#jackydecavell

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Ears by tribe. Skin tones are not accurate, Just shape. For the rest of the tribal references, please consult this post

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Thirst

This was written as part of an environmental issues conference I took part in in 10th grade, written about what it would be like in Kenya if the drought they were in at the time were to worsen further.

Dry. Every where. So very dry. The earth was parched. The ground cracked and brittle. If some one where to paint this scene, it could be painted using only the various tones of browns and tans, with the exception of the the flawlessly solid, vivid blue of the empty African sky, void of even one single hope of a cloud. The drought has carried on for so long, many hardly remembered what the landscape looked like clothed in lush vegetation as it once was. Were there was once a beautiful city, vibrant and bustling, there now lay ruins. Since no crops grew, the economy had almost collapsed. Thin limbed children ran lawlessly through the streets, their ragged clothing clinging to their little bodies like a dirty rags among the branches of a dead tree. One small child torpidly fingered an old dried seed pod. Never in his short life had he seen the sight his brothers and sisters once had of tiny vibrant shoots cracking through the thick shell, reaching towards the warm sun. The drought was all he ever knew. He hardly noticed the cry of the neighbour’s newest baby crying out in hunger and thirsty pain. Since it’s mother had died almost a week ago, it hadn’t stayed silent. He had grown accustomed to the infants now hoarse voice, and had he thought about it, he probably would not be saddened by it’s passing if it did not make it. That’s just the way things were. We are born, struggle to survive, and when our time comes, we die. We have no say or control in the matter. He knew no different and so accepted it without question. Through most of the city, there was no running water, and only the rich could afford the imported bottled water. Most made due with what mucky remains they could dredge up from the bottoms of deep wells that once carried an abundance of pure, crystal-clear spring water, but now could hardly keep a small family from shrivelling up like a stalk of dehydrated Sisal. Electricity was scarce, and unreliable at best. Only the richest of the rich who could afford to run the large, noisy, gas guzzling, generators were allowed that luxury. Ever since the beginning of the drought, it had been so. The dam dry as a bone, save a sludgy trickle that hardly served to stain the concrete of the damn. The only reason the water even made it to the first drain was because the majority of the basin above the dam was filled with dried dead water weeds and the unlucky former occupants of what used to be one of the largest man made lakes in the world. Littered all around in the tangle of mud plastered dried vegetation lay so much trash, it was hard to distinguish one from the other. What remained of fish and the other aquatic inhabitants of the dam lay tangled there, smothered in mud as well. Most were nothing but skeletons now, long picked clean by the scavenging crows and tic birds. If you were to search, you might even find the bones and feathers of the scavengers themselves. Drawn to the smell of the rotting flesh, they recklessly attacked whatever they found, occasionally getting drawn into the thick grey muck themselves, and after using what sparse energy they had just gained from their last meal struggling to escape, they themselves succumbed to the savage beaks of their fellow scavengers. Among the cracked grey clay of the banks lay the bleached bones of cattle who collapsed in the intense heat, never to reach the thick muck that could never quench their desperate thirst. A stark and savage reminder of what the drought had done to the country. Even the Masai had long ago lost the last of their thick hided die-hard herds, and had given up on trying to do much anything. Their herd boys sat listlessly in the darkened shadows of their bomas in the evenings, listening to the utter silence where once would have been the singing of the crickets, the shrills of the night jars, and the soft lowing of cattle. Up in the mountains, every village was deathly silent. No music played from the darkened radios in the bars, not a single soul stirred in the mist shrouded huts, not one sheep bleated in the pens. One lonely night monkey called out pathetically, it’s cry sounding like that of a lost child. Again, sounding even more lonely and pathetic, if that were even possible. It were as if it were mourning it’s own death along with the loss of it’s entire world. A scrawny dog in the village yapped at it, it’s voice sounding hollow and soul less, as if it knew that there was no one to listen. Again from the forest, one last lonely cry, before there was silence. An old man sat beyond the village walls, surveying the night from a lonely rock at the edge of a great precipice. He sighed, thick white smoke curling from his mouth and nose. He drew from his pipe again, and the embers stirred, lighting up his aged face momentarily with it’s soft ruby-orange light, revealing eyes hollowed out by many years, both of plenty and of famine. There was a time, not that long ago, when the valley would be alight with the quiet twinkling of night fires almost like the night sky that now reflected in the surface of a great spring fed lake. But now there was nothing but a hollow, empty, painful darkness. The lake was once magnificent, it’s waters always fresh and full of fish and other edible marine life. Once the artisan well dried up nearly a year ago now, it became stagnant, it’s creatures died and littered it’s surface as they rotted, and slowly began to shrink, marking were it’s shores once were with the skeletons and remains of its former inhabitants. In the bush veld that stretched tot he horizons just beyond the valleys lay the skeletons of the magnificent animals that once upon a time supported the country’s then wavering economy by attracting tourists. For centuries, longer than any human alive could guess, the great wildebeest would migrate across the