These Random Scribblings of Mine

Short stories! Yay.

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Fire in Her Soul

She is a girl With a fire in her soul And a need Burning Consuming Inextinguishable To change The world

She is a girl With dreams in her eyes And a vision Of the world At peace And of her Standing On top of it

She is a girl With too many questions And not enough answers And not enough time To find them Before she is brought back Inside the house And is told that Girls Did not Could not Should not Change the world

She is a girl With anger in her heart As she watches The boys she played with Turn into men And she sees the world pour itself Into their hands Into their mouths Into their command And she wonders What she did so wrong That the world won't do The same For her

She is a girl With defiance in her blood Her blood Which boils And burns And sings The song of fury As she is told She will no longer Continue to go To school Because now Now she must learn How to make a home How to build a family And she cannot understand Why men Did not need This skill Which was seemingly So important It eclipsed the need To learn And ask questions And find answers And to change The world

She is a girl No She is a woman With numbness in her bones As she nods to every question Her future in-laws ask her As if she is at an interrogation For a crime she did not commit As she hears her mother’s voice In her ear Telling her Not to let her veil fall Off of her head And to keep herself Covered Telling her To keep her eyes downcast To keep her voice quiet To keep her dreams hidden As she feels the eyes Of the man She is to marry Burning a hole Into her skin With his contempt

She is a woman With nothing Nothing Except The voices Telling her What she is doing wrong What her mother Failed to teach her What she is incapable of What she will never learn Telling her She is at fault For her husband’s rage His anger His temper His unhappiness His malice Telling her If only She had been born A boy She wouldn’t have to Suffer Such abuse

She is a woman Who once had everything Everything Except the right To make something Of herself The right To follow Her dreams To listen To her heart To envision The world As it would have been Had she been given A chance To Change it

She is a woman With a fire in her soul A fire Which was once Burning Consuming Inextinguishable But now slowly Begins To Die Until there is Nothing left But Ash

//

Photo: self-portrait, taken by me

Poem written as a companion to the photograph

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Moments of Stars

September 20, 2016

Half the world sits in darkness Shivering with cold Waiting for the glowing dawn To melt the ice from our blood. But the dawn is slow in coming And so half the world sits in uncertainty And it sits in fear Not knowing if the dawn will glow again. So to pass the time we look around Crawling under rocks And swinging through trees; Swimming through oceans And running through the grass Until at last our gaze falls upward. We peer at last into the infinite cosmos, At the innumerable dots of light That seem to be suspended In a bowl of jet-black ink.

What power do these pinpricks hold That enables them to captivate us so?

From these clusters of dots We gave birth to countless legends. We no longer saw the night sky as empty But as a canvas On which to bestow our humanity. And every day some sparks fade While others take their place As ancient stars succumb To the curse of time And the light from their children Finally reaches our eyes.

Perhaps we still haven’t learned What the night sky really means.

With a single glance we witness Moments separated by billions of years We can witness the birth of a star Even as we watch its sister die. In the end We do not have a night sky But a collection of ages Pieced together as one. And so we perceive this world Not as moments in time But as moments of stars.

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Oceans In the Sky

A poem I really really like that I wrote about a year and a half ago to help me get out of my existential crisis haha what are you talking about I’m still having an existential crisis

September 6, 2016

I remember, as a child, How big the world had seemed. How the sky was, in fact, just another ocean, And that a bigger sky existed somewhere else.

I remember, as a child, How insignificant grown-ups’ problems had seemed How the only thing of any importance Was the new bike the kid next door just got.

We never cared about taxes or loans. I don’t think we even knew what bills were. For us, it didn’t matter. Why would it, When we had all the world in which to play?

I remember, as a child, Wanting to be a grown-up. But now I think, Why? Why did we think it was okay To lose sight of the ocean in the sky, To forget our imaginations That made rocks look like mountains, And made cracks in the pavements look like canyons? When did the wonder in our eyes start disappearing Only to be replaced with indifference?


I remember, as a child, Wanting to be a grown-up, because we thought it was cool. But now I think It would have been better If we had kept our eyes On the oceans in the sky.

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Who Is She That Sings to Me?

Who is she that sings to me From beneath the coiling waves? A ghostly sound, it echoes all around With the voice of an elven maid.

Who is she that sings to me From across the churning tides? An enchanting sound, my heart’s been bound To the voice of the elven maid.

Who is she that sings to me Rising from the shoreline waves? A soothing sound, lifting from the ground With the voice of an elven maid.

Who is she that sings to me? Across the waves she flies! An eerie sound, like the Wind Westbound Is the voice of the elven maid.

Who is she that sings to me? On the rocks! the Siren plays— The enticing sound which my heart has found Is like the voice of an elven maid.

Who was she that sang to me? In the song of the Siren danger lies— The beguiling sound that to my death was bound Was like the voice of an elven maid.

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

Hi your writing is awesome just wanted to say that :)

Ahaha this reply is so late I’m so sorry xP But thank you! I’m glad you enjoy it :)

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Of Angels and Men—Part Two

Part Two/??? Don’t know how many parts since this is still a WIP but I will update the correct part numbers as soon as I am done

June 17, 2016

As Aremi lay in bed, far too awake for this pre-dawn hour, she tried to remember the last time she has spoken to Kemaya. She could not remember—actually, she did remember: it was exactly four months, two weeks, and three days. The exact amount of time since Aremi has joined the Archangel Brigade, very much against Kemaya's will. The russet-haired girl had not been old enough to enlist when Aremi did. But now that February had come and gone with Kemaya's sixteenth birthday, it will not be long before she joined the ranks of recruits that trickled in every six months, if only to keep Aremi from carelessly throwing her life away on the front lines. Kemaya had been strongly against joining the Brigade, mainly due to the fact that of the seven Quests outside the valley, none had succeeding in accomplishing anything but the slaughter of humanity's sons and daughters at the hands of the angels. Aremi had not listened. While the valley has been safe for all these years, the angels now knew that a small bit of humanity still survived. It would not be long before the narrow gap between the mountains opened up not to the sky, but to the angels’ vessels.

