Thursday, May 15, 2008

Happy Memories

This was an essay i did for my exam(except that i edited it.)
I received 26/30 for it, which made me really happy ^w^
Happy Memories

Memories, to me, are short videos that are etched onto the mind.
I, Colette, have plenty of bad memories, evoking only negative emotions, which I wish, with all my heart, to forget. The only means of escape for me is to relive the happy memories of my child hood.

The fresh, green grass was soft under our touch.
I sat, opposite Jim, my face a smile that shone like the sun.
Jim had the softest brown curls and the brightest, emerald green eyes, cheeks embedded with a hint of rose. Amongst his good looks, his smile was the best part of him. It was so sweet, like candy, so gentle, like silk stroking against skin.
He reached out and plucked a dandelion with his small, little fingers and gave it to me, blushing furiously.

It was so innocent and pure, untainted by the true horrors of the world. The truth was always so disgusting and filthy, so different from ignorance, which was bliss, just like soft, fluffy ice cream that would melt in your mouth.

I took the flower into my grubby hands, blushing as well. Jim grinned at me, flashing his pearly white teeth. He bounced up, full of energy, his gem eyes still on me. “Catch me if you can!” He called, dashing away like the wind. In my memory, his voice sounded like a heavenly melody that echoed repeatedly. It continued even as I carefully pocketed the dandelion. It was the first most precious thing I had- a perfect epitome of love that I received. I started chasing after Jim, moving my short legs as fast as possible, my jet-black hair swinging across my face as the wind blew. Jim quickened his pace, running nimbly. My feet clobbered the fresh blades of grass clumsily as I raced to catch up with Jim.

It was just like in the movies – boy chasing girl, except that it was in reverse. But that mattered not, for I was jubilant. I could feel the silly smile that was plastered on my face, the joy that was wrinkled into my skin.

His laughter was leading me to where he was, like a chain which I clung on to, to find him. I soon caught sight of Jim again.
I tore off madly, my arms outstretched. “JIM!” I hollered, beaming. He stopped his running, waiting for me with panted breath. “Come on, slow poke!” Jim teased, his brown curls blowing in the gentle breeze.

I wish we were as blessed as before, without a care in the world. I wished that I was kept locked up in the dark. Why did I have to know? Why did I have to be affected? I was merely caught up in their problem, but I was the one that faced the consequences! Why hadn’t they left me to myself? Why did she have to come and take me away? Why was money so important? I did not comprehend anything that happened. I did not want to comprehend. But I had to, no matter what. The ugly, undisguised truth that was so revolting was shoved into my face so quickly, everything happened dream-like.

I was squashed in Jim’s bear hug, but I did not mind the slightest. I cuddled in his arms, remembering the dandelion. He released his grip on me, his rosy cheeks glowing bright red. “Sorry,” he mumbled, fixing his gaze on the grass. Jim looked absolutely adorable! I leant towards him, brushing my lips across his soft skin. His hands flew to his cheek as he stared at me, taken aback by my gesture. I heard myself giggle as Jim stared at the ground, blazing red.

However, it was all gone. All innocence had vanished like a puff of smoke. Gone, and never coming back.
I struggled to grasp another happy memory, to bring me away from the terrible reality.

Jim was glowing radiantly, his party hat lopsided on his head, sitting quietly in the mass of brown curls. A humongous, frosted chocolate cake sat majestically in front of him, eyed by every child present. The candles’ flames flickered as we sang a birthday song for Jim. Everyone’s voice was merged as one. Jim grinned and blew out the candles, rousing a self-initiated applause from child and adult alike. Jim’s mother took a plastic blue knife and cut the cake, Jim beaming behind her, showing every tooth possible. I slipped past people whose faces were censored in my memory. They were not important. Jim was the star of the show, as always, to me.
“Happy birthday, Jim,” I congratulated, returning the smile. His beam, like the candle, snuffed.
“I- Thank you.” Jim murmured, a tear drop exuding from his flooding emerald eyes.
“Why are you crying? Today’s your birthday!” I told him, perplexed. Did I say something wrong? No, I could not have. “It’s because I’m really delighted. You know, you being here even though trouble is brewing at your house.”
For some reason, I could only here the words “It’s because I’m really delighted.” The rest of the words were mouthed, but I could not make it out. However, in the memory, I flinched. Jim evidently saw me flinching through his tears, because he reached his slim arm and hugged me.
“I’m s-”