Tanzanian border from the Serengeti, and into the rich green veld of the Maara. They would come to the grasslands to birth their wobbly legged calves and to escape the seasonal fires and drought that would plague the Serengeti during the dry season every year. They would arrive arrive every year in great numbers, but the herd gradually diminished as the drought took it’s toll. Two years ago, only a small herd made it’s way laboriously over the mucky rivers that sucked at their tired hooves. Their numbers were thinned so much, unless something happened, they would soon be gone. While still in the Serengeti, many starved or died of thirst, were picked off by any one of the myriad choices of ravenous predators. Many were sucked into the thick clay and mud at the banks of the rivers that dared offer a trickle of respite from the endless thirst. Others dropped along the way from heat exhaustion or from the lack of the shear will to continue on. The few who were lucky enough to make it to the Maara found themselves in a wasteland, dry, and barren of even a hope of respite. A few tried to continue north to try to find other feeding grounds, but most couldn’t make it any longer and easily succumbed to the starving scavengers who circled each, patiently waiting for them to drop of their own accord. From the Serengeti to the Maara, all that remained behind to remind those who still lived that the beasts even existed was a long trail, marked with the stark white skeletons picked clean of even the slightest trace of tissue, and bleached by the harsh and relentless sun. A single living figure graced the lifeless veld. Tall and thin, and wrapped in a scarlet robe, any one who knew of his tribe could identify him as a Masai from even such a great distance. Sweat beaded on his ebony forehead, streaming along the raised scars that were given to him by the village elders as signs against evil spirits. His beaded necklace made soft sounds as the tiny glass beads tapped against each other, their music matching his long, careful strides. His eyes traced the ground carefully, searching for what he knows he will not find. After nearly two weeks, he had not spotted the spoor of a single creature, never mind that of a lion. The elders had said that because there were so few lions, only those who showed exemplary courage and strength were to be allowed to try to achieve their manhood. Also, they said that they would accept the hide of a lioness if the right amount of time were to pass without anyone spotting a male. He wiped his brow and pondered his predicament. He knew he could not return to his village without a lion. The shame on his family was too great. But to not return… which was the greater shame? He could not decide… “Hei up!” A small figure perched atop the back of an exceptionally scrawny camel flicked the reigns as the creature carefully placed it’s wide hooves along the ridge of a soft dune. It groaned a loud complaint as it struggled for footing and began to slide down the shadowed side of t he dune. “Chi!” tugging on the reins, he tried to help his mount regain it’s balance. The sand was hot enough to fry his skin, and he knew it. He cried out in fear as he was catapulted off it’s back and into the sterile dry air. He landed on his back with the sound of air leaving his lungs unbidden sounding loudly in his ears, followed by his camel’s groans and his own cries as his skin sizzled as the hot sand bit into his skin as he tumbled down the hill. He lay for a few moments, hoping he had not broken any bones. Out here, there was no one to help him if he was injured. He would die out here alone. He carefully sat up, checking himself over. Nothing. He’d have a good bruise across his shoulders, but He’d survive. He looked around, noticing his surroundings. He was at the bottom of a short rock lined crevice, probably formed by wind many years ago. The walls were striped with brilliant shades of reds, oranges and creams. He traced his finger along a wide band that looked almost pure white, and found the stone to be pleasantly cool. He sat up and brushed himself off. He winced as his fingers brushed against the burns along his arms, legs, and neck where the sand had blistered the skin into an angry red. Thoughts of Q’wai, the camel his father had given him on his completion of his coming of age ceremony. He called out for his steed. “Q’wai! Chei wa hreivwa!!” He looked around and could not find him. He heard a groan from around a bend in the crevice, and heard it echo all around him. He glanced up, seeing there was no way he could climb out by himself, nor a way for Q’wai to climb out. This would be a problem. He ran around the corner. What he saw nearly caused his young heart to break. There on the crevice floor lay his Q’wai, his only possession in the world. The only thing that was his. The creature waved a gangly foreleg in the air, a gruesome bend were there was no joint, and the blood stained whiteness of the end of a shattered bone poking out from the creamy hide. He dropped to his knees near the creature’s head, and caressed it, calming it, trying to sooth it’s fear with a song his mother once sang to him when he had injured himself as a child. Q’wai settled almost instantly at the sound of his master’s voice, and sighed deeply. He knew what he had to do. There was no way Q’wai could make it. He had to euthanize him. The trust and hope in those big milk chocolate brown eyes made it so hard to bring himself to end the poor creature’s pain that he just broke down and cried into the creature’s wooly hide, it’s soft contours absorbing his tears. He muttered apologies into the only shoulders that had ever willingly received his tears. If he only had had the courage to go to that well and get food and water, they would still be safe and well. Those men looked so tough with their AK-47’s guarding the well. He had been too afraid to risk it. His words faded into his cries as he lost the last remnants of hope that remained in him still. The sound of his mournful cries echoed along the crevice, along with his companion’s soft pained lowing, unheard by any living thing. There was no one to help. No one to hear. They were all alone.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Rose