Aremi had already seen her home burn once. She would not tolerate watching it burn a second time. With that, she finally rolled out of bed, blinking in the gloom. She might as well get a head start on the day’s training.

It wasn’t as if the angels were going to exterminate themselves, after all.

-----

It didn’t take long for Aremi and Kemaya to become inseparable once again. Wherever Aremi went, Kemaya was ever-present, a shadow with a definite form. Their strengths were stronger when they were together, their weaknesses more apparent when they were separate. They trained with no one but each other, for the thought that the other would perish on the front lines had not yet crossed either of their minds. One year quickly went by, during which each day of arduous training drove them nearly to their deaths. Some trainees did die, either from exhaustion or lack of energy or during flight gear training. But at the end of the day, Aremi had Kemaya, and Kemaya had Aremi, and all seemed it would be well.

Even as the trainees prepared for the next Quest, all seemed it would be well.

Even as the Brigade ventured once again into the outside world and into the angels’ territory, all seemed it would be well.

-----

Only three of the angels’ vessels found them as they rode towards the closest known Angel’s Nest. It had been better than what the Brigade had been expecting. It had been almost eight years since Aremi had last seen the angels’ skyships. And the sight of them filled her with rage, rage like she had never felt before. She was inexplicably reminded of a birthday long past, where she and Kemaya had dined on stolen cakes that smelled of innocence, tasted of innocence, were made of innocence. She was reminded of the syrup that was like blood, the syrup that had oozed from between her fingers as she clenched her fist around the last bit of her childhood innocence. Did she still possess that innocence?

No, it was clear the moment the vessels—the skyships, as the Brigade like to call them—started raining down rays of death like lightning. She was no longer the little girl who picked strawberries and looked for recognizable shapes in the clouds. She was a soldier—a warrior. She will not allow herself to fall prey to fear, or to the angel’s deathrays. Even as the soldier on her left violently exploded into a plume of fiery ash, she did not falter. To her right, Kemaya was there, her brown eyes staring straight ahead at the skyships. She turned to look at Aremi—a mouth carved with determination, followed by a single nod, before both Aremi and Kemaya unfurled the wings of their flight gear and left the backs of their horses, rising into the sky.

It was clear neither Aremi nor Kemaya still retained the innocence of childhood days long past. But Aremi had Kemaya, and Kemaya had Aremi, and together they sped towards the closest skyship, ready to give up their lives for each other, ready to give up their lives for humanity, ready to give up their lives to ensure no child ever lost their innocence too early the way they had.

-----

Aremi could not stop trembling. Even two weeks after returning from the Eighth Quest, she could not stop shaking. How could she, when she almost saw the death of the only person she considered family? Every time she closed her eyes, Aremi saw as Kemaya glided closer to the skyship—too close. She saw as Kemaya threw a vial of explosive powder into the skyship’s intake vent. As the powder was heated by the air sucking into the vent, it instantly ignited, causing a violent explosion that destroyed the skyship’s engines. The explosion also engulfed Kemaya in bright orange flames framed in black. Aremi saw as Kemaya’s flight gear was destroyed by the heat, saw as Kemaya plummeted towards the ground.

Aremi had been able to save her—barely, just barely—that time. But she could not trust herself to be able to do so next time, especially if they were to get separated in the heat of battle.

Never again, she vowed. I will protect her. Her trembling stopped. I will not let my family be destroyed again. Even if I must sacrifice my life, I will protect her.

-----

Aremi and Kemaya’s efforts during the Eighth Quest did not go unnoticed. While Squadron after Squadron perished under the angels’ onslaught, the duo had single-handedly destroyed two of the angels’ skyships. At the end of the month of the Eighth Quest, the Promotion Ceremony saw two battle-hardened faces move from the ranks of the new recruits to the ranks of the Elite Task Force, led by Captain Akiva Shura. While the Task Force squad was small—containing only ten people, including the Captain, Aremi, and Kemaya—it was the Archangel Brigade’s most formidable force, each soldier containing the power of an entire Squadron.

Kemaya was honored to be promoted straight to the Elite Task Force rather than being promoted to the rank of Team Leader. She was honored to serve under the strongest soldier the Brigade had, mostly because she doubted her own abilities as a leader. She was honored to be considered equal to the other members of such a prestigious team.

Aremi was not. For now, it would be harder than ever to keep Kemaya from harm.

-----

The sun was no longer the brightest thing in Aremi’s life. The flowers were no longer the most fragrant, the sunsets no longer the most vibrant. Even the stars were no longer the most beautiful for her. If you were to ask her, she’d say it was because of the invasions, the death and destruction caused by the creatures-not-from-this-Earth. She’d say she no longer felt the warmth of the sun upon her face because the beings in the giant flying vessels had obliterated her hometown and her family in a matter of minutes.

The truth, however, was far from that. For Aremi, the sun, the flowers, the sunsets, even the stars existed in someone else. They had become someone else.

They were Kemaya.

