Pen to Page

Welcome to my personal writing blog! I'm going to try and post something every day. Some of it will be original fiction, while other pieces will be inspired by published works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

[takingpentopage-blog]

History in the Making

“How’s it going?” Tony asked, sticking his head into his little sister’s dorm room only to have a pillow hit him squarely in the face.  “Sorry I asked.”  Having stopped only long enough to hurl the pillow, Kestra had returned to work, hunched over her desk.  Her chestnut hair was disheveled.  Her red and grey uniform rumpled, probably slept in… assuming that she had slept.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked taking a seat on her bed, leaning against the wall with his hands behind his head.

“A bit,” she mumbled quickly, referencing another datapad.

“In a bed?” he questioned skeptically.  She didn’t answer.  “I didn’t think so.  You do know that you’ll fail if you fall asleep during the test.”  Kestra had been obsessed… make that possessed by her desire to beat the Kobayashi Maru since she had failed the test the week before.  Short of attending classes, she had basically locked herself in her room.  Not even her boyfriend could coax her from her mission.

“When do you take the test again?”  He let the question hang as Kestra put down a pad and put her hands over her eyes in fatigue.

“Tomorrow morning, 0900 hours.”  Her voice was rough with fatigue and frustration, the sound of defeat.

“Kes, the Kobayashi Maru was designed to be unbeatable.  It’s okay if you can’t beat it,” Tony told his sister gently.  It wasn’t perfect, of course; a handful of cadets had passed over the hundred or so years since its institution, but it did not happened often and the test was updated every time it did.  The test was still considered a no-win scenario.  “It’s just something every third year cadet has to go through.”

“There’s no such thing as an impenetrable fortress,” Kestra replied defiantly, looking him in the eye.

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

“One of the first rules of defense is that there is no such thing as an impenetrable fortress,” Kestra restated with renewed determinion.  “Eventually, the attacker is going to find a way in.  This scenario is just another fortress.  I just need to find the way in.”

Tony was going to say that, while true, it could take years to find the flaw in a fortress.  That not a single cadet in forty years had found it.  But, he knew his sister and he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference.  Tony shook his head and smiled.

“Where are you stuck?” he asked.  “Maybe I can help.”  Grabbing a pad, Kestra moved to sit next to her brother on the bed.

“I’ve got a strategy, but I can’t get the shield variance to cooperate.”  Tony looked over her plan.  It was the quintessential Kestra: gutsy, risky, and original, but it just might work.  He tapped to her shield notes and saw the problem almost immediately.

“This is why you should get a decent night sleep before you try to do math, point break,” he said teasingly as he fixed the problem with a few quick strokes.  “Math was never your strong suit.”

“Luckily for me my older brother is a genius!” she only half teased back as she read his corrections.

“Genius might be pushing it.  Your hero, however…” Kestra gave him a shove, laughing.  Tony, also laughing, stood up.  “So, should I bother showing up for crew call tomorrow even though I haven’t gotten a formal invitation?”  Kestra groaned, hiding her face in her hand.

“Yes,” she said wearily rising.  “I’ve been so busy strategizing that I forgot to talk to anyone.  I guess I’ll have to do it tonight.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony volunteered with a wave of his hand.  “The usual suspects?”

“Yeah.”  She gave him a hug.  “Thanks, Tony.”

“You’re welcome.  We can’t have you falling asleep in the command chair.”  He tousled her messy chestnut hair.  “Go to sleep, Kes.  You’ve got history to make tomorrow.”

[takingpentopage-blog]

Complicated

“Is there something between you and Will?” Emma asked unexpectedly as she plunged another tunic into the river.

“What do you mean?” I replied, feigning ignorance.  My own meager washing done long before, I stood on the banks of the river, bow in hand, hoping a squirrel or a rabbit would chance into range.

“You know what I mean, Anorra,” Emma responded with a smile.  “I’m not blind, you know.  I’ve seen the way you look at him.”  Emma was young, only a few years older than me, but she was the most perceptive woman I had ever met, except for my mother.  She and her husband had arrived in our camp only a few months ago, but we had quickly become friends, perhaps because she seemed to know me better than I know myself. Still, she didn’t know the history between me and Will Scarlet.

Will had led me to the outlaw camp when he had found me wandering in the forest, masquerading as a boy in my brother’s clothes.  He, among others, had trained me in the use of weapons and how to fight.  He was as shocked as they all were when they discovered I was a girl.

