#nova hunter

[mahun102]

LOS NOVA

[fleur-de-menthe]

:: drabbles set 1-2

1. Alone

As far as she knew, she was always on her own. She didn’t like the idea of company. It always spelled bad luck one way or another. Whether it was bad luck for her or for others, she didn’t know. Most of the time, she kept to herself, stepping out from time to time only to harass a poor stranger in hopes of whittling out money from his pockets.

Friends?

What friends? She didn’t need any. She didn’t like the idea of being all cozy buddy-buddy with another person. The very idea made her sick. Who knew if they would one day stab her in the back? She didn’t know. That’s why she was always alone.

2. Together

“How are you feeling today?” she closed her eyes and let gentle fingers comb through her hair. It was blissful relief being under the shelter of the shade in the sweltering heat. 

She could feel the strands of her hair being picked up and woven into a braid. "Don't worry about me, Nova. I'll be alright." There was a smile in her voice.

"Don't push yourself too hard, it's hard to get medicine for you when you're sick," she opened her eyes a crack and reached for the girl's hand.

"I'll try my best."

She pulled her hand towards her cheek and closed her eyes, breathing in her soft, sweet smell. This was fine, she thought, being together like this made her happy.

3. Tricore

She picked up what she thought was a dirty rag from off of the ground. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was actually a storybook. Wrinkling her nose with discuss, she scoffed and tossed it to the side. What use did she have for something she couldn’t read? Children grew up on nonsensical tales that weren’t applicable to reality, but her? They weren’t a part of her childhood. The memories were scattered but she could remember vague snippets of deception and thievery; a valiant struggle to survive in a cruel, grown-up world. 

There was a hesitation in her step. She turned around to pick up the book and she tentatively flipped through its pages. Although the words made no sense to her, the pictures spelled out a tale on its own. Characters of radiant charisma and valiant figures defending their pride were scattered throughout. 

She pulled her arm back and chucked the book as far away as she could. 

4. Memory

The thoughts of scorching days and blissfully cool nights oftentimes filled her mind. She liked thinking about the lukewarm sand between her toes as she slipped in and out of seemingly endless alleys and streets in the dark. There were the raucous shouts of drunk men wafting in the air or the moans of a woman engaging in promiscuous activity. But past all the noise was a low murmur, a lulling calm, a breathless quiet. The gentle glow of candlelight flickered in the windows, dancing shadows in harmony with the scatter of stars in the deep black sky.

5. Craving

She knows what it feels like to be hungry. She knows the animal inside that claws and grates against her stomach. She knows the pitiful feeling when she cannot fill the bottomless hole that craves for food.

The sun beat mercilessly against the sand swept ghettos. She plodded heavily through the crowded shades, stepped around  the fallen bodies, and wandered through the sparse market place. On a given day, it should have been teeming with life and color. Now, it was as listless as the desert around them. Her sunken eyes darted between the alert shopkeepers. One of them, someone would slip their guard and she would make her move. Waiting. Patiently. She saw the turned back. The opportunity. Sprinting, she grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on and ran as fast and as far away as she could. Heart pumping wildly in her chest, she crammed the fruit in her mouth.

It was rotten.

6. Blood

The sight of the pen buried through her shirt and into her skin brings thoughts and emotions she had forgotten existed. The pain, the hurt, the betrayal, the sadness, the bloodlust. Somewhere underneath the pile of feelings, she could feel something else. A very small and timid voice reminding her of something. She held her side, staunching the blood that stained her shirt. She could hear it through the noise of rage. 

“Help them.”

She was too kind for her own good. 

7. Smile

She fixed the mask over her face, staring at the carved smile that was reflected in the grimy mirror. There was something comforting about the odd cheek-to-cheek grin. The candles cast long shadows over the smooth features, hiding her eyes from view. Cloak fastened tightly and knives safely hidden in their places, everything was ready. Slipping out, she joined another cloaked man, though his face was not hidden like hers. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Let’s go then, they’re all waiting.”

Silently, as if they were ghosts treading on nothing, they fled into the dark recesses of the foreboding night. 

8. Blue

Sometimes she lay with her back against the sand and watched as the vultures circled the clear blue sky. She envied them; they always had something to eat. Her stomach rumbled, but her hunger had been numbed for days. She pushed the thought of meals out of her mind. Who knew when she would be able to eat again?

One, two, three.

She counted the number of birds in the sky to pass the time.

Four, five, six.

Those didn’t include the vultures.

Seven, eight.

She closed her eyes. The bright azure sky hurt her eyes; it was hard to look at. 

9. Cute

“It’s a pity that you’re so violent. Who knows? Maybe you could have been sold as a pretty little pet. But then again, there are some oddballs in the world who prefer feisty creatures like yourself. They think your resistance is… what is the word? Endearing,” he idly tossed his knife up and down, carefully eyeing the girl beneath his foot. 

There wasn’t much she could do with her face pressed into the dusty, dirt ground, so she snarled instead. “I would rather take that knife to my stomach than have a fat, rich man touch me with his greasy fingers and call me cute.”

He laughed. “Of course! That’s just the kind of person you are, isn’t it?” 

10. Injury

Scars engraved deeply on her skin would never go away. Sometimes people would pity her.

“She could have grown up to be a beauty.”

Whenever she heard them say that, she would bellow with laughter.

“I’m glad these injuries make me ugly then, it suits a person like me.”

The people would shake their heads and murmur words like

“What a shame”

“That child doesn’t know anything about the world.”

Oh, but she knew everything and people still called her stupid.

She knew how the world worked, and knew the kind of people living inside of it.