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

Of Angels and Men—Part One

Part One/??? Don't know how many parts since this is still a WIP but I will update the correct part numbers as soon as I am done

June 3, 2016

They came from the sky. Long, black, narrow vessels, large enough to swallow the sun and the clouds, descended like birds of prey upon Humankind. No one remembers what the creatures—what They—looked like anymore. Probably because no one wanted to. Faces carved from marble, lit from within with the light of the moon, with bodies built by, and given the strength and grace of, the gods—no one wanted to believe it was possible that such beauty was the cause of such destruction.

They believed that no human would be left alive to remember Them, and that is what They wanted.

They did not know that two young girls watched from atop the hill as their home burned at the hands of angels.

-----

Perhaps Aremi had Kemaya to thank for her life. If she hadn’t pestered Aremi to go to the orchard on the outskirts of town to pick strawberries, Aremi would have joined the thousands of dead that lay buried under piles of ash and debris. No, the debt runs long before that: if Kemaya hadn’t made it her mission to befriend Aremi, the quiet, emotionless, unapproachable girl who had claimed the corner of the classroom, Aremi would have joined the thousands of dead that lay under piles of ash and debris. It was as if Kemaya was destined to save Aremi’s life, indirectly though it may be.

Perhaps Aremi also had Kemaya to blame for being left alone in the world.

No home, no family, no future.

-----

Word on the street was that Humankind was on the verge of extinction. In just a mere year after the destruction of Aremi and Kemaya’s hometown, the human race had been reduced to a handful of hidden societies scattered around the world. It could not be said how many humans remained. It was impossible to search for other pockets of civilization, for searching meant going outside, and going outside meant certain death. The angels’ vessels were everywhere, searching, finding, killing, destroying.

Tucked away between mountains, packed away within caves, stuffed away into underground cities, Humanity huddled with nothing but fear to keep it warm at night.

-----

Yet another year passed after Humankind had been forced into hiding. Aremi and Kemaya—still children, yet no longer children—celebrated their eleventh and tenth birthdays. On two days of the year, their cave-home, carved into the heart of a mountain, smelled like innocence with a touch of sugar. Slices of cake—nicked from the local vendor’s stall—marked the anniversaries of the days that they had entered this world. Vanilla for Kemaya, soft and white as the clouds they haven’t seen for two years. Strawberry for Aremi, with strawberry syrup as thick and red as the blood of the family she had lost.

Aremi stared long and hard at her cake, a trembling rage clawing its way up her spine. She clenched her fist around the cake. Red spurted from between her fingers.

It was not strawberry syrup she saw, but the blood of the angels.

-----

The mountain-cave community eventually dared to open its walls to the outside world again. Humanity’s pickaxes broke through the ancient stone, swing by swing, tunnel by tunnel, rock by rock, until the first filaments of light threaded their way through the cracks in the wall. Humanity held its breath as light once again shone down upon it, flooding the tunnels and the caves and the cavernous halls. Humanity closed its eyes, afraid of what it might find. Was the world just as they had left it five years ago? Or did the world no longer exist? Were the angels waiting for them on the other side? Humanity opened its eyes, and it wept.

The valley before them was small, surrounded on all sides by tall, steep mountain slopes, with just enough sky to make them feel free of the confines of the Earth. Humanity opened its eyes, and it saw a chance at survival, a chance at making a comeback. Even with their flying vessels, the angels could not find them here.

Humanity opened its eyes, and it saw hope.

-----

Perhaps it was foolish of Aremi to blame Kemaya for what had happened. After all, Kemaya could not have known about the angels’ arrival on Earth. She could not have known that the angels would destroy their homes, and destroy humankind. She could not have known that her family, along with Aremi’s, would perish under the angels’ deadly rays of light. More importantly, Kemaya would not have wanted to become an orphan, nor would she have wanted Aremi to become one too. It was not Kemaya’s fault Aremi was alone, with no future, no family, no home.

But no. Aremi was not alone. She had Kemaya, and Kemaya had her. Kemaya was her future. Kemaya was her family. Kemaya was her home.

-----

Humanity began to breathe again after it ventured outside. Villages and towns dotted the walls of the valley, where it was easier to hide homes and buildings amongst the rock. Farms spread across the floor of the valley, directly underneath the ceiling of the sky. Life began to regain a semblance of normalcy. And as the population increased, so did their hope. Though it was a small move, venturing out into the valley was the first step to fighting back. The newly formed Archangel Brigade, mounted atop fleet-footed steeds, dared to venture back into the outside world. Aremi and Kemaya watched as the winged swords upon their uniformed backs disappeared into the mountain. Valiantly they rode, back through the tunnels and halls through to the other side of the mountains, to fight back against the angels and to try and find other pockets of humanity.

Valiantly they fought, caught between the open land and the angels’ vessels.

Valiantly they died, taking humanity’s hope with them.

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One Careless Match

May 27, 2016

“How is it that one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to light a campfire?”

Gwyn shrugged. “Beats me. The only thing about this situation that makes sense is that it proves my theory.”

“What theory?” Rhys asked.

“That the two of us together will somehow manage to be the cause of the destruction of the planet, or at least the human race.”

Rhys hummed in agreement. The two of them sat down at the edge of the cliff, watching the burning forest below them. Gwyn took out a box of crackers from her pack and started eating. Rhys shot her a disgruntled look.

“Are you seriously having a snack at a time like this?”

“What else am I supposed to do? It’s not like we can put out the fire ourselves.”

“We can at least alert the authorities.”

“Rhys, look around. It’s the middle of the night, there’s a forest blaze five miles wide, and there’s flames spewing fifty feet into the sky. Not to mention the wind is blowing the smoke towards the city. If they haven’t noticed by now—”

Gwyn was cut off by a steady whump whump whump that grew louder with each second. A helicopter flew low over them, buffeting them with the force of its blades.