This story was written as part of a creative writer’s guide I wrote as a TA in 5th year, as an example for the prompt “A young english woman is given a rose when a man comes to tell her that her husband has been seriously injured in the war, and may not survive the night.”

Tei brushed her fingers against the edges of the rose. The soft golden candle light flickered gently as a breeze picked up. She hugged her coat closer around her self, trying to keep in what ever warmth had not yet been stolen from her body by the wet English fog. The rose’s delicate velvet petals brushed against her check, sending shivers down her spine. The breeze carried the sent of it’s sweet nectar to her. She breathed in it’s delicate aroma, and sighed remembering for the umpteenth time how very far away he was. She felt her eyes moisten, but didn’t bother to  try to stop the tears from coming. Her breath caught for a moment in her throat as she imagined again the bullets ripping through his flesh. No. She had to stop those thoughts. She had to be strong, for him. A single silver tear rolled down her cheek, slowly following the contours of her youthful visage. It dropped from her angular chin to linger gently in the tender caress of the vermilion folds of the blossom’s head like a single argentile gem of dew. It sat for a moment there, suspended as so in time and memory, before falling to the ice bound earth below. As Tei watched it fall to the frigid loam, all the emotions she’d been suppressing poured out. All her anxiety, anguish, anger and fear washed over her. They boiled up and spilled over, escaping into the glacial night in the forms of more fragile dew drops. Each frosted gem carried a piece of her broken heart. They each rested on the rose petals for a moment before joining their fallen comrades. The rose let them each linger for a moment there before making room for the next courageous patriot to march on by. Tei slowly let the pain take her and felt the desperation welling up inside of her, swallowing her mind in it’s raging white capped swells. She sunk to her knees, wondering if she’d ever see him again.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Maawri

Yet another old short story, this one written when I was 15. When I originally wrote this, it was accompanied by illustrations, which have been lost to time. However, it might help to mention that the characters are indeed on a alien planet, and are bipedal draconic creatures of some sort