I had saved Will’s life once, when he and several of the other men were captured by the Sheriff.  Wulf and I had managed a clever deception that saved them all from the hangman’s noose.  No one had ever expected a girl and a child to be dangerous.  Yet, with a few careful shots and the voice-throwing tricks my father taught me, the two of us managed to scare the Sheriff into releasing them.  But, none of that compared to the time Will Scarlet saved me.

I wasn’t surprised when I was captured; if you run with Robin long enough you’ll eventually get caught.  Several of us walked into an ambush set by the Sheriff’s men on a fine spring day.  The good weather had made us careless.  I was scared, of course; only a fool wouldn’t be, but Robin was very good at rescuing his men.  I was not nearly scared enough.

I had always thought that if I were captured, I would be sentenced to an outlaw’s death in the noose.  I had caused enough trouble for the Sheriff to earn that.  Unfortunately, the slime who turned my mother over to the Sheriff ratted on me as well, the last living member of a family that he had ordered burned for witchcraft.  I was sentenced to die a witch’s death at the stake.

Dying itself is not so scary, when you constantly live in threat of it, but death by fire chills me to the bone.  I had watched from the woods as the soldiers had torched my home with my family trapped inside.  Their screams and the smell of burning flesh still haunt my nightmares.  In my mind, anything was better than death by fire.

Yet, the day came.  I was stripped down to my shift and led out of my prison into the courtyard, shaking with cold and fear.  The rowdy crowd was anxious to see a witch burn.  The soldiers hoisted me onto the pile of logs and tied me to the upright stake.  Fuel for the fire was poured over the logs.  I started to cry.

When I heard Robin’s voice over the din of the crowd, I thought I might have a chance, but one of the soldiers was a bit too anxious to do his duty.  He dropped his torch on to the pyre and it burst into flames.  My whole world became fire and smoke.  The flames licked hungrily at my feet and legs.  I screamed and gasped in turn, fighting desperately against the smoke for air, but in too much agony to save my breath.

Yet, in the chaos of the fire, my bonds were cut and I was scooped up by strong arms and carried out of the flames.  Drifting in and out of consciousness, I was only vaguely aware of the journey back to camp, but I was still cradled to his chest whenever I returned to tortured wakefulness.  He only put me down once, just long enough to wrap his own crimson cloak around my shivering frame.

It was Will Scarlet who had leapt into the flames, injuring himself to save me from my greatest fear that night.  He never explained why.  I will never stop owing him for that.  That’s why our relationship will always be complicated.

[takingpentopage-blog]

An Unexpected Introduction

“Remember,” Will instructed, “wait for Robin’s signal and don’t get cocky."  Warrin nodded seriously and then scrambled up into the branches of a nearby tree.  Will had helped to train the lad after he had wandered into the outlaw camp several months earlier, so Robin had asked him to look after Warrin during his first few ambushes.  Warrin was still green, but he had done well thus far.  Will was even starting to think of the lad as a friend.

“Warrin!”  Will could only watch in horror as the lad slipped off the damp branch and plunged to the forest floor.  He shimmied down from his own perch and darted over to the prone form.  Several of the other outlaws had already gathered around, concerned, but too ignorant to help.  Warrin lay unnaturally still amongst the fallen leaves.

“Stand back.  Let the boy have some air.”  Azeem pushed his way through the crowd.  The knowledgeable man often filled the role of healer and it would be up to him to assess Warrin’s injuries. After looking the body over quickly, Azeem peeled back the boy’s eyelids to examine his eyes.  Satisfied, he shifted his focus to the boy’s torso, gently prodding with his fingers.  His brow furrowed in what Will could only guess was puzzlement.  Azeem stood and spoke softly to Robin, who had made his way into the circle.  Robin’s face registered shock for only a moment.

A moan emanated from the ground.  Everyone had been so focused on Azeem and Robin, that no one had notice as the prone form began to stir.  Blinking and holding a hand to his head, Warrin slowly tried to sit up.  As Azeem moved to help him, Robin’s face darkened.

“Are you alright, girl?” Robin asked harshly.

“I’m not sure.  I feel a bit…”  The outlaw stopped short as she realized her mistake, visibly cringing.

“The game is over,” Robin said, towering over her.  “Now, I suggest you stop lying to me and start telling me the truth.  What’s your name?”

Warrin pulled off her cap, releasing a cascade of dark chestnut colored hair.  She gazed at the forest floor for a moment before meeting Robin’s eyes with timid defiance.

“My name is Anorra.”

[takingpentopage-blog]

Aim Small

Warrin picked a bow and a set of arrows from the small stack by the archery range.  He set all of the arrows on the ground, except for one which he nocked in the bow.  Staring at the target, he pulled the bowstring back until it touched his face, finding his anchor point.  The bowstring released with a twang sending the arrow soaring… straight past the target.