“See?” she continued as a second helicopter zoomed past. “They noticed. Speaking of, we should probably leave the area before we get caught.”

Rhys sputtered. “W-What do you mean by that?”

Gwyn sighed impatiently. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars for causing a forest fire?” she snapped.

“No, but—”

Then shut up and come on.” Gwyn put the crackers back in her pack and stood up, hauling Rhys to his feet by the arm as she did so.

“Gwyn—”

“If you so much as think about telling anyone about this,” Gwyn said as they trudged down the steep hill, “there will be no spot on this planet that will shelter you from my wrath. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ‘Yes, Ma’am’ to you.”

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

Follow the Compass

April 8, 2016

“If I point this compass, what are the chances it’ll lead me to you?”

“Was that supposed to be a pickup line?”

“No,” Kieran lied, “but it can be if you want it to.” He smirked.

Lisa scowled. “Boy, I will carve out your liver with a spoon if you don’t focus.”

“But I am focused—on you.”

“Kieran Lannan, we are lost in the middle of the Banshee’s Woods, and we’re already three hours late for the annual Spellcaster’s Union meeting. Now put that compass away. There is zero chance it’ll lead to me. Get your magic ready so we can try to cast a Locator spell.”

“I’d love to put the compass away, Milady, but since the compass was given to us by Head Spellcaster Shanael, we need to use it for the Locator spell so we can find our way out of here and to the meeting.” Kieran smirked at Lisa’s expression, which ranged somewhere between “you’re right and I’m happy for that” and “you’re right which is why I want to skin you alive.”

“Give it here,” she snapped.

“No need to thank me,” he said as he handed her the compass. She crouched, placing the compass on the ground between them. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Kieran Lannan is the hottest, most smartest guy around. I’m so happy I got paired with him as my fellow Spellcaster-in-Training. Where would I be without my dearest Kieran?’” He batted his eyelashes as he spoke in a falsetto.

“More like ‘Kieran is the dumbest, most useless guy around,’” Lisa muttered as she focused her energies. “Just shut up and help me out, or I swear on Tivili I will leave you here.”

“Ooh, temper, temper,” Kieran shot back, but did as he was told. One does not simply swear on Tivili with the intention of making idle threats. As much as he enjoyed pulling Lisa’s leg, he did not want to be left alone in the Banshee’s Woods.

Kieran felt the familiar tug at the corners of his mind as his magic took effect. He focused on Shanael, the Head Spellcaster who kept all the other Spellcasters in check. It was her job to ensure that no Spellcaster abused his or her powers by using them for personal gain or for evil. He focused on an image of her face, making it as lifelike as he could. Within seconds, he felt the slight drain on his energy as the magic took effect. He opened his eyes to see the compass encased in a shimmery golden glow. It floated upwards until it rose to eye-level—that is, it rose to Lisa’s eye level, seeing how Kieran was at least a full head-and-a-half taller—before turning and slowly coming to a stop with its needle pointing towards Lisa.

Kieran grinned. “See? I knew the compass would lead to you! Now do you believe we’re made for each other?”

Lisa rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way. The compass continued on its way, heading West.

“So much for leading you to me,” she snickered, smirking evilly before following the compass. “I’m seriously considering applying for a partner change. I can’t deal with you anymore.”

“Awww, Lisa!” Kieran mock-whined. “But we’ve been partners for so long...I can’t believe you’d just dump me like that.” He gave a childish pout. “I thought we were the perfect couple—!”

Lisa shoved him. This wasn’t unusual—Kieran was always making little quips like that, trying to convince her to return his affections. What surprised him was the strength behind it. Her usual punches and shoves did little to budge him. This time, however, he landed straight on his back. A whoosh ran up the length of his body, and he found himself stuck to the forest floor, unable to move.

“I am leaving you behind,” she hissed, her hands surrounded by a faint white glow as she stood over Kieran. “You can fend for yourself against the Banshees and the dragons. I’ll tell the others you got lost trying to Teleport or something, and the reason I’m late is because I was trying to find you.” She changed her demeanor suddenly, plastering a sweet smile on her face. “Or, you can sit quiet and not say a single word until we get to the meeting.” She waved her hands, and the spell holding Kieran in place vanished. “I’m going to go before the compass floats out of our view. You’ve got about fifteen seconds before that spell recasts itself and leaves you frozen on the forest floor, unless you get up on your ass and follow me. Your choice,” she added with a wink.

Kieran stared at her retreating form for a few seconds before getting to his feet. He pushed down the laugh that was trying to bubble out of his chest.

“My dear, dear Lisa,” he muttered under his breath, smiling. She thought her fiery attitude would drive him away, but little did she know it was that fire that had made him fall for her in the first place. “You know I’ll always choose to follow you.”

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

The Boy Who Kissed the Stars—Part Two

March 31, 2016

Part Two/Two—The Boy Who Kissed the Stars

You remember the way his arm had draped around you for weeks afterward. You remember the way his warmth seeping through your clothes had seemed to warm you through to your soul. You especially remember the lean muscles you felt through his coat, the way your hand had fit in his side almost as if made for it. And you once again dream of his hands on you, your hands on him, dancing, tracing, brushing along his skin, running across his muscles, tangling in his hair.

The touching was now easier to do. You couldn’t seem to stay away from him, and neither could he from you. Throughout the day your hands found some way to brush against each other’s skin, light as a butterfly’s kiss. Either while walking, hands brushing against each other, or while sitting, legs bumping against each other, or even in the playful ruffling of each other’s hair. It was as if there was a magnetic force drawing you two together, and an electrical force that skittered across your skins with each touch.

