but most just silently shook inside their shelves. The footsteps above were not so sneaky now. Rather, painful sounding thuds punctuated the crack of pistols and the smooth hiss of a different, more advanced weapon. Something that the slavers definitely couldn’t afford.

Sterling hid. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but his heart was already trembling with hope. Could it be…? Would he finally go back to his old life? He clenched his fists, begging some god unknown to let the attackers win. He couldn’t even bring himself to consider that the assailants could be a rival pirate ship. If all this meant was that a more powerful clan would take him, there was no way he could possibly live any longer.

Suddenly the door swings up, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Sterling’s head pokes out of his cot to see the person, and he instantly pulls it back in as he registers what’s happening. The slaver begins firing shots at the cots, and Sterling covers his ears. Crack crack, thunk, crack crack crack!

His voice is loud, screaming at the slaves as he shoots them down. It hisses and cracks with pure, ungodly rage. What was going on?

Wood splinters as bullets ricochet everywhere in the room. Sterling shakes so hard that he can barely keep his hands on his ears. Is this it? he wonders tearfully. Am I going to die now? Do I die in this awful place?

No.

The gunshots are suddenly cut off, replaced by a strangled gurgling noise. “I found them,” someone whispers.

A tinny voice replies, “Where are you, soldier?”

“Below deck. It looks like everyone is down here.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Sterling sits up. As his eyes travel down the aisles, finally he spots the soldier. The man is covered head to toe in white armor, and orange, glowing glass plates protect his eyes. As soon as Sterling sees him, he forgets the ship.

He forgets his years spent on it.

He forgets his caution.

He cries out, stumbling down the ladder to rush to the man. He is crying so hard that he can barely breathe, his breath hitching every second. As he collapses in the soldier’s arms, he is screaming. After a second of hesitation, the man picks up Sterling, propping up the child on his hip. A cool, armored hand presses against his back. The other rests atop Sterling’s limp hair. The man calls to the room, “You’ve been rescued by the Navy of the Oilcean. We’re here to help you.”

Sterling wails incoherently as the man’s backup arrives. Doctors rush the room, helping up those injured by the wild shooting of the slaver, who now lies dead on the floor. They tie red ribbons onto the toes of the dead and cover them with heavy blankets. It was probably the best cloth that those slaves had felt in years.

The man carries Sterling through the ship. His crying echoes throughout the boat that he had spent the last four years tending. Each pause in his sobbing opens up another painful memory, sending him through the cycle again.

Once he reaches above deck, the soldier sets the child down. “Sh,” he says softly. “We’re here to help. You’re going home.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Sterling whispers, clutching the man’s wrist. Desperation clogs his words. “Please.”

“I--”

“Soldier Ruben!” A voice shouts.

The soldier’s gentle demeanor disappears as he snaps into a salute. “Yes, Senior Captain Ashley!” His voice matches the bark of the first.

“Why are you above deck! Why aren’t you helping with the injured?”

The soldier’s eyes trail down to Sterling, and he swallows slightly. “I was comforting this child, Senior Captain Ashley!”

The Captain marches over to Sterling. She is not wearing white armor--rather, she is wearing a helmet and a strange, scaly looking shirt. There is something vaguely familiar about the round curve of his face. The blonde hair hanging by her chin might as well be his own…

Their gazes meet.

The Captain sinks to the ground, her brown eyes suddenly filling with tears. A trembling hand presses against his cheek. “S-Sterling?”

Sterling’s eyes squint in confusion. “…Ash?”

Sterling’s sister pulls him in for a hug, her quiet gasping sobs scraping past his ears.

The gentle, floral scent of cherries reaches him.

“Sterling,” she pulls back from the hug. Her eyes are still wet with tears, but no more form. “I have to let you go for now. My men need my help. Soldier Ruben will lead you to the submarine. There are people waiting to help you.”

With that, the Captain stands. She heads to the door leading downstairs, her boots cracking the floorboards of the ship with every stride. His reality crumbles with every step she takes.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to wake up before sunrise.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to trick someone into feeding me.

Crack. Tomorrow I won’t have to fear for my life.

When Ashley reaches the door, she looks back once and nods. Then, she disappears into the blackness of the stairway.

Sterling stares after her for a few more seconds before Soldier Ruben leads him to the edge of the deck. A ladder is bolted onto the side of the ship. Above the waves, the top of a submarine cuts through the water as it keeps pace with the ship.

Ruben holds Sterling’s emaciated body close to his chest as he climbs down the ladder. His bony knees knock together with every step. Each rung takes him further away from the memories of death and slavery. Each rung takes him closer to freedom.