Silence. It might have been blissful, but for the carnage that preceded it. The sent of ashes and charred flesh clung in Maawri’s nose despite the fact that she was up wind as well as quite a distance away from the mounds of smouldering ashes and rubble that now stood were her home once was. She shifted slightly to get a better view of the valley out the door of the cave. She winced as one of the angry red welts brushed against the cave walls. The cave widened further in, and had she chosen to escape the narrow circle of light at the entrance, there would have been enough room for her to easily stand to her full height. She had also heard rumours from the shepherd boys that there might be hot springs in some of these caves, and a long soak in one would certainly help calm her frazzled nerves, as well as soothe her burning muscles. But as it was, she remained. Kooai would be returning soon, and she had to be sure he knew were the cave was, so she stayed were she was huddled, just beyond the reach of the light. She was almost motionless, other than the slight movements of her chest as she breathed and the minute trembles in her wings, after effects of so much adrenaline in her system. The circle of light slowly distorted it’s self in minuscule increments as the golden sun travelled across the slowly dimming sky. She lifted one clawed finger and traced the lines on her forearm. She was half mesmerized by the patterns formed by the old scars intersecting new wounds and welts as she gingerly followed the lines. The mind numbing pain assaulted her mind, but as she felt the depth of each cut, the inflammation of each welt, and the ache of her tortured muscles, she began to become accustomed to the pain. It slowly became dull, less piercing, enough at least for her to be able to put it to the back of her mind for the moment. A single tear ran the length of her emerald snout, dropping to the cold grey stone of the cave floor like a crystalline diamond, carrying all her sorrows in that single, minuscule sphere. She watched it as it sat alone on the cold rock, balancing on the edge of light and shadows, refracting the soft light in brilliant hues of ruby, citron, and gold. Her wings shuffled slightly as she shifted to reach out to it. She slowly pierced the saline dome with one long ivory talon, causing the vibrant triangles of light to dance in little circles. She quickly drew back as the golden accents of her digits caught the setting suns rays. She froze, and her breath caught in her throat. She desperately hoped no one had seen it. If the Chooi found her before Kooai did… She tried to push the thought from her mind, but it persisted. What if? What if? What if they found her, and were still here when he came back? Again she fought against her own mind, this time gaining some measure of control. It’d be okay… he’d come back and find her, then they’d fly out together to a safe place he had gone to find. There they wouldn’t need to live in fear of the Chooi but until then… Her worries gained control again, and this time she couldn’t wrestle it back. She carefully reached out just beyond the mouth of the cave with her mind’s inner eyes. The only lights were those of the plants. They glowed in soft hues of green as they absorbed the sun’s warm rays. No other lights. She reached farther, trying to watch for anything dangerous. Again, only soft green lights. Something about the lights seemed… unnatural. They swayed in the breeze, as the ought to, but something was… missing. She retreated into her mind and inspected them with her outer eyes from were she was. Nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps her mind was just frazzled. That’s what it was. The silence started to nag at her mind now. Even her breathing sounded loud in her ears. Again she looked around with her mind’s eyes. Nothing. She must just be paranoid… And then it hit her. The problem was not with the plants. The oddity was the very fact that there was nothing but grass. Were were the insects? She carefully scanned them again. Not even one lonely speck of yellow. Now she was sure of it. She didn’t remember hitting her head, but then again, it was rather likely that she was still in shock. But just to be sure… She reached out her mind again, this time reaching farther and farther. Nothing but green and the occasional bit of red were visible. She glanced at her self to see if she was going crazy or if her inner eyes weren’t working. She glowed almost more purple than blue. The cuts and welts glowed in angry, vivid colours, her bruised muscles in tones of purple. The only part of her that retained any part of her original tones was the membrane on her wings, with the exception of a small tear at the bottom. When Kooai returned, she’d have to ask him to fix it for her before they left, otherwise it might tear farther and reach the blood rich vessels that spidered across their surface. That’d be horrible. With out the cover of the caves, the Chooi were likely to find them. And a wound of that magnitude might take several minutes to heal, even with out distractions. He would be tired from his search, and wouldn’t be able to carry her more than to the top of the ridge before his wings gave out. She shook herself out of her reverie and again used her mind’s eyes to view the valley, this time reaching as far as she could. Nothing. Everything was just as it had been before the Chooi attacked, other than the lack of the other creatures. The Au’oom tree, the symbol of their clan, stood resolute. She traced the patterns of the branches with her minds eye wistfully. Just as she remembered it. She followed one branch to one of the glowing green globes at it’s tip. She wistfully remembered her own Au’oom Tehrai. It’s warmth. It’s downy velvet against her thin baby scales. How it was always so comforting and safe. She imagined what it would be like if she could go back and curl up in the folds of the spirit tree’s folds and sleep without worry. To join her mind with the tree’s energy in Tehrai-yu, and let it heal all her wounds. Wash away her pain. Something tugged at her mind. She tried to ignore it, but it persisted and began to annoy her. What right did it have to interrupt her healing? Any one on Terra could tell you that it’s extremely rude to bother someone during Tehrai-yu. She snapped out of it, and was suddenly aware of a presence beside her…

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

A state of mind

Another of my old short stories, written when I first moved to Canada when I was 17. 

