#weeklychapters

[armaalc]

WEEKLY STORIES.| HISTORIAS SEMANALES.

Dale like si quieres que suba historias semanales :P Me ayudaría a mantener activo el blog y serían los cimientos para mi carrera de escritor. 

Comenta los diferentes temas que te gustaría leer semana con semana. (Tema libre). Iré subiendo un capítulo semanalmente, ejemplo:

Tema: Anorexia | Día: Lunes | Todos los lunes subiré un capítulo nuevo.

Tema:     Amor   | Día: Martes | Todos los lunes subiré un capítulo nuevo.

[weeklychapters]

The Faceless Creatures: Chapter 1

Brock woke to a light rain on a freezing morning. The pattering on the roof sounded as if hundreds of marbles were being released. You probably want to know what marbles are? Marbles are little crystals our great great grandparents played with. They would shoot the marbles at each other and watch as they bounced off one another. I only have one and it was passed down through my father. So now you're probably asking what is a crystal. Well it's a clear rock. It takes a lot to break it. I’ve thrown it many times and I've barely even scratched it.

So back to what I was talking about. It's hard for me to focus sometimes. Brock woke to a light rain on a freezing morning. The gusty winds blowing through the holes in the boards. Seeping into the house it felt as if the walls weren't even there. Looking up he saw the dent in the roof where time and water had made it pulse like a bite from the tree spiders. Brock felt different, because he was going to finally venture with his father to the north. Brock had never left the village. Today was different though, it was the great trade, where all the villages met for one day. Brock was finally at the age where he could make the venture. Putting on his trousers and shirt, that were a little bit too big, he made his way to the door. As his foot touched the wooden flooring he looked all around as if his village was new. The smell and feeling right after a storm was throughout the village. Everything seemed to just hang. Looking around Brock watched as the sun peeked through the stormy clouds; it's rays illuminating the trees, roofs, and leaves.  

I'm not sure from which village you are from, but in Brock’s city, it lies deep in a California forest. As some villages have traditionally been built on the ground, Brock's city is a collection of platforms high in the trees. There are fifty platforms, for the fifty houses which sit on them, and the fifty families which live in them.  The people have always lived in this village, and they never, well almost never, have ever wanted to leave. The houses have stood for many years where the original twenty-five started. Every now and then you can hear a story about the original twenty-five and there great journey against the faceless monsters. Even if the people wanted to see if the faceless monsters still existed they were forbidden to look down. Kids use to play games where they would try and see who can look the furthest down. Brock use to play this game, but would always get chicken when he made it halfway down the tree. The people who actually looked down were the carpenters when they fixed the floor. Some have even said they have gone mad from what they saw.

The only family who could go on the ground were the lightfoots. This family line were the sons, daughters, and grandchildren of the great Brock Lightly. Brock Lightly had led the family to their new home once the great city had become overfilled. It was his idea to take to the trees instead of living amongst the creatures. Overtime his name like most changed to include the qualities of the forest. So now the youngest of his lineage will follow in his father’s father’s footsteps.

"Are you ready boy?" said Donald Lightfoot, Brock's father.

"I think so," Brock quietly responded, "I packed everything you said to."  

"You don't need to worry, Lance and I will do all the work, your only job is to watch."

Lance, Brock's older brother joked, "just don't get in my way or I’ll cut somethin off.”

As the three made their way to the elevator, people started to come outside of their home. Unable to look at the three, they just looked forward. They couldn’t look down as people traditionally did, they just looked forward. With solemn faces they said nothing. Looking endlessly into space, they didn’t want to think about the last time a person from the lightfoot family didn’t come back. The mood became more intense as each of the people closed their eyes. These eyes stayed closed until Brock couldn’t see them anymore. Looking off the side rails of the tree city, Brock could see tree frogs as they jumped from tree to tree. Not paying attention to anyone or anything, the frogs simply jumped. Wishing he could be like the frogs, jumping forever, not having to worry about what he will have to face as he makes his way towards his destiny.

Finally up to the elevator there stood two large carts of food. Assortments of strawberries, carrots, even the rare moon fruit which hang high in the trees. These fruits had been cultivated in the farms high above the ground; the soil and seeds being brought up every year. The people have been able to create a food source enough to support their small village. Now these carts of fruit were to be used for trading. They could barely support another village for a month, but they would be able to bring something new and fresh to the people of the other towns. Donald and Lance both taking a cart in their hands signaled for Marcus, the old elevator keeper, to prepare himself for the drop. Using a set of cranks and levers, Marcus hoisted the elevator to the entrance of the forest. The elevator creaked as it made its way up the tall height. Showing its age the machine waved with the wind as it slowly climbed. Pulling the cart onto the elevator, the machine began to shake, until it was settled. Donald signaled for Marcus to begin the descent.

“How would you like to die now?” laughed Lance, “We haven’t even made it out of the gate...literally!”  

“That isn’t funny. We have plenty of things to worry about besides your jokes.” snapped his father coldly.

As the elevator lowered, Brock began to see new and beautiful things. A beautifully colored caterpillar, Brock has never seen, before climbed on a branch close enough for him to touch. With each meter came a new sight for Brock. When the elevator finally touched the floor of the great forest, Brock was astonished. This was the first time he had seen the ground. Opening the gate Brock felt the cold soil under his feet. Everything seemed so different down here. What was a bright place, was now dark and cold. Not even the sun could be felt this close to the ground. Every now and then a ray would appear, but would be swept away by the city and tree tops. The village casting a never ending shadow. Brock also felt weird. The air down here seemed different than what he was accustomed to.  

“We need to start moving,” said Donald to his sons. “It will take us a few hours to get where we need to go. If we don’t make it by nightfall, we will be in trouble.”

Following Mrs. leaflet’s house, the most northern house in the city, the group traveled into the dense forest. As the group walked Brock began to hear noises becoming more clear. All around him he could hear little patterings and little nibblings, until “crack.”

“What is that?” whispered Brock quietly.

“Just keep your eyes open and signal if you see anything.”

Coming into a clearing the three men saw something. Donald and Lance slowly dropping their carts reached for the blades tied to their waist. These blades were known as machetes in the old world. The blades had been refined by the people in the east, and were traded for a supply of fruit. Reaching for the machetes the three men inched their way forward. On the ground laid a creature half ripped open. The creature’s eyes looked into a void of nothing. Looking miles and miles past the three men. It’ skin was grey and little insects like those on the trees swarmed around it. The men could see the ribs sticks through the part that had been removed. Its stomach looked almost as if it had been eaten.

A smell of rot filled the air. Never smelling anything like it before, Brock began to gag. He gagged until a liquid started to fill his mouth. All of the contents of his breakfast rushing up his throat. As the vomit gushed onto the ground, Brock finally heard something new. It was moving slowly from his right side. Feeling his breath leave his body, the noise became later. A bulge filling his chest Brock began to look to up. As his eyes moved upward he could make out more of the thing. White shoes, rotten feet with the bones sticking out, half eaten legs, shorts that had been ripped off exposing part of flesh with worms crawling all over, a chest with the skin ripped off, and a face as haunting as the stories told. The skin had been chewed off in places exposing the teeth and cheek bones of the creature. As it inched closer, Brock could not move. His mouth opening wider and wider, with no sounds escaping. He could not move. The bulge in his chest now heavier than anything in his whole life. And then “crack.”