Once they reach the submarine, a group of humans takes Sterling. Ruben leaves Sterling to them, off to help more of the rescued onto the submarine. Every moment is a blur. They bathe him in warm water, gently washing away the dirt, dead skin, and grime that have accumulated over years without bathing. They dry him with a towel so fluffy that it practically floats above his skin. Then, they dress him in clothes too soft to imagine.

Sterling remembers staying awake to search for Tu’hua. Eventually, when his friend comes, they sat together and cried. Once their tears are too painful to continue crying, they fall asleep together in the safety of a warm bed.

Two days later, Sterling wakes up in a hospital. He’s dressed in different clothing, and a white blanket is tucked up to his chin. He sits up, his eyes half open, expecting instant pain. When nothing comes, he checks his face for burns. Nothing. He pats his back--only old whip scars.

“You’re awake.” A quiet voice says from the corner.

Sterling’s eyes go straight towards the sound. “A-Ashley?”

The woman sitting in front of him is a far cry to the girl from four years ago. Her eyes are tired, bags worn into her face underneath them. Muscles have formed on her arms, and there is a certain cunning to her eyes that Sterling does not remember.

“Do you remember me, Sterling?” The boy looks down at his hands, which clench the covers of his cot.

“I remember your cherry soap.” He says softly. “I remember the way you would hold me close when I cried because mommy wasn’t home. I… I remember that, even though you’re my sister, you’re like mommy.”

She nods. “Do you remember the day we were captured?”

Sterling closes his eyes. His breathing increases slightly. “Yes,” he whispers. “We were on a cruise ship. Mommy and daddy were celebrating their company’s success. I remember we weren’t supposed to be on the Oilcean, because of the pirates, but daddy gave money to the man that said we couldn’t and then he said we could. And then our ship was attacked, and mommy and Emma… they… they died… and they took you away…”

“Sterling,” Ashley broke in. “I need you to tell me where dad is. I know he went on the same ship as you. Is he alive?”

Sterling shook his head, his eyes still closed.

Ashley fell back in her chair. A trembling sigh brushed past her lips. “That’s it then. You and I are the only two left.” Only a few moments pass before she breathes in deeply, bracing herself against the wall of emotions threatening to crush her. “Sterling, I’m going to tell you what happened to me. Once I’m done, you can ask questions. I’m not going to make you tell me your story.”

Sterling’s eyes crack open to see his sister. She has her forearms braced on her knees, which she leans over. Her hair swings in front of her eyes as she begins to speak.

“When they separated me from you and dad, I almost died with grief and fear. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t know what would happen, and had no one to tell me what to do. All I could do was what I was supposed to. I was put on an oil rig. I was always covered in the stuff. It was always in my mouth; all of the food tasted like oil. It was awful.

“But, within a year, my oil rig was liberated by the Navy of the Oilcean. I was free, but I had nowhere to go. Dad and mom’s company had already been claimed by one of their heirs, and they shut me out. They didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. I… I didn’t know what to do.

“I realized that I had to do something with my life. After all, it was saved for a reason. So I looked to you. I had a new goal in life--finding you and dad. The best way to go about that was to join the Navy. I spent every moment trying to make my way to the next rank, so I could start searching specifically for you and dad.

“It was hard, because people easily connected my actions with my past. Many tried to get me fired since they thought I was biased towards you.” Ashley chuckles softly. “They were right, of course. Didn’t mean I could let them get in my way.

“I spent every minute of my day fighting my way to the top. And, once I was there, I spent every other minute fighting to stay there. I was able to trace several ships that could possibly have you onboard. As the years went by, I had to confront the possibility that you and dad might be dead. But… I never gave up.” She smiles sadly. “And here we are.”

Sterling blinks. “Where is here?”

Ashley sits up, and her sadness fades away. “We’re still on the Oilcean. A hospital, in San Paola.”

“Is Ta’hua safe?”

“The Avian you fell asleep with?” At Sterling’s nod, she continues. “He’s doing just fine. He’s been awake for a few hours now, actually. Very quiet, that boy.”

Sterling’s lip trembles. “Am… am I safe?”

Ashley’s eyebrows slant sadly. She comes to sit on his bed, careful not to disturb his legs. She grasps one of his hands. “From now and forever.”

Sterling smiles at her, his eyes filling with tears built up over four years of torture, pain, and misery.

From now and forever.

And there it is! I hope you enjoyed reading my first short story of the summer! Thank you for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Saturday, Rough Draft!

*gasp gasp* it’s finally done. I haven’t edited this AT ALL yet. As of now, it’s 4772 words, and it took me three hours and fifty-two minutes to write it. Like I thought, it did end up being a far cry from my 7.5k estimate, but that is fine by me! Although it’s probably rife with grammar and spelling mistakes, you can take a look if you want lol. c,: Final version coming out tomorrow!