“GET UP!” a rough voice commanded. I jerked forwards, only to collide with something hard. I fell back down, rubbing my sore spot as the blessed memories scattered. I was in a dirty, bare and small room that was coated in layers of dust and grime.
Reality struck me as I massaged my bruise, emotions fading away from me, becoming a stranger.
I opened the tiny door and crawled out of the melancholic room.

“Well, hurry up! The customers are waiting! Wha’ did you think yer were doin’ anyway? Didn’t I tell yeh ter wake at four, ter prepare feh early customers? I evidently did…” A burly man stood in front of me, wearing a dirty, studded pair of jeans and a grey flannel shirt. His lecture was usual. I had memorized it word for word. My eyes scanned the filth on the faded brown wall paper, piercing into the wooden floor, with bits of moss stuck in between the cracks. “I didn’t buy yeh so tha’ you could sleep! I bought yer teh WORK! Worthless piece o’ toe rag! Get yeh damned brains, don’t let me catch yeh using yeh brain ter think again! And get ter work, fool! GO!” the man bellowed, as I stalked away from him, back bent. I was thin and lanky, with a short crop. “Aye, sir.” I muttered, gaiting into another room. A customer glared at me, rapping his knuckles on the bar table. “I haven’t got all day, git. Get me a pint of booze.” I stared back at him with sunken, dead eyes, and turned around to get his order.

The horrid scene replayed in my mind again. The memory I tried my utmost to get away from, to forget.

My mother pushed me into a hooded man’s embrace. I caught sight of her face. A gleeful, dement look was scratched upon it. The hooded stranger handed her a thick wad of green paper. “Let’s go.” The stranger said, pulling me along.
“What? Where am I going with YOU? More to the point, who are you?” I asked, urgent. A bad feeling was mounting in my chest.
“Don’t talk. Ask no questions and I shall tell no lies.” The man rasped, hauling me. I turned to my mother, whose twisted smile was getting wider under the dim light, as her fingers skimmed through the wad of greens. “MOTHER! GET ME AWAY FROM THIS FREAK!” I yelled, wrestling with his grip, efforts futile.
The hooded, unfamiliar person halted.
“Freak?” he echoed. Then, a mirthless laugh came from underneath the black cloak and the grip tightened. “FREAK! You’re the freak here, girl. You are abandoned, unwanted by the very person who gave you life!” the laughter rung on and on, as the man unceremoniously lifted me onto his shoulder. He stooped away into the darkness, with me along.
Panic rose, as I struggled to no avail.
“MOTHER, MOTHER!” I screamed as she got further away. “MOTHER, SAVE ME! COME BACK! I PROMISE, I’LL BE A GOOD GIRL, SO DON’T LET HIM TAKE ME AWAY! MOTHER!” I cried, even as I lost sight of her. “MOTHER! I’LL BE A GOOD GIRL! HELP ME!”

I was sold, as a slave, to someone else. The buyer handed me over to a bartender, asking him to take care of me. The reason was evasive to me, but the slave’s thoughts matter not. It never did.
My mother, the one who suffered to give me life, threw me away so easily.
She and my dear father, now a nameless man without a face, had argued so much. Whenever I was home, hiding in the sanctuary of my room, I could hear their raised voices, their fists colliding intentionally on the table, the smashing of glass, the vulgarities so easily spat.

My thoughts may not be accurate, but one thing was clear.

I was brutally betrayed.
The truth was crystal- they were only people with the same blood, but we had utterly no connection. Not one. If I ever needed to repay the woman whom gave me life, I had already done so.
I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with her anymore.

The little faith I had within my heart extinguished. The happy memories, like so many others, became masked strangers and slowly scattered.

i feel that it isn't that good, though.
i can't put in this feeling into it, which i have been unable to do since i took my lit paper. i hate lit right now. x-x
oh well.
please enjoy your day!