Jamie inspected his brand new passport picture. Hardly looked like him… his mother said it was because he never stopped smiling. He was going to miss her. He snapped out of his reverie and quickly scribbled in the rest of the details on the immigration forms, consulting his documents for the majority of the necessary codes. He hefted his twin suitcases and matching carry on to the check in area. His mother’s idea, so he could keep them straight. As he headed towards the counter, he spotted a girl about his age, with a guitar case on her back, balancing a large suitcase on her head, with a overstuffed carry on in tow. He chuckled to himself at how ridiculous it looked. He stopped chuckling as he watched her expertly swing the bag, which must have weighed in the neighbourhood of 30 odd kilos, onto the weight tables. He watched as the man behind the scales tapped the digital display that blinked “35.7” in big, bold, harsh lines. "Overweight. Should have checked the baggage allowance and weighted your bags before leaving.”he thought to himself. His mom had helped him check and double check everything till it was perfect. His weren’t overweight. He tugged his bags to the weight platform next to hers. He noticed that she had an odd sort of beauty to her. She was young, but her eyes held far too many stories. She looked to be only 20 or so at the oldest. He wondered what those clear azure eyes had witnessed. What she’d seen. He realized that he was staring when he came around to her bemused glance, and quickly looked away, but not before noticing the orange tag around her neck. She was with their group? She hadn’t been to any of their prep meetings, culture courses, or language classes. He wondered who she was. Before he had time to wonder much more, she introduced herself, much to his surprise. “Hey. I’m Dawn. Dawn Cyxs. I’ll be a sort of guide for the team. And you are?” He stumbled over his words as he tried to remember various words in the English language. “Hey. Jamie. Jamie Trell.” Jamie sat heavily when he found his seat. Customs could be such a bother. He fought with his headrest until it jammed at the seemingly most uncomfortable angle possible and gave up. He shut his eyes and sighed, leaning his forehead against the back of the seat ahead of him. He should have thought to bring some Advil or something, but since he hadn’t, he was now stuck with a pounding headache, with no escape. He raised one hand to rub his temples. He felt a hand brush against his arm, and raised his head to see who it was. Dawn sat next to him, extended hand cupping two Ibuprofen. He dry swallowed them quickly, grimacing at the aftertaste. "So… You didn’t bring any painkillers. And judging by that face, you can’t be used to dry swallowing pills. First timer?" He nodded dumbly, wondering if it was as obvious to everyone else too. "There’s also the shiny new passport, the fact that you didn’t know about the humanitarian aide excess baggage allowance, how airplane seats are numbered, and you haven’t yet figured out how to fix that headrest." She poked some hidden part of it’s internal mechanism, and it went limp. "That and all the help you needed in customs. Not to mention the letter your mom wrote about you not working too hard." She glanced at him with a look that was partially sympathetic, and partially irate. "Your going on a short term humanitarian aide trip… honestly…" She paused before turning in her seat. "Since I’ll be in charge, you listen well, ya?" She pointed in his general direction with her pinkie as she extracted a piece of gum from it’s wrapper. "You had better give this all you’ve got, ok? While you are going to help others, the biggest change must be in your self. I know you think you’re all for it, but you don’t have a clue. Where we’ll be going, I grew up there. Life there is very different than back there with momma. Pain, suffering, back breaking work, it’s all an accepted part of life. If you breath, it is your destiny to endure more than your fair load. But endure it we all must. Keep that in mind. You going won’t change that. It can’t. But you can make a difference in the lives of every one you encounter. A simple smile, to know some one out there cares, is enough to make many happy. The tiniest thing you do makes a difference. But please. Don’t make the same mistake I’ve seen made thousands of times before. Don’t think that just because the need is so great at the end of your time that it’s all just been a waste. If you think that by the time you live, they’ll all live in cute little brick houses and have running water and electricity, and drive their cute little cars to their cushy office jobs. If you dare even think any where near that, just get off the plane now. I’ve seen so many who honestly want to change the world, but have emotional breakdowns because they just can’t handle the fact that the world turns slowly. That change is a process." She waved a stick of gum at him condescendingly as he nodded obediently, before handing it to him. He glanced at her, his confusion apparently rather obviously plastered across his face. "You’ll want it… just… trust me…" He took it, and stuck it in his mouth after removing his wrapper. His eyes didn’t leave Dawn till after they took off. He copied her every move, hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of her, but wanting to get it all right. Jamie clenched his jaw as the plane gained altitude. Dawn poked him and motioned for him to chew his gum. It seemed ridiculous, so he turned wide eyed to watch the world whizz by the window. The noise was incredible as the plane went even faster. The pressure built up inside his ears until it felt as though his head might explode. Dawn poked him again, much harder. Again she motioned for him to chew. He grudgingly obeyed, and felt the pressure begin to ease. His gaze dropped to his lap as she shook her head exasperatedly. An ‘I told you’ would have been more than appropriate, but Dawn