“S-Sani is dead.”

The words are whispered to Sterling. The young boy glances sharply to the side, meeting the dull, but worried, eyes of his friend, Ta’hua. The young avian’s head feathers droop in sadness, his hands shaking as he pushes his mop along the deck. Sterling glances down at his own motionless mop before replying.

“How? When?”

Ta’hua turns back to his task, replying quietly. “After br-breakfast. He ju-umped.”

Sterling swallows a lump in his throat. Suddenly, his ribs feel much more sharply pronounced, the bags underneath his eyes much heavier. “I’ll look for one this time.” Sterling says. Ta’hua gives an almost imperceptible nod before directing his mop away from Sterling.

When he is sure that his friend is out of earshot, Sterling whispers to himself, “Fourteen.” Sani marks the fourteenth body. Over four years, Sterling has slowly killed fourteen different slaves aboard this ship. In the beginning, it was almost impossible to ask for others for their measly food, for their blind labor. It has become so dreadfully easy. He felt little guilt when he begged the kind-hearted, the weak-willed, the elderly, the mothers, and anyone else, for food. Now, it is more of annoyance than anything else when someone dies, because it means that he has to find someone else to beg food from. He knows that he should feel guilty, disgusted at himself, devastated, anything but the cool numbness resting in his chest.

But, quite simply, he doesn’t.

He used to amend his guilt by telling himself that he needed this food, that the meals offered to the slaves aboard this ship wasn’t enough for anyone. This is true, but it didn’t become true to him until two years ago. Up until then, he would shake in his cot nightly, going insane with guilt. With every person he starved, he could only picture his father. His father, who only ate enough to make it to the next meal time, just so he could feed his son most of that. His father, who whispered stories about a forgotten life. His father, who died of starvation because he cared too much about his son.

But taking advantage of his fellow slaves now? Easy. There weren’t many weak-hearted slaves on board, but sometimes, newer ones were easier to convince. They didn’t understand the truly horrible conditions, and, before they did, they already found themselves caring about Sterling and Ta’hua. They would begin to form a one-sided parental bond with the children. They would feed them. They would take part of their workload. They would eventually die for them.

Sterling stares at Ta’hua. His head is lowered and his back is hunched over his mop. Everything about him screams that he doesn’t belong on this ship. His sun-like eyes and vibrant blue and yellow feathers speak of island life. His stutter and quiet demeanor are far too delicate to survive on this ship. Every time Sterling looks at Ta’hua, he sees an escape from reality, the rebellious call to something long dead. He sees a person worth sharing his food with.

A whip cracks over Sterling’s head, causing the boy to flinch. The sudden motion brought instant, fiery pain to the deep sunburns on his face, and he struggles to push back tears. Looking up, a slaver yells at him in a language he didn’t understand. He stabs a clawed finger at his motionless mop, and Sterling realizes that he had stopped working. He pushes himself to move again. The whip snaps again, although, this time, fresh agony washes across his body. Sterling can no longer hold back tears as fresh blood drips down his back. The blood, at least, cools his burned skin.

Sterling has been watching a certain slave for about three hours now. He works on the hauling team, pulling the net full of diamonds from the bottom of the ocean. It takes a strong set of slaves, at least a hundred, to pull up such a hefty net. The diamonds, which are formed under the ocean’s immense pressure, are said to be worth more than diamonds on earth, due to their rather exotic formation underneath the Oilcean.

Sterling’s mother had educated him all about the Oilcean before they travelled to it. He remembers how she told him about the immensely deep ocean, filled with riches such as diamonds and oil.

His mother was never there to talk to them. It was always his older sister who took care of him and his younger sister. Sterling can’t remember her name, her face, or even her voice. Just the warm, cherry-scented comfort of her arms. She loved cherry soap. He wondered where she was now.

He learned bits of avian from his mother, for which he is immensely grateful. Ta’hua was also taught some basic English and, together, they have created their own language that is a mix between the two. He remembered his first words in avian, a quick “hello” to the bird-like people who welcomed him onto the cruise ship. His mother had been so excited to board that ship.

Sterling blinks, and his mind clears. His back still stings; memories have done him no good today.

Instead, he chooses to think about the slave he has his eye on. While the creatures themselves do not call their kind this, humans have dubbed them Frog Men, clunkily so. Despite this, the name is apt.

The slave is to the far right of the net--his bleeding hands are proof that he has not yet had time to develop calluses. On top of that, his clothing is not yet caked with blood or stiff with salt. His muscles clench as he does his share in pulling up the net.