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Clades Cruor - fiction.1 chapter 1&2

Clades Cruor

[The term ‘Clades’ is ‘punishment’ in Latin.

The term ‘Cruor’ is ‘blood’ in Latin.

In this story, it’s ‘punished blood’.]

Genres: Fantasy [vampires] & horror

Warning: beware of much blood and gore.

Lance Larerouge was not a normal boy. At the first glance, he looked above average. He had beautiful jet black hair which was swept with a side parting. He had alluring violet blue eyes that enchanted many. Lance also had a dark secret which he, at the age of 12, found out about.

Lance was not human, neither a warlock nor wizard. Instead, he was a mythical creature. He was a vampire.

5 years after he had discovered that he was a vampire, Lance sat in the middle row of the class, near the window. His text book lay open, his elbow resting on the table, his fingers in his hair. The teacher was ranting on and on, much to the dislike of all the students. Lance was the only person who looked focused, who looked like he was paying attention. “Lance,” Eleanor nudged him in the ribs. Lance did not move from his position. Eleanor shook her head. Her short, unkempt hair that fell like curtains covering the side of her face concealed the view of her moving lips. “Lance!” she hissed, nudging him even harder. Lance did not waver. “You lazy pig, wake up!” Eleanor jabbed him in the stomach, hard. His eyelids opened with a gentle flutter and he turned to look at her imperturbably, as though he was awake the whole time and she had just touched him on the shoulder. “Yes, Eleanor?” he asked sweetly, his voice masked in venom only Eleanor could feel. She turned and looked straight ahead, pretending she had not done anything at all. He leaned closer to her ear, his breath warm. “Don’t you wake me up from my beauty sleep again, Eleanor, my friend.” Lance whispered, his viciously enthralling voice wrapping around her like a poisonous snake. Eleanor shivered. Lance was a friend, but if you disturbed him while he was sleeping: doomsday came about a thousand years too early. “Aye aye, captain.”

Lance was no ordinary vampire. He had an astonishing, fearsome power. He was the only Clades Cruor user left in the entire universe. They were a special type of vampires. Clades Cruor was the power that could control blood. In other words, they could control other beings, humans and vampires alike. Clades Cruor was a power that could completely override and take control of anyone’s mind, as long as the Clades Cruor user’s victim was within a 300 meter radius. The knowledge of Clades Cruor powers was now unknown to many vampires. Only four people in the entire world knew of its powers. Lance himself, Nora von Larerouge, Lance’s grandmother, who was married into the Larerouge family. Eleanor Roberts, lance’s friend and a genius who did not use her brains unless she wanted to. Elliot Black, a vampire that was once a Head Butler in the Larerouge family, who fell in love with Marie von Larerouge, Lance’s Mother.

Elliot was a trustworthy man. However, when he overheard the discussion of Clades Cruor and its powers, he dropped to the depths of darkness. Elliot was driven into the path of nasty greed; he became hell bent on conquering the world with Clades Cruor.

Clades Cruor was a gift from god to vampires. The only way one that was not born with the power but desired to attain it was if he or she stabbed the Clades Cruor user with a silver blade and drank the user’s blood with his or her canines. When the power was transferred, the vampire would feel a burning sensation in his or her left eye. When the power was first given to some vampires with a particular type of soul, the word of this power had spread like a wild fire in a dry forest. This became common knowledge to many. The power worked only when the user said, “Clades Cruor,” following with the command. A lot of them had begun obsessing with the wonders of the power. They started hunting down Clades Cruor users that were soon endangered. Alas, only the noble family of Larerouge lasted. As the years sailed past, the power became a rumor that blew in the forlorn wind, fading with every second.

Elliot, one of their butlers, heard the whole conversation and he lusted for power. Lance could never forget the day he made his biggest mistake, and tried to obtain the power by betraying the Larerouge family.