didn’t bother to waste her breath, and he was thankful. He felt the familiar self loathing welling up at his mistakes, but he forced it down, chalking her irritation up to the screaming baby a few rows back. He knew, sub conscientiously that it was his fault, but he also knew that if he allowed him self to think that, it was only a matter of time before he’d be a wreck again… As the plane reached cruising altitude and levelled off, the noise level began to drop. Soon the roar of the engines became little more than white noise. Jamie squirmed inside at the awkward silence. When the baby stopped crying, the silence was so complete, other than the droning jets, that it became unbearable. His thoughts raced as he tried to think up a conversation starter. “so…” his voice faltered slightly before gaining the confidence he had practised so often “you lived in Mozambique?” she glared at him before responding. “Yes.” He had hoped she’d be more open to talking to him. “How long were you there for?” "Ok, look here. Thanks for trying to be friendly and all, but this conversation is not happening right now. You need sleep, other wise you’ll be dead later. And I need my alone time. So go to sleep, and if you have something intelligent to say, say it after. Understand?" He nodded as he shrunk back in his seat. Those same eyes that had seemed such serene blue pools were now swirling depths of a deep venomous emerald. She turned her face forward and sighed, sitting perfectly straight, reminding Jamie of someone deep in meditation. He turned away from her and glanced out the window at the dizzying distance between him and precious terra firma. He realized that this whole trip was going to be just like this. Terra incognita. The thought made him queasy, but it was the first nudges of turbulence that made him loose what was left of that early morning breakfast burrito into the awaiting airsick bag. Jamie wiped the sweat off is brow, and paused to catch his breath. A cry tore through the air. “Get back to work!” He winced and bit his tongue to hold back a cry of pain that came from somewhere so deep inside that he couldn’t hold it in. He fell to his knees, and held his sides as another cry rushed from his mouth, unbidden as the cruel teeth of the whip tore at the flesh on his back again and again. He tried to plead for mercy between the waves of mind numbing pain that washed his mind like a sea made of myriads of glass splinters and shards. "Please! No more! Please! Stop!" His sobs now drowned his pleas in the salty tears that burned as they traced the long scratches that crisscrossed his face. The long jagged shards of bone so carefully hewn out of the skeleton of some hapless victim that had fallen to it before him now ripped at his fleshed, again and again. It hurt so much that his mind started to shut down. He fought the blackness that crowded at the edges of his vision and threatened to over run him from the inside out. He struggled to lift his hand again, and reached for his hammer. He had to build! a thousand long beams, each to be nailed in place by sundown. Only 3 were in place. There was so much to do! He picked up a rough, rusty nail that more closely resembled a railway spike, and placed it’s tip against the line marked with charcoal on the rough surface of the beam, his hands trembling. He sighed with joy within himself as the whip paused, then settled on the ground with a gentle tinkling, like a dozen bone china cups being set gently on saucers. He tapped his hammer, which consisted of a rock tied to a think, short, branch, against the head of the ancient iron, and it settled into the wood a quarter-inch with a hollow thunk. Again. Another hollow thunk. Again and again. Soon it only stuck out a mere fraction of an inch. He reached for another, but his hand only made it halfway before the whip wrapped around his wrist, biting into the tender flesh around his whole forearm. "Finish it!" The cry came in the form of a harsh cackle. He turned his head to glance at his task master. A form, both terrible, yet oddly beautiful. A pure black shadow, it’s form lithe and sleek, sporting a set of raven wings that gleamed in the harsh sun. The whip disentangled from his wrist as the figure flicked it’s hand with a non-nonchalant flourish. The image of it’s eyes seared itself into his brain. First soft azure, then aflame in violent, intense, all consuming emerald. Pulsing in a steady tempo, matching the rhythm of his pounding head, and the waves of pain that crashed in on him. Again he took up his hammer, pounding the nail for all he was worth. It crumbled to powder, leaving an empty hole. "Again!" He reached for another, and turned to find the beam untouched, the charcoal cross remaining just as it had been. Again, again, and again. The same thing. The sun began to set on him, becoming a deep red globe, swollen with the blood of the slaves who had died before him. Last tap… He used the very last of his strength to make the rock connect with the blood crusted head of the nail. He passed out far before the last of the dust vanished into the still air. He woke with a start. Cold sweat drenched his entire body, and he found himself breathing hard. The soft, well worn fabric of the seat covers brushed against his unbroken skin, reassuring him that it was just a dream. He closed his eyes and tilted his head against the headrest, and breathed deeply, trying to cleanse his mind from the last remnants of the pain that remained as a memory, burned against the backs of his eyelids. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just another horrible nightmare. He turned to glance at Dawn, who was watching him concernedly from the corner of her eyes. Her eyes softened to a light blue from their bottomless sapphire as she asked “Are you alright?” When he later thought back to that moment, he would wonder at what it was about her simple question that caused him to drop out of contentiousness so suddenly.