With that magnetic force came the desire to stay in each other’s presence longer and longer. And so, one warm spring evening, you found yourself in a field of grass, the Boy With Eyes Like Stardust sitting next to you. Close enough to press shoulders against each other. You seek comfort in the touch, and it is comfort you find.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

The sun, setting, mirroring the color of his eyes. His eyes, like stardust, the color of flaming honey, aflame in the light of the setting sun.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

It was his idea to come out here. To get away from the crowded city, he had said. The streets crowded with people, the sky crowded with buildings. Tall, steel sentinels burning bright like torches. You agreed with him, tired of seeing the same empty sky night after night. So he took you away from the city, the never-ending stream of lights and sound. And so you sat, surrounded by darkness and quiet. And Gabriel.

He sits, leaning on his elbows, legs stretched out in front. Though it was warm, he wore a woolen knit cap. It had slid towards the back of his head, ruffling the front of his hair like the kiss of the wind. A plaid shirt, folded up to the elbows, with the top button undone, hinted at collarbones delicate as the stem of a wine glass. Dark denim jeans that slightly hugged the curves of his legs. He looked akin to the many statues of Greek gods you had seen across the city, though here in front of you sat a god of flesh and bone, garbed in clothes of the twenty-first century.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

He tilts his face upwards towards the sun, eyes closed and a smile twirling the corners of his lips. The sharp knob in his throat rose to catch the last bits of warmth from the sun. As it disappeared below the horizon, you wish you could place a gentle kiss to his exposed neck. You turn away, knowing you will never get the chance.

The sky fades to black. And it comes alive.

Inch after inch the sky awoke, pinpricks of light and clusters of orbs. Stretching from every corner of the horizon to the other. And a moon like you’ve never seen before, bright and round and large, so much larger than you had ever seen. You can’t help but stare in awe. What fools the city dwellers were to choose to remain in their shelters of steel and concrete and light. So much light to rob the sky of its own brilliance. You hear a chuckle.

Haven’t you ever seen the stars before? Gabriel tugs on the ends of your hair. His hand lingers at the nape of your neck. Your skin thrums with the anticipation of his touch. His hand drops. You hide your disappointment as your answer him.

Not like this, you whisper. You turn to him, and he truly is the Boy With Eyes Like Stardust. As many stars there were in the sky, there were twice as many in his eyes. Your heartbeat starts to tap-dance. You continue, The stars look close enough to touch.

Gabriel laughs, full and free and made of life. No, they look even closer, he says. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. They look close enough to kiss, he says as he winks. You are glad it is too dark for him to see you turn red.

Want to see me kiss the stars?

You nod.

He rises to his knees and turns to face you. His eyes are closed, and he pulls his lips into a kiss as he brings his hands to his lips before making a motion as if gathering the sky into his hands. He repeats the motion several times with increasing exaggeration, the hilarity of it bringing laughter bubbling out of your chest. He smiles at you.

I’ve decided to change your name, you announce. Gabriel arches an eyebrow—dark and slim and angled, and playful and mischievous—as he asks, What shall my new name be?

You smile shyly. You are the Boy Who Kissed the Stars, you tell him.

He snorts. That? That wasn’t kissing the stars, he says. He comes down on his hands and knees and crawls towards you. You can feel the warmth of his skin. That wasn’t kissing the stars, he repeats as he brings his face to yours. You close your eyes as you breathe him in—spice and sun and stardust and love, love, love, love. He presses a kiss to one closed eye, then the other. He pulls away slightly. You open your eyes and see nothing but his own, reflections of stars and reflections of you. 

That, he says in a whisper you can barely hear, That was kissing the stars.

Then, so softly you feel his words more than hear them: And this is kissing the gods.

Slowly, tentatively, feather-light, his lips find yours. At first you can barely feel it—was it because of the lightness of his touch?—Like silk on your skin—Or was it your shock?—and then you can feel it, because it was what you have been dreaming of since you met him. His lips are on yours, yours on his. Your hand on his cheek, in his hair, his arms around you. And under the stars were just two boys, filled with oceans of stardust and oceans filled with stardust, and a name. His name. Thought, whispered, felt.

Gabriel.

Gabriel.

Gabriel.

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

The Boy Who Kissed the Stars—Part One

March 25, 2016 

Part One/Two—The Boy With Eyes Like Stardust

Waking up, you wouldn’t have thought much of that day. It was just another Monday. Another day of pushing through the mundane tasks that you are sure you could, by now, perform in your sleep. You wouldn’t have thought much of the dusty sunrise, lost behind the haze of the city. You would, however, stop to gaze with wonder at the no-longer-dusty sunset.

Why? Because of the boy. You walk into your first class, and in your seat is a stranger. The teacher introduces him. Gabriel.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

You swish his name through your mind like mouthwash, the mintiness and freshness lingering long after the moment had passed. You let him have your seat, and he smiles at you as you take the seat next to him. You notice the way his ears rise with his lips. You can’t help but smile back.

You quickly discover the boy is more heart than human. He is a candle—no, he is a match, lighting the wicks of everyone around him. How easily he pulls the laughter out of those around him! It is only his first day, yet you feel almost as if he had been there from the start. You are drawn to him, mesmerized by this being that held a brilliant radiance, the kind that everyone has as children but loses as they age. 

He had not lost his. You could see it in his eyes.

His eyes. Like stardust.