Life was unfair, but she would beat it at its own game. 

[fleur-de-menthe]

:: (nova)

I am the lone star that glitters coldly in the night sky Hiding behind the brilliance of pompous bastards Who think they run the world.

The voiceless cries of the fallen call out my name Crying, weeping, and cursing the existence Of the very person who cut them down.

These blades shall no longer protect people, For I have no one left to love And no one left to save.

Instead I turn my back and shoulder the heavy weight Of the sorrows I severed from flesh In order to take another step closer to the future.

There is no rest for people like me Who have forsaken even the slightest opportunity for redemption And crossed the road less traveled.

[fleur-de-menthe]

:: rebel

Like the grains of sand in a child's cupped palm trickling into the sand dunes as they sift through the spaces between fingers, innocence fades and the heavy burden of maturity weighs on their shoulders.

A lone cry of one who was forsaken and the glint of the spark that would ignite the resolution would mark the start of weary souls to rise up. 

They seek death so eagerly, arming themselves with flimsy weapons. They know that their efforts may be futile, but it is all they can do. 

Fight. 

The only option left held any semblance of hope. 

Fight. 

Fight. 

Then die. 

[fleur-de-menthe]

:: billow

She heard the sound of a dying scream cut short, the trembling breath growing more shallow than the last, and then the whisper of of a breath fading from life. Shoes skid across the snow covered ground, squealing as she made a turn into the alley and stopped. There in front of her was a girl lying on the ground. The white carpet of flakes around her bloomed red like a blanket of roses to bid her farewell. 

Aggravation. 

A single sword protruded from her chest, from her heart, glinting coldly in the moonlit night. The cloaked figure stood by the girl’s fallen figure and the words they spoke chilled the bystander to the core. 

“I have delivered judgment.” 

The figure turned to look at her and she froze. Where she expected a face she instead found a mask that molded no features but one of pure, impassive expression. The eyes underneath the mask, however, shone with a cold fury. 

She recognized those eyes. She didn’t know to whom they belonged, but she recognized them nonetheless as a reflection of her own in some distant past. The same...? 

The dusty sand bit mercilessly into the uncovered areas of her skin. It was glaringly hot, but unrestrained rage boiled over the starving girl. She could see it clearly. The soldiers who hoarded their rations and shared none with the drought-stricken citizens, the higher class who turned their eyes away from the one’s who sought their aid so desperately, and above them all, the ruler who corrupted their lives to begin with. Her life was written out by the hand of a greedy king. Penniless, damned child with no future. 

The knife in her hand shook as she approached the soldiers from behind. Her cloak, now thin and tattered in several places, concealed the blade enough so they couldn’t see it. If it were them, she would do it. If it were the nobles, she would do it. If it were the king and every last one of his offspring, she would do it. Her hand did not shake with fear; it shook with anticipation. 

One of them turned around but by then she was already at his throat. Eyes widened and he fell with a gurgling gasp. A spearpoint was at her side but she deftly maneuvered around it, blinding the second soldier with her cloak and impaling him through the scattered fabric. Again, again, and again, she shoved the cloak into his mouth as she stabbed him to muffle his screams. Struggle for all it is worth, she thought. 

When she was done she felt oddly refreshed. There were two less pieces of trash in the world who could take away from her and her people’s well being. She could take their food now and for once be able to soothe the pangs of hunger that clawed at her belly. She thought that this was the way it was meant to be. 

A grin spread across her lips. 

“I have delivered judgment.” 

She blinked and in that moment, the figure disappeared. In the center of the bloodied snow lay a single, golden marble. Staggering forward, she fell to her knees before the orb and picked it up. A shadow of remorse clouded her eyes. 

Have the choices I made create regrets like this? 

[fleur-de-menthe]

30 Day Writing Prompt Challenge: Day 2

"It's okay sis, I'm here for you. I won't leave you alone again so please--" her heart thumped wildly against her chest, panic rising as the other grew unresponsive. "Lucerne please say something, tell me you'll be okay. You said it yourself didn't you? You said that you'd grow healthier since you moved here. Please, you can fight it you can't leave me alone here!" 

She lay in bed, breathing short and shallow breaths. Every one seemed weaker than the last, as if something were drawing out the air from her lungs. "I'm sorry...." 

It was only two words but it cut straight into her heart. Her fingers slipped from her sister's and she stepped away from the bed. "No... I won't let you die you have to keep living!" Turning on her heel, she sprinted out the door, yelling behind her back. "I'm going to find a doctor! I promise I'll be back real soon!!"

The bedridden girl reached out to the retreating figure, trying to muster up a few words, but did not have the strength within herself. Her hand fell limp onto the sheets. 

________________________

Prompt 2: Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.

[fleur-de-menthe]

:: unchosen

She struggled like a wild beast, screaming with a feral snarl and writhing until her limbs were numb with exhaustion. A thousand words ran through her mind but only three left her lips.

"IT’S NOT FAIR."

The blunt end of a sword’s hilt was rammed into her gut, knocking the wind out her. The breath wheezed in the air and disappeared. Stars flitted through her vision and she could just barely make out the faint outline of the house she had been running to.

"NEVER MIND ME, SHE’S DYING. I’M BEGGING YOU PLEASE HELP HER—"

She grabbed the officer’s leg and dragged her beaten body towards him. Her body wracked with desperate screams and tears traced tracks across her dusty cheeks.

The words she received in turn made her blood run cold.

"The world doesn’t need any more of your kind taking up our space."

Someone’s foot kicked her in the head. Her thoughts drifted into the enveloping darkness and one whispered to her consciousness.

"I never chose to be born like this."