The good thing about targeting Frog Men is that they are given much to eat. This is due to the facts that they tend to have the heavy-lifting jobs and that their massive bodies need lots of food to function. If Sterling could convince one to share some of his food, he and Ta’hua wouldn’t have to worry about starvation for a long while.

The only trouble is convincing them to help. They’re not the smartest creatures, and there is more than a language barrier between frog men and anyone else. It might be too much trouble to coax food out of one. Nonetheless, Sterling puts the Frog Man into the back of his mind, making a mental note to look over it later.

The sound of a scream attracts his attention. An avian is curled over her arm, screeching in pain. A mop rests next to her shaking body, still dripping with water. Sterling bites his tongue slightly, trying to block out the screaming. Even so, he can’t take his eyes away from the scene. A slaver stands above the fallen slave, a dripping knife in one hand and a whip in the other.

The slavers are disgusting creatures. Tall and gray-skinned, their body is covered with wrinkles and spider-webbing veins. Their faces have only a mouth, one that is constantly stretched into a sharp, yellow-toothed smile. Their eyes hang from muscular tubes that sprout off of the top of their heads. Sterling has heard some slaves mutter about tearing off their eyes from their heads. He also holds this wish close to his heart.

Sterling tears his gaze away as the slaver slices at the slave’s exposed neck. Their innate violence scares him; he can never show any reason to be punished. Even the smallest things can have severe repercussions. The slavers don’t bother bandaging any injuries they cause. Either you deal with it yourself, or you die.

The slavers love to cause pain, but hate to lose. If a slave is caught attempting to jump off the deck, the slavers will torture the unlucky soul for weeks before they put them out of their misery. They would sooner kill the slaves than let any of them escape.

Sterling spots Ta’hua gagging, but still working. Their work is constant, monotonous. Once cannot afford to stop working. If you stop working, you invite death and pain into your life. Working is all that can save you.

The deck must be cleaned at all times, otherwise salt will settle into the wood and rot it. This makes it instantly clear who slacks on their duties above deck. All day, every day, the deck slaves work under the boiling sun on a never-ending task. The boat is so large that it takes fifty slaves just to keep the deck from rotting. Every day, they clean the deck. Scrub it. Ignore the painful splinters that wedge underneath their nails. Avoid the slaver’s wrath. And the next day they do it all over again.

It begins to have a wear on your brain. Sterling has started to forget anything but the boat, but the work, but the endless waves. He can’t even remember the last time the boat was docked at a port. All he knows is how to push a mop across the deck floor. And how to manipulate others.

Finish your work. Finish your work. Sterling chants to himself.

Finish your work. Finish your work.

A stick suddenly jabs into Sterling’s back. Flinching, expecting further punishment, Sterling draws his shoulders into his body to protect himself. Nothing. Gradually opening himself up again, he turns to meet whatever poked him.

An elderly avian stands in front of Sterling. Through the layer of thinning red feathers, a pair of tired, wrinkled eyes blearily stare at him. “My apologies, young man,” the avian says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t see you there.” His mop stick is now lowered, away from where it had accidentally bumped into Sterling.

He rubs the spot on his back. The seemingly harmless prod peeled up skin from the sunburn there. Through his shirt, he could already feel specks of blood pushing to the surface. He lets his eyes water slightly, biting his lip. “It’s al-alright,” he sniffs. “I’m fine.”

“Good man,” the avian’s rough voice replies. Underneath all the bumps and grooves of the spoken words is a tinge of sadness.

Sterling inclines his head ever so slightly before continuing with his work. Once he hears the old avian shuffle away, he considers his new option.

Fortune smiled on him today. The old avian would be a perfect temporary food source for Ta’hua and him. Already, the elderly were among the easiest to convince to share. Thanks to the incident today, Sterling had been able to plant the seeds of empathy in the slave’s heart. Hopefully, within the week, he would feel comfortable enough to give food to Sterling and his friend.

The only issue with the elderly is that, unlike younger slaves, they cannot last long without all of their food. They are also more likely to be punished since they work at a much slower rate than anyone else.

Sterling contemplates his options as he continues to mindlessly scrub the deck. He could set up a temporary food source with the avian while he worked on the Frog Man’s willingness. That way, they could both be fed and, given some more time, perhaps convince a second slave.

He ignores the pang of a long buried emotion, and continues to work.

Sterling lives for the sunsets.

Despite the coldness and unyielding waves, the sunsets on the Oilcean are gorgeous. For the first time all day, the heat abates to let in an embracing coolness. It wraps Sterling in its shivering arms, soothing his burns and splintery hands.

The sun lights up the waves. Bright flashes skitter across the water. The sky is painted in rich purples and delicate pinks. Sometimes, Sterling feels a quiet desire to know why the sky changes to such beautiful colors.