Indeed the stars seemed to be alive in him, as if taken from the blank night sky of the city and placed in him instead. You are drawn to them, those rich light brown orbs. So light, they are almost orange. They are like pure honey lit from within by a strong flame. And indeed they are what you see that evening in the sky as you trudge home through the churning river of bodies. In the sky, the setting sun, orange like his eyes. You stop and you gaze with wonder. You feel cold without his presence, and as you continue on your way you comfort yourself with the fact that you will see him again tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes, and eagerly you arrive early to school. Before long, you see him in the halls, gaze darting here and there, searching.

Searching for what?

His eyes meet yours, and a jolt runs through your skin. A warm smile graces his lips, and you feel as if the suns in his eyes are shining that warmth on you and you alone. His eyes, no longer searching, focus solely on you. And you focus solely on him. You don’t know why, but you yearn to hear him speak again. That voice, strong as steel yet soft as velvet. Deep, resonant. The voice of a singer.

You hear that voice now as he stands in front of you. Hello, he says. You can only smile, your grin splitting your face in half.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

The stars in his eyes dance as they take you in, lingering on your lips before flitting away. You think you see a small flush begin underneath his cheeks. As he takes you in, you take him in as well. His eyes, of course, you already know.

Like stardust.

His nose, arrow-straight, thin. His cheeks, high and angled. His jaw, sharp and dusted with the faintest shadow of stubble. His hair, like darkest night. His skin, golden and kissed by the Mediterranean sun. You barely notice the blemishes adorning his brow. For a brief moment, you wonder what it would be like to touch his silken hair, to trace his skin with your fingers.

You wonder this each day, and at first in alarms you. Why, all of a sudden, were you having such thoughts? But your friendship deepens, and you pay those thoughts no mind.

As the days went by, you began to think of him as the Boy With Eyes like Stardust. Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel. Stardust Boy. You tell him, many months later, that he is the Stardust Boy.

He laughs—oh, that laugh, like a bubbling stream—and says, Me? With eyes like stardust?

Yes, you say. You feel yourself turning pink. Did he think your words to be absurd? Would he distance himself, thinking the wrong things? Oh, there were so many ways he could interpret your words, and not all of them good.

But no. He puts his arm around your shoulders. He asks, Do you want to know what you are called? 

What? you ask.

I think you are the Boy with Eyes like Oceans. Ocean Boy, he grins. You pause, uncertain. Was it a jest? But you look into those pools of starlight, and though you see humor, you also see sincerity.

Gabriel, Stardust Boy. You, Ocean Boy. You had never thought your eyes to be anything special. Just plain old blue. But he saw the mysteries of the ocean in your eyes. The depth, the life, the thrashing of stormy waters and the stillness of calm, quiet, peaceful waters. Stardust Boy. Ocean Boy. An ocean of stardust. Stardust in the ocean. 

His arm remains around your shoulders, so you loop an arm around his waist. And together you walk, arms around each other, through the wintery breezes blowing through the city. And you feel like you could float to the stars and never come down.

But why would you need to do that? You had the Boy With Eyes Like Stardust.

Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

“We Will”

March 18, 2016

They sat on the ground. The sun was blindingly bright, bathing everything it touched in a fuzzy yellow haze. The grass was lush, soft, and soothingly cool under their bare feet. A warm breeze carried the sounds of laughter, of tiny feet pattering on asphalt and stone, of chains creaking rhythmically as they carried the burden of children swinging upon them. A fountain tittered and giggled before them as the water slapped the rocks, tickling their ears. It sputtered and wheezed, the water trying to squeeze past debris clogged in its pipes. Not a single cloud tarnished the deep azure of the sky. A profound tranquility permeated the very fabric of the world.

“We don’t have to,” said John. His voice sounded subdued and muffled, though he spoke clearly. He turned to his wife. “We don’t have to,” he repeated, speaking softly as if afraid to break the muted silence that settled over everything. They turned to gaze into the contorting water, their thoughts fleeting and ever-changing like the clear liquid.

“Why not?” Morana asked, voice wavering. “It would save her a lot of pain. Why prolong her suffering?” Her voice steadily lost its luster, as if the life in it was being leached away by the vibrant surroundings. She pressed her lips together into a tight line, pressed her fingers to her chin to stop the trembling.

“There’s still a chance that—”

“No, John. There isn’t any sort of chance left anymore. You heard what Beaton said.”

“Are you really so ready to accept it?” he turned to her angrily. “You’re ready to just…give up? You’re just going to abandon her?” He wiped a hand across his eyes. “You…you’re her mother. You’ll just let her go?”

“I’m her mother. That’s why I know that there’s no chance.” She gazed pensively at the fountain. As she watched, a pair of hummingbirds thrummed over the water and dipped their slim beaks into it, their powerful wings producing a faint but deep buzz. Their vibrant hues flashed in the sunlight as they flitted away. “It’s been fifteen months. She’s not here anymore. She’s just an empty shell now.”

“She’s still alive though! Beaton’s got her on a respirator. That’s the only reason we’ve got a fighting chance!” John repositioned himself in front of Morana. Grabbing her by her shoulders, he whipped her around to face him as he squeezed her tightly. She didn’t grimace, nor show any indication of pain. Her face remained as impassive as the lifeless eyes of a porcelain doll. “As long as there’s air in her lungs, she’s got a chance!”

“Fifteen months, John.”

“Who knows if tomorrow—”

“Fifteen. Months. John.”

“I don’t give a damn if it takes fifteen years! Morana, she’s our first and only. You’re willing to let that go?”

“I’m willing,” said Morana firmly, “to let her go to a better place.”