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Cobblestones

Hey, so I said I would upload some of my old stuff, and so here it is! This is a short story I wrote when I was 16 or so

The cold wind tugged at Elise’s clothes as she hurried along the ancient cobbles of the road. She hugged her over coat around herself and hiked the strap of her canvas satchel a little higher on her shoulder. Her eyes scanned the ground ahead of her, seeing the details in passing. The interlocking grey stones were worn and chipped, weathered by nearly a century of traffic, wind, and water. The drizzle that had covered the Island for the last week had stopped only hours ago had left everything wet and alive. Rivulets of the life giving moisture flowed in tiny silver streams through and around the cracks and seams in the ground. They gathered at the edges of the road, forming bubbling little rivers that would have seemed to Elise to be chuckling, had she been listening to it. The soft petalled jacaranda blooms with their vibrant crimson flamed colours drifted lazily down the rivers like tiny sailboats, floating homeward after a long day at sea. Elise chided herself for her weakness as a tear formed and slipped across her face, joining the moisture left by the mist, forming a fat silver orb that dripped from her chin to the toe of her worn leather shoe. She picked up her pace. No one would know if she allowed herself the frivolity of tears. No one would know if she allowed her self to doubt that God knew best. But she would know. She hated herself for even contemplating it. But what was He thinking anyways? She had been only 16 when it happened. That was almost two years ago now. But the wounds were still open. Still fresh. Still bleeding. How could He do that to her? She needed him still. He had taken her mother when she was too young to remember her. But now with him gone, there was no one left for her. He had made the sky red at sunset. He said it would be alright. Her father had set sail in the glassy early morning, far before the sun rose on the vermillion horizon. He had set out with hopes of coming home with his dhow full to it’s brim with the mounds of shining silver fish. It would be the first full harvest of the season. But he always got the first harvest. God had smiled on him for years, letting them never go hungry. They had always had enough, more than enough, in fact, so that they could have money left over by the next harvest to celebrate with a feast in God’s honour for providing once again for them. Why had He turned from him that day? Why had that storm come up out of nowhere? “Freak accident” some said. “God’s judgement for some hidden sin” others mused. She didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that she had loved her father immensely. She had never allowed herself the luxury of tears, even when he was around. There was work to be done. All ways more work. Never time for childish foolishness. Her father had always been very firm, but also always gentle. Had he been like the others in the village, he would have remarried after her mother’s death in order to have a son to continue on his name. But when the 3 months of mourning were up, he could not bring himself to hardly look at any other woman. Each one reminded him of her. This one’s smile, the auburn tone of that one’s hair, the gentle emerald eyes of the other. He knew he’d never be able to remarry. Besides, his brother had many sons. He could carry on the name with out his help. She had always been glad that he had honoured her memory, but for a moment she almost wished he had remarried so that there would be some one for her. It was not the first time the thought had crossed her mind in these past months. She banished the thought. He did what he was capable of. She knew she never wanted it to be any other way. Thoughts of herself seemed so selfish, but they some how managed to resurface every once in a while. Another tear ran down her face, landing on a cobalt dot of abalone in her necklace, making it shimmer with all the vibrant colours of the rainbow after a rainstorm. Another tear glided silently, joining with the gentle raindrops that were now kissing her cheeks. It was once her mother’s. Her father had made it for her as a gift on their first anniversity. It was carved out of a small conch shell carefully inlaid with shards of abalone, mother of pearl, and whale bone. It’s gentle curves formed the shape of a playful dolphin pup and it’s mother, jumping out above the waves to kiss the sky. Her father had told her that