Robin, standing only a few yards away, laughed loudly.  “If that’s the best you can shoot, boy, perhaps we should send you to work for the Sheriff.”  Warrin flushed in embarrassment, but bent down quickly to pick up another arrow.

“I’ll learn,” he replied with barely restrained ire as he nocked the arrow.  He drew and fired; the arrow soared past the other side of the target, which elicited another laugh from the famous outlaw.  The young man spun on his heel to face him.

“If you’re going to mock me, at least tell me what I’m doing wrong?”  It was as much of a challenge as a question.

“Ready your shot.”  The older archer strode over as Warrin drew back his third arrow.  “Are you a man or a maid?  Widen your stance,” Robin ordered, kicking Warrin’s instep with his boot.  “You’ll be more stable if your feet are even with your shoulders.”  He circled the boy.  “Relax your shoulders and pull your elbow back so that it’s in line with the arrow.

“Now, when you take the shot, hold your breath for a few seconds. Hit the target.”

Warrin took a breath and then released the arrow; it lodged in the outer ring of the target.

“You’re already improving.” Robin began to walk away, while Warrin stared at the target.

“How do you do it?”  Warrin stared at the seasoned archer in disbelief.  “They say that you can hit the smallest of targets at great distances and that you never miss.  From what I’ve seen, they’re right.  What’s your secret?”

Robin turned and took the bow from Warrin.  He nocked an arrow and sent it sailing into the forest, where it lodged in a tree about 30 paces past the target.

“Hit the arrow,” he ordered as he returned the bow.

“But that has to be at least 50 paces!”

“Aim at the arrow.  Try to split it right down the center.”

Warrin nocked the arrow and drew the bowstring back.  He double checked his stance, feet, shoulders, elbow.  Looking down the arrow shaft, he focused on tail of Robin’s arrow, in the center of the fletching.  He took a breath and let the arrow fly.  It lodged in the same tree, but missed the other arrow by inches.

“Well done, Warrin,” Robin commended, clapping the boy on the arm.

“But, I missed the arrow,” the boy remarked, disappointed.

“True, but you hit the tree.  If that were a man, it would still be a wounding blow.  Aim small, miss small.  That’s the secret.”

((A snippet I wrote for a Robin Hood story. It still needs some polish.))

[takingpentopage-blog]

Lock Up

Her own body and mind were a prison. There was so much she had locked away. In the one cell was hurt, tucked away before anyone could see the tears.  In another was loneliness, a meaty soul crusher that could compress you into nothing.  The siblings Fear shared another cold metal cell: fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of ending up alone. And in the furthest cell, imprisoned only because of the others, was pain.

She wanted to tell someone, anyone, even a complete stranger.  She wanted to open up the heavy padlocked door and lead them down the solemn hallways.  She wanted to introduce them to the inmates.  She wanted to share the fear and pain and hurt.

But, she looks in their eyes, and she knows that they won't understand. They'll remind her how good her life is and tell her that she's ungrateful. She'll be the one others avoid, the one who complains to much. They'll prattle off some spiritual axiom that she's heard a million times before. They'll only want to help, but they'll only make the hurt worse.

So, she slides the heavy iron key into the keyhole. The lock clunks shut. And she keeps it all inside.

[takingpentopage-blog]

A Time to Heal

Maggie, like most of the crew, knew almost nothing about healing.  Brent was the closest thing the ship had to a doctor.  Fate was a cruel mistress.  Brent’s screams of pain still echoed in her head.  She had killed men and she would doubtless kill again, but she had never seen so much blood.  Just past his knee, Brent’s leg ended in a bloody bandaged stump.  Maggie had held him down while the first mate had tied the tourniquet to stop the flow of crimson liquid, while he had cut off hanging flesh and fragmented bone.  Only a day later, Brent lay in a feverish sleep.  Maggie dipped the rag in the cool salt water and gently mopped his brow, maintaining a faithful vigil and praying that he’d recover.

[takingpentopage-blog]

Memory

Some days, she remembered too much.  Finally, she grasped another fragment of her past, but it came with a cost.  One memory led to another.  They came unbidden, an unstoppable chain reaction.  She remembered places she had never visited, friends she had never had.  Embracing someone else’s father, kissing someone else’s wife.  She could hear the screams of innocent people as she ran towards them, totally crazed.  Their crimson blood stained her hands as her blackened knife tore through their flesh.  They weren’t her memories; she didn’t want them, didn’t deserve the torture they entailed.  Or, were they her memories?  She couldn’t remember.