As if called by the ensuing darkness, phosphorescent creatures rise from the depths. When the sun disappears, thousands of pulsating squids, octopi, and jellyfish take its place. Now, instead of cheerful gleams off of the waves, green and blue lights float regally beneath the waves.

And, the sunsets bring the promise of a break.

The familiar hiss of a slaver makes Sterling giddy with excitement. He gets a rest. He doesn’t have to work for the next five hours. His aching muscles and burning skin cry out for a bed.

He gathers up his cleaning supplies--his mop, sponge, and bucket coated with suds. He is the third in line to the locked door that leads downstairs. A slaver stares at them, his two eyes swinging down by his chin, as he watches the line. Once he deems that everyone is ready, he unlocks the door with a definite click.

The slaves hurry inside. Although relieved to be inside, none run. The last time someone was caught running below deck, they were thrown overboard and fed to the waiting squids.

They file steadily to a large cabinet, in which the mops are neatly stacked in a corner. The slavers will take any opportunity to hurt their slaves, so if anything is out of place, someone is guaranteed a beating.

As soon as Sterling makes sure that his bucket is facing the right direction and that his mop is not leaning against the wall, he quickly walks out of the room. Now that he has stopped working, his stomach begins to growl, as if just noticing that it is empty. Eagerly, he makes his way to the cafeteria.

The gem cleaners and polishers, who work below deck, are already eating their food in silence. Sterling’s gut clenches in anger--they get the easiest job. Never burned by the sun, never doing the hard work, but always first to dinner. They claim the spots by the walls, so their backs are supported nicely. His gaze slides past their gaunt faces and onward to the line ahead of him.

Once he receives his dinner, he searches the line for Ta’hua. The blue and yellow avian is easy to pick out of the crowd. He stands hunch-shouldered between a human and a Frog Man. His feet drag with every movement of the line. Sterling waits patiently for his friend to get his meal.

Ta’hua approaches him right away and, without a word, make their way to a part of the room with fewer slaves. They sit down together, Ta’hua’s hands shaking as he holds his food.

“So little,” Sterling murmurs. A bread crust is all they have for tonight. Touching the rim where the actual bread should be, Sterling can feel teeth marks and vague wetness. He tears the corner of the bread off, chewing it slowly. He’s learned that he can trick his stomach into believing that there is more food if he eats it slowly.

“Di-did you find anyone?” Ta’hua asks.

Sterling shrugs slightly. “I may have found someone to temporarily support us. An old avian. Red feathers.”

Ta’hua’s head droops further. “Another el-el-elder?”

Instead of getting angry, Sterling nods.

“Is there an-anyone else-se?”

“Maybe a Frog Man. He’s new.”

“I hate it here,” Ta’hua says suddenly, causing Sterling to glance up sharply. His stutter is gone. Although he speaks quietly, his voice shakes with anger and sorrow.  “I hate it so much. I hate what we do. I don’t care if we have to, I hate it so much. I want to go one night without crying or having a nightmare. I want one day to pass where I’m not whipped. I want…” Ta’hua trails off, his eyes dulling with tears. “I wa-ant…”

Despite Sterling’s best efforts, tears form at the reminder that he once had something better. His heart is hollow, his stomach even more so. A sudden wave of disgust at his earlier excitement washes over him.

He remembers his sister. Her comforting words. Her cherry soap. Mom will be back soon, she’s just on a business trip with daddy right now.

“We’re not going to be here forever.” Sterling whispers. He closes his eyes, letting tears drip off of his eyelashes. “It just can’t happen.”

The rest of dinner is spent in silence.

As a bell rings, slaves hurry to stand up. Many just finished savoring their meal. Slavers let whips trail from their claws threateningly. They bark orders in their language at the slaves and, although no one knows what they are saying, their meaning is clear. They file out of the room in a hurry, their heads bowed submissively as they make their way to the slave’s quarters.

They enter the dark room one by one. There aren’t any beds, just rows and rows of wooden shelves. There are at least three hundred sleeping spots packed into a room meant for twenty beds.

Each slave climbs into a shelf. There is nothing to stop one from rolling off in the middle of the night, so many prefer to take the bottom shelves so they don’t break a bone. However, the shelves closer to the floor tend to have mice or rat infestations.

Sterling climbs up a ladder to take a shelf in the back of the room. Four shelves up, far enough from the rats but not too far from the ground to take a potentially life threatening tumble. He bends his knees slightly, wishing to draw them up to his chest. If he did so, he would be too wide for the shelf and fall out. His clothing scratches painfully against his burns and, where there are holes, the wood does the same. The cold is now unwelcome, making his whole body shiver and promising him a restless night.