her mother’s favourite thing to do was to sit on the beach as the sun faded into the ocean and watch the dolphins play in the gentle surf. When Elise was younger, she’d often climb down the cliffs and imagine sitting there beside her mother, watching the dolphins together. Another tear dropped off her chin, splashing against the pup’s face. She carefully wiped her face, trying to conceal her tears in the drops of rain. How could she be so weak? How could she let herself fall into this silly trap? She had far too much to do. She tried to adjust her wet clothing as she reached the end of the street. She gave up after a moment and jogged around to the back of the tall, familiar building. Thank goodness she had left her uniform at work yesterday. She slid as quietly as she could through the heavy wooden back door into a dimly lit room. It creaked while closing, despite her best efforts to keep it silent. “Elise?” A silhouette of enormous proportions blocked the candle light that had been trickling in from the next room for a moment before shuffling into the room. “Your late. Boss won’t be happy.” Hyan was a giant of a man, standing at nearly 6 and a half feet. He was heavy set and slow moving, but quick thinking and had the best memory any one had ever seen in their village. His small beady eyes and bulbous proportions led many to underestimate him, but in truth, he was brilliant. He could recite every order made with in the last week at least, tell you who made it, exactly the words they used to order it, and even when, down to the hour. He could recite every conversation held at the bar counter that held any information of interest. Often at the end of the day when business slowed, he’d recount humorous tidbits to Elise, doing voices and recounting their actions with sock puppet like movements of his hands. Elise sighed and slipped behind the screen into her personal area, quickly stripping off her wet clothes before donning the long black cloth, forming it with practised fingers into a perfectly folded wrap around dress. She finished her outfit with her belt that had the Tavern’s name inscribed into a weathered piece of driftwood. “Are you going to tell him?” She slipped out of the change room after hanging her wet garments up to dry. He glanced at her oddly before replying. “Why would I do that? Your the only person he’s ever hired that’s covered for me so well. Why wouldn’t I do the same for you?” Elise smiled before hugging him, her arms reaching just a little over half of his width. “Thanks Hyan. Your the best. Lets go before he wonder’s were you’ve been.” They slipped through the door into the kitchen. Hyan handed her a tray. “Table 3. Lamb to the small man with the odd hat, venison to the really skinny one and the veal to the young lady.” She smiled at him before slipping through the door that led into the sea of hungry people. She effortlessly slipped between the tables and set the food down on the table in front of the respective customers. She waited a moment to see if they wanted anything else, then left as they dug in without even saying so much as a simple “thank you.” This was going to be a long night…

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Ladies and gents, may I introduce you to Teidin, captain of the Skosani trade vessel, The Salty Seal .

[jackydecavell-blog-blog]

Panerum Part 1/?

The fall of footsteps broke the silent night, coming fast, like the pounding of the drums of war, before fading into the night.

A long thin shadow slipped behind a building as a city guard sauntered into view. The shadow watched him stifle a yawn, predatory eyes gleaming faintly gold in the dim torch light. It melted into the darkness before continuing into the heart of the city.

It peeked through windows until it found the perfect target. The latch quivered and came undone, seemingly of its own volition, and the window slowly glided open on well-oiled hinges.

A small still figure wrapped in a thread-bare blanket slowly lost its weight and began to float, moving slowly towards the window. The shadow reached with long fingers and peeled the blanket away from the form’s face, careful not to disturb the child’s gentle sleep.

It swiftly executed a flourish of its fingers, a soft powdery glow emanating from the claw like digits. The figure’s breathing slowed further and came in short rasps before ceasing all together.

"My condolences my child; your destiny has come."

This is the opening scene, super short, but the next few bits are super long, so i didn’t want to put them all together