John released her. He shook his head in disgust as he returned to his original position beside her, though he sat a few more inches apart. He held his head in his hands, clutching at his hair as if letting go would result in his own death. He took shuddering breaths.

“Dr. Beaton’s calling us in tomorrow morning, John. We need to make a decision today.”

“We don’t have to. We don’t have to.”

“John…”

“We’ll tell him we’ll wait to see if her condition improves…maybe ask him to increase her doses.” He was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. He rocked back and forth, his actions detached as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it.

“She’s already on the highest doses possible. If they increase them even more, we’ll lose her either way.”

“We don’t have to, Morana, we don’t have to do it. Please Morana, we just don’t!”

They sat in silence. John quietly took heaving breaths. Morana clutched his hand with a death grip. The watched as the children chased each other around the dying fountain. Once, twice, three times, they circled it before running back over the gentle hill. As they left, John once again resumed his muttering. “We don’t have to, we don’t have to, Morana, we don’t have to.”

The fountain gave a ferocious cough, accompanied by a cacophony of wheezes. The water sputtered as if from a burst pipe. With a final feeble “ahem!” the water died away, the gears grinding to an audible stop. John quieted and went still. He gazed at the spot where the water flowed out from with a hungry expression.

“Will it help her?” he asked, voice low.

“John…”

“But will it help her?”

Morana remained silent.

“Will it?”

She didn’t speak. They were quiet for a few more minutes. The playground quieted as the children left. The sun dimmed behind the horizon. The absence of light steadily drew a grey pallor over the land.

“Call Beaton tomorrow,” said John suddenly.

“What?”

“Call him. Tell him we will.”

Morana’s eyes widened. “John…are you sure?”

“We have to let her go. We have to let her go to a better place. There’s no chance. It would save her a lot of pain. Why prolong her suffering?” His gaze never left the fountain. Morana held his hand with both of hers.

“We will?” she asked.

“We will.”

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

The Night

March 11, 2016

The night was dark.

The air was frigid, so cold it was almost solid ice. A crisp, low-lying fog slithered across the grass and the cobblestones and the smooth black pavement. It glowed opalescent in the light of the full moon. The Moon was my friend. She protected me. When she left, I was afraid.

I looked at Moon—“Hello, Moon,” I said quietly. She glowed back.

The night was still.

A lone lamppost stood at the street corner, where a waist-high cobblestone wall sectioned off the grassy park from the street. Deciduous trees lined the opposite wall. The buildings were far, far away, their windows dark as if dead. The black asphalt was glistening with moisture, reflecting the light of the lamp in a jittery, hazy circle on the ground.

I stood on the corner opposite the lamppost. It was dark, and my long black cloak melded into the shadows. The hood lung low over my face, covering my blood-red eyes and bone-white skin. The velvet was thick, protecting me from the cold…I do not feel the cold. But of course. My kind cannot feel cold. I was the Guardian of the Night, the Prince of Fear. What is cold to me?

The wind came. On the wind was a smell. My mouth watered, my fangs extended. At last—my meal had arrived! I waited. I waited. I waited.

The night was long.

The bushes rustled. I tensed. The wait was almost over. Then appeared a dog! But no…it was not a dog. It was a cat. I cannot drink cats—they are our friends. It came to me on slender legs, bouncing on its delicate round paws. This cat was special—it was black. Not all black cats are our friends. This one had Moon’s Kiss on its shoulder. The crescent glowed amidst the rippling black fur, as if Moon had Blessed the cat with her own moonbeams. It mewled at me, then continued down the empty road.

Moon stood tall and high in the sky. She was going to leave soon, and I still had not eaten. Before long, she started to fade. I faced the glowing East. I grew afraid. Moon was not there to protect me from the sun. Helios, we call him. Helios was vicious. He did not like me, nor did he like my kind. His rays burned us, turned us to ash. With a hiss, I wrapped myself in my cloak and Changed. I flapped away, my leathery wings silent on the thick air. Perhaps I will try again tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. I did not sleep well during Helios’ reign in the sky. I was too hungry. Tonight, my luck will be better. I again stood at the street corner. Today, Moon is weak. She is not full and round and bright like yesterday. She was deflating, only half of her visible. Helios weakens her, and every week, he consumes her. But our Queen is strong—she always comes back, full and round and bright. But she cannot protect me today like she did yesterday. Helios is getting stronger, and now sometimes even the nights are warm. The leaves will start to return soon.

The night was warm.

This time, it came from the park. It was a wolf. Not the small ones, those pitiful little creatures who do nothing but cry for attention. It was the alpha, a prime delicacy found ever-so-rarely. It soared over the stone wall and vanished into the darkness. I had to follow—there will never be another chance like this. The shadows hushed my footsteps, my flapping cloak, my greedy hissssss as I pursued it. It howled, and I faltered. I recognised that howl. This was no ordinary wolf. It was the Alpha of the Half-Wolves.

My smile deeped. The Half-Wolves are our enemies. They are not pure beings. Sometimes they are wolves and sometimes they are the pathetic creatures called Humans. The Humans taste almost as bad as the skunks, if not worse. The Half-Wolf King was not only a treat, but a prize. The Half-Wolves are traitors. They worship Moon during the night, but during the day are agents of Helios. My kind does not allow traitors. The Alpha ran ahead. I followed. The night was intoxicating.