Nonetheless, Sterling knows that, if he is going to have energy for tomorrow, he will have to sleep. So, he closes his eyes and continues to tremble with cold.

But he’s not asleep for long.

He sits up suddenly, smacking his head on the shelf above him. The slave above him smacks an angry fist against the wood plank. Sterling drags his legs to the side of his bed, so they can dangle, as he rubs the sore spot on his face. What woke me up…? He listens closely to what seems like only waves. But soon, he can hear it again--shuff, shuffff. Shuff.

Heart rising in his throat, Sterling pulls his legs back into his cot. Those sounded like footsteps. Not the confident stride of the slavers, but someone trying to be sneaky. It was either someone planning an escape or--

Someone screamed, and gunfire filled the night.

Instantly, everyone was awake in the slave’s quarters. Some started to wail with fear, others prayed, but most just silently shook inside their shelves. The footsteps above were not so sneaky now. Rather, painful sounding thuds punctuated the crack of pistols and the smooth hiss of a different, more advanced weapon.

Sterling hid. He tried to keep his emotions in check, but his heart was already trembling with hope. Could it be…? Would he finally go back to his old life? He clenched his fists, begging someone unknown to let the attackers win. He couldn’t even bring himself to consider that the assailants could be a rival pirate ship.

Suddenly the door swings up, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Someone begins firing shots at the slaves, and Sterling covers his ears.

The language of the voice is familiar--one of the slavers. His voice is loud, screaming at the slaves as he shoots them down.

Wood splinters as bullets ricochet everywhere in the room. Sterling shakes so hard that he can barely keep his hands on his ears. Is this it? he wonders tearfully. Am I going to die now?

No.

The gunshots stop, replaced by a strangled gurgling noise. “I found them,” someone whispers.

A tinny voice replies, “Where are you, soldier?”

“Below deck, it looks like everyone is down here.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Sterling sits up. As his eyes travel down the aisles, finally he spots the soldier. The man is covered head to toe in white armor, and orange, glowing glass plates protect his eyes. As soon as Sterling sees him, he forgets the ship.

He forgets his years spent on it.

He forgets his caution.

He cries out stumbling down the ladder to rush to the man. He is crying so hard that he can barely breathe, his breath hitching every second. As he collapses in the soldier’s arms, he is screaming. The man picks up Sterling easily, propping up the child on his hip. A cool, armored hand presses against his back. The man calls to the room, “You’ve been rescued by the Navy of the Oilcean. We’re here to help you.”

Sterling wails incoherently as the man’s backup arrives. Doctors rush the room, helping up those injured by the wild shooting of the slaver, who now lies dead on the floor. They tie red ribbons onto the toes of those who died.

The man carries Sterling through the ship. His crying echoes throughout the ship that he had spent the last four years tending. Each pause in his sobbing opens up another painful memory, sending him through the cycle again.

Once he reaches above deck, the soldier sets the child down. “Sh,” he says softly. “We’re here to help. You’re going home.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Sterling whispered, clutching the man’s wrist. “Please.”

“I--”

“Soldier Ruben!” A voice shouted.

Suddenly, the soldier’s gentle demeanor disappeared as he snapped into a salute. “Yes, Senior Captain Ashley!” His voice matches the bark of the first.

“Why are you above deck! Why aren’t you helping with the injured?”

The soldier’s eyes trail down to Sterling, and he swallows slightly. “I was comforting this child, Senior Captain Ashley!”

The Captain marches over to Sterling. She is not wearing white armor--rather, she is wearing a helmet and a strange, scaley looking shirt. There is something vaguely familiar about the round curve of his face. The blonde hair hanging by her chin might as well be his own…

Their gazes meet.

The Captain sinks to the ground, her brown eyes suddenly filling with tears. “S-Sterling?”

Sterling’s eyes squint in confusion. “…do you… smell like cherries?”

Sterling’s sister pulls him in for a hug, her quiet gasping sobs scraping past his ears.

The gentle, floral scent of cherries reaches him.

“Sterling,” she pulls back from the hug. Her eyes are still wet with tears, but no more form. “I have to let you go for now. My men need me to help. Soldier Ruben will lead you to the submarine. There are people waiting to help you.”

With that, the Captain stands. She heads to the door leading downstairs, her boots cracking the floorboards of the ship with every stride. His reality crumbles with every step she takes. When she reaches the door, she looks back once and nods. Then, she disappears into the blackness of the stairway.

Sterling stares after her for a few more seconds before Soldier Ruben leads him to the edge of the deck. A ladder is bolted onto the side of the ship. Above the waves, the top of a submarine cuts through the water as it keeps pace with the ship.

Ruben helds Sterling’s emaciated body close to his chest as he climbs down the ladder. His bony knees knock together with every step. Every rung takes him further away from the memories of death and slavery. Every rung takes him closer to freedom.

Once they reach the submarine, a group of humans take Sterling. Ruben leaves Sterling to them, off to help more of the rescued onto the submarine. Every moment is a blur. They bathe him in warm water, gently washing away the dirt, dead skin, and grime that have accumulated over years of not washing. They dry him with a towel so fluffy that it practically floats above his skin. Then, they dress him in clothes too soft to imagine.

Sterling remembers staying awake to search for Tu’hua. Eventually, when his friend came, they sat together and cried. They fell asleep in the safety of a warm bed.

Two days later, Sterling wakes up in a hospital. He’s dressed in different clothing, and a white blanket is tucked up to his chin. He sits up, his eyes half open, expecting instant pain. When nothing comes, he pats his face to check for burns. Nothing. He pats his back--only old whip scars.

“You’re awake.” A quiet voice says from the corner.

Sterling’s eyes go straight towards the sound. “S-sister?”

The woman sitting in front of him is a far cry to the girl from four years ago. Her eyes are tired, bags worn into her face underneath them. Muscles have formed on her arms, and there is a certain cunning to her eyes that Sterling did not remember.

“Do you remember me, Sterling?” The boy looks down at his hands, which clench the covers of his cot.

“I remember your cherry soap.” He says softly. “I remember the way you would hold me close when I cried because mommy wasn’t home. I… I remember that, even though you’re my sister, you’re like mommy.”

She nods. “My name is Ashley, Sterling. I am your sister. Do you remember the day we were captured?”

Sterling closes his eyes. His breathing increases slightly. “Yes,” he whispers. “We were on a cruise ship. Mommy and daddy were celebrating their company’s success. I remember we weren’t supposed to be on the Oilcean, because of pirates, but daddy gave money to the man that said we couldn’t and then he said we could. And then our ship was attacked, and mommy and Emma… they… they died… and they took you away…”

“Sterling,” Ashley broke in. “I need you to tell me where dad is. I know he went on the same ship as you. Is he alive?”

Sterling shook his head, his eyes still closed.

Ashley fell back in her chair. A trembling sigh brushed past her lips. “That’s it then. You and I are the only two left.”

She brushes hair out of her face. “Sterling, I’m going to tell you what happened to me. Once I’m done, you can ask questions. I’m not going to make you tell me your story. I know it must be hard.”

Sterling’s eyes crack open to see his sister. She takes a steadying breath before beginning.

“When they separated me from you and dad, I almost died with grief and fear. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t know what would happen, and had no one to tell me what to do. All I could do was what I was supposed to. I was put on an oil rig. I was always covered in it. It was awful.

“But, within a year, my oil rig was liberated by the Navy of the Oilcean. I was free, but I had nowhere to go. Dad and mom’s company had already been claimed by one of their heirs, and they shut me out. I… I didn’t know what to do.

“I realized that I had to do something with my life. After all, it was saved for a reason. So I looked to you. I had a new goal in life--finding you and dad. The best way to go about that was to join the Navy. I spent every moment trying to make my way to the next rank, so I could start searching specifically for you and dad.

“It was hard, because people connected my actions with my past. Many tried to get me fired, since they thought I was biased towards you.” Sterling’s fists clench around the blanket. Ashley chuckles softly. “They were right, of course. Didn’t mean I could let them get in my way.

“I spent every minute of my day fighting my way to the top. And, once I was there, I spent every other minute fighting to stay there. I was able to trace several ships that could possibly have you onboard. As the years went by, I had to confront the possibility that you and dad might be dead. But… I never gave up.” She smiles sadly. “And here we are.”

Sterling blinks. “Where is here?”

Ashley sits up, and her sadness fades away. “We’re still on the Oilcean. A hospital, in San Paola.”

“Is Ta’hua safe?”

“The avian you fell asleep with?” At Sterling’s nod, she continues. “He’s doing just fine. He’s been away for a few hours now, actually. Very quiet, that boy.”

“Am… am I safe?”

Ashley’s eyebrows slant sadly. She comes to sit on his bed, careful not to disturb his legs. She grasps one of his hands. “From now and forever.”

Sterling smiles at her.

From now and forever.

Also just realized that the italics doesn’t transfer from docs whoops-adaisy oh well. I’ll fix that in tomorrow’s post. So, hope you enjoyed what, at this moment, is a pile of pretty bad writing. Thanks for reading, though! Even though it’s not even six I’m exhausted and I’m going to go laugh at Eragon byeeeee

- L.E. Silva

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Friday, Character Updates + Plot

Almost there! After I’m done with this story, a new one will be generated and I will focus on that one. This story has been quite the undertaking, forcing me to stay up until 12 on two separate nights. Granted, this was probably my fault, since I procrastinated hard on a few days. Next week should be smoother. :) Overall, I’m happy with what this story has so far!