It noticed me, and howled a warning. In the distance, others howled back. I Changed and let out a signal, a rapid series of squeaks and screeches, alerting my fellow Hunters of the chase. Their responses were immediate, and soon they flocked behind me. I was too excited to stay in one shape—as the finder of the Wolf King, it was my right to drink him first. It was the greatest honor. I flapped my wings, then ran on my feet. My body sliced through the air, then it propelled my arms and legs across the glistening asphalt. Here there were no lights. Here, there were no houses. There was no one but us and the Wolves. Here, the Vampires play.

We ran into the forest. We wavered before entering the trees. Here, Moon cannot watch over us. The trees are too thick. Here, the Wolf pack has the advantage. The smells of the forest are too strong for my fine-tuned nose. Pine, oak, spruce. Sap, dry leaves, decaying organisms. Damp leaves, wetness, moist soil. Water. The scents were everywhere. It was good that my kind had stronger eyes than the Half-Wolves.

I know not how long we ran. But at last, the Wolves tired. We did not. The Wolves knew they would not survive. The King howled. It was a sound burning with life, with raw fear, with the searing desire to live. We saw the edge of the forest. It was bright, and it grew brighter as we ran towards it.

That was wrong. The forest should not be bright. I Changed into my true form, and ran on my legs. The others sensed it too. The Wolves ran into the light. We tried to stop, but we were going too fast. We broke out of the trees. We screamed.

Helios burned strong above us. He roared down on us in all his fiery fury. I fell. The pain was too much—but it was not as bad as knowing the Wolves had bested us. They had led us into their trap. We were in a clearing, and they surrounded us. Those who could fly turned around and flapped frantically back into the darkness of the forest. Others Changed from the shock of the sun and fell to the ground.

My skin was red. Embers rolled off me as if from a waterfall. The pain was unbearable. like it was raining knives and needles and lava. I crawled toward the trees. The darkness is soothing. It will heal my wounds. But the Alpha grabbed my ankle and dragged me into the center of the clearing. All my friends had left. I alone was their prisoner. They had deserted me.

But it was fitting. I had led them to a deathtrap. Let me die so they may live.

The Wolves stood around me in a circle. They guarded me like sentinels, some calling up at Helios. They were gleeful in my agony. They laughed as my hand crumbled to the ground. I writhed. My soul was being ripped from me. Thread by thread, fiber by fiber, I dissolved amidst the Half-Wolves’ ritual of Sacrifice. I could not make even a sound. Was that my jaw on the grass? My tongue blew away in the wind. I wanted it to end. I wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to live. I looked up pleadingly at Helios. I begged him to stop. Where was Moon? Why did she not intervene? Where was my Moon Kissed Cat? The Wolves fear the ones with Moon’s Kiss. Why did they not come?

Cats are nocturnal, my dear boy, Helios taunted. My anger flared. I am not a boy. I am centuries older than even the oldest Half-Wolf. I grabbed at the Alpha. I will not fade without a fight. Even if I only bit him, my venom would destroy him. My hand turned to puffs of ash as I touched him. I was too weak. I was fading. I was drifting away in the wind. I was gone.

The night was dead.

[theserandomscribblings-blog]

“Why is there a dragon in my fridge?”

March 4, 2016

“Why is there a dragon in my fridge?”

“It was hot.”

Shanael ran a hand through her hair. “Lumaira, we’ve been over this,” she sighed. “How many times do I have to keep telling you we can't—”

“The poor guy’s scales were falling off, Shana! He was quite literally melting.”

“It’s called molting. It’s what dragons do when they grow. Their scales fall off and they grow new ones.”

“What kind of dragon molts in the middle of Scorch?”

“That’s the only time dragons molt, you half-rotten snail shell,” Shanael snapped. “I’m giving you three seconds to get that dragon out before I kick YOU out.”

“But he has no home, Shana. I found him in Ghiragao,” Lumaira pouted at her flatmate. “That’s about as far from the Dragons’ Mountains as you can get.”

“You mean that’s a WILD dragon?” Shanael groaned. “I’m gone for two weeks on a business trip and she decides to trapeize around the country, and that too without me,” she muttered under her breath. “What were you doing in Ghiragao anyways? You hate the beach.”

Lumaira shrugged. “Just wanted to give it another shot, I guess. Turns out beaches aren’t as bad as I’ve always made them out to be.”

“You still need to take care of that dragon.”

“Can we keep him?”

“What??” Shanael sputtered. “Lumaira, we already have twelve dragons.”

Lumaira jumped off the couch and stormed into the kitchen. She returned a few seconds later with a periwinkle dragon draped on her arm. It nuzzled her neck, whiskers twitching.

“He’s hurt, Shana! Dragons molt from all over, not just in one area.” She pointed at the patch of red, irritated skin on the dragon’s underbelly.

Shanael gasped at the large scaleless area. She was no Dragon Master, but even she knew that scales do not simply fall off in one large patch. As the dragon shifted, several more scales came loose and fell to the floor like rocks.

“Please, Shanael. He’s hurt. He’s sick,” Lumaira pleaded.

Shanael sighed, grumbling beneath her breath. “By Tivili’s beard, i swear one of these days I’m going to kick her out.” She glared at the dragon, then at Lumaira. The dragon squeaked, then shook its head hard. It sneezed several more times, its tongue slipping out from between its teeth. The tongue was an eggplant purple instead of the bright red it was supposed to be. Shanael sighed again.

“Fine, but it’s only staying until it’s better. We can’t have wild dragons in the house.”

Lumaira beamed. She knew that while Shanael put on a tough, heartless facade, she would be the first to bond with the new dragon. He wasn’t going to go anywhere, even after he healed. She hugged the dragon and spun away, humming. Shanael shook her head in exasperation, a half smile on her lips.

“I swear, one of these days…”