Also! I managed to snag a Toyhou.se code, so I now have a folder for my SSS characters! I’ll go on the hunt for better reference art (then my own terrible ones) so I can start buying art for them! <3 Very excited to be expanding my character roster! Here is the link! https://toyhou.se/AwkwardAngel/characters/folder:465612 

Without further ado, here is a general update!

About the Story, technically

Addressing the prompt, setting a goal

Reminder of the prompt

Genre: Sci-fi

Character(s): Make a character using the letter G. Anything about this character that is of interest (i.e., name, clothing, race, sexuality) has to end with this letter.

Setting: Hospital

Prompt: Your story has a sub-genre! It is… mecha!

Genre: takes place in the future, on a separate planet, aliens are among the characters... pretty obvious how it relates to the genre.

Character: Sterling is the character that follows this prompt. (check this pic to see how)

Setting: The final scene, which will hopefully be the best, will take place in a hospital

Prompt: I brought this into play with the robotic ships of the slavers, and the advanced armor of the N.O.T.O soldiers. Although it isn’t traditional mecha, I do quite like how it’s been incorporated! :)

Goal: 7.5k words. I’ll try to write the majority of it today, and finish it up tomorrow. It’ll probably take 5-9 hours to write, but that’s just an estimate. I’ll keep track of how long it takes to see how close I can get. I also don’t know if I’ll actually get to this goal, since it’s been awhile since I’ve written something longer, and I don’t know if this story can reach that length. But! We’ll see! c:

Edit thinking about this story some more, word count may be drastically lower when it comes out. This is my “orientation” story, so I guess we’ll find out on Sunday how much this really amounts to!

Story Plot

Before I get into the details, I want to say that I was thinking of killing of Ta’hua, to make the story an extra bit sad. However, I decided that I never really liked when stories tried to make you sad when a character you barely knew dies, so I decided to let him live!

Story opens on the death of one of Sterling’s “hosts.” It begins after breakfast, but almost directly after the slaves are sent to do their work. Ta’hua informs Sterling that the Frog Man that he had been using to get extra food for the both of them died after breakfast. Sterling is upset, but definitely not as upset as a normal child should be. He is more concerned that he has to find another person to get to feed them. He feels an emotion he can’t name (guilt), but quickly forgets it. Exposition on past

Goes through the day indentifying possible people to become his hosts. Good time for exposition on different races (sees Frog Men hauling up diamonds, avians cleaning the deck, and humans serving food below deck, and slavers being awful [would rather kill the slaves than let them escape])

At dinner, both Ta’hua and Sterling notice how little food they have to eat.

In the middle of the night, Sterling is waken up by gunshots and the sounds of bodies hitting the deck. The servant’s quarters are busted into by the slavers, who open fire. Screams fill the room, but, after a few minutes, the gunshots cease

A soldier in a nanobot suit rescues the slaves, bringing them above deck to a waiting ship

Sterling find Ta’hua in the mix. Relieved to see his friend unharmed, they stick together throughout the trip. The slaves follow N.O.T.O’s orders, the Frog Men more fearfully than the avians and humans, since they do not recognize the soldiers. However, the avians and humans remember the nano suits and know that they are being rescued.

Hears someone barking orders, sounds vaguely familiar to Sterling. Suddenly, it clicks and he calls out “Ashley?” She turns and freaks out and stuff

They are sent on the rescue boat

Ta’hua and Sterling fall asleep together, watching as the slave ship is towed behind their own

Sterling wakes up in a hospital with a drip in his arm and in new clothing. Everything feels soft. His skin is coated is a goo, and bandages wrap the majority of his body. He and Ashley exchange questions and it’ll probably end with him crying. Who knows lol

Updated Character Colors

Yes it’s sloppy and disgusting, but I’m a writer, not an artist lol. I’ll try to make better reference pages later--and then get some art for the three on top! 

Possible Titles

“The Oilcean”

“Memories of a Burning Place”

“The Infinite Ocean”

“SOS” - I like this one quite a bit. Simple, but to the point, and gives you an idea of where the story is.

“Rescue”

“A Search for Food”

“A Cry for Help”

“Parasite”

Yes, this story has a (relatively) happy ending. Not all of my stories end like this--lots of them actually have really dark endings. I have the annoying tendency to kill of my main character within the last few pages of whatever I’m writing. Just a heads-up!