It was a balmy day. After a wonderful tea prepared by the chefs, Marie brought her son to the small art gallery they had, which mostly contained Marie’s works. “Lance, what do you think?” His pretty mother asked, her burnt amber hair flowing down her back like silk. “It’s wonderful, mother.” Lance replied, smiling gently. Lance wanted to scream, scowl, do something else that did not need him to focus on this disgusting woman. His face felt like it was going to crack, but his fa├žade was superb. “You think so?” She asked, looking at the portrait of Nora von Larerouge. Marie von Larerouge had completed the portrait of her mother. “Certainly, Mother. Grand Mother looks brilliant.” Marie beamed at her son. “Thank you, Lance.” Lance bowed to his mother with feigned respect. A moment later, Elliot appeared. “Master Lance, your audience is asked for by Miss Nora.” Lance’s soft face immediately changed upon hearing Elliot’s voice. He looked more brisk and business-like. “Thank you, Elliot. Would you accompany Mother ‘til I return?” Lance asked. Elliot bowed low. “It would be my pleasure.” Lance curved his back smoothly, telling Marie that he wanted to be excused. Lance straightened his back, walking out of the room, a small, gnarled smile playing on his lips.

Lance knocked on his Grandmother’s room’s door. It was quickly opened by a maid. “Is grandmother in?” Lance enquired tartly. She shook her head, looking petrified by his appearance. “Strange. Where’s Grandmother?” he asked, voice harsh. Although the question sounded as though it was rhetorical, the maid opened her mouth to replt, but not a sound came out. She compromised by shaking her head. For a moment, Lance looked annoyed. When the maid blinked, she could solely see indifference. Lance pushed his hands in the pocket of his straight, long coal coloured pants.

He was nearing the art gallery when he heard a scream of anguish. His brain conjured a dozen guesses, one of which was correct, as he deftly bolted into the art gallery.

The sight that he met seemed unreal at first, like a picture that of one taken from a movie; the recently completed portrait of Nora von Larerouge had handprints of scarlet blood. The gallery had an irony stench that smelt heavenly to Lance. Beside the framed picture, Marie was pushed against the wall, her violet eyes without life, and her soft lips apart. The tip of her hair was dipped with thick, ruby-like, congealing liquid. Her chest was stabbed with a silver blade that was covered with her blood. A stream of the crimson fluid trickled down, creating a small pool of blood at her foot. Lance’s eyes scavenged the room quickly, searching for the murderer. His eyes fell upon a man, who was curled into a ball. Elliot’s tainted hands were clutching at his brown hair, soiling it with blood as well. His dry lips moved quickly without a sound. Elliot’s green eyes gleamed with remorse, begging for repentance, dilated with pure terror. Lance did not even think; his body acted with on own accord. He sprinted towards Elliot, face distorted with deep loathing. Grabbing and hauling the poor man to his feet by the collar, Lance roughly pushed Elliot to the wall. “What in the name of devil did you do?” Lance hissed, disdain rising like steam that was emitted from his body. Elliot’s lips trembled silently. Lance punched Elliot’s chin, his eyes filled with menace and intolerance. When Elliot opened his mouth, a tiny vermilion bubbles frothing at the side, and dribble of blood leaked out. The pitiful man stuck his swollen, purplish red tongue out, which was bitten badly. Blood was oozing out from the wound revoltingly. Elliot could only gaze at Lance with sorrowful eyes. “You-!” Lance yelled with impatience, flinging Elliot across the gallery with fueled rage.

Elliot did not move from the spot he landed on. He was like a puppet, lacking survival instincts.

Lance’s fangs had not been retracted, even by the sight of blood. Lance racked his brains for an answer, finally arriving at the most sensible one. He could feel animosity and pleasure pulsing through his body. He could hear his own rush of blood in his ears. His emotions- bitterness mixed with joy, malice blended with delight, the intent of killing accompanied by the eagerness to do it slowly, that would immerse himself in every bit of this sadistic act- pounded like venom that coursed with his blood, which stopped his fangs from being retracted.

“You’d be lucky if I didn’t kill you.” Lance murmured, beside Elliot. “I feel like mangling your body up right now,” he continued, licking his own lips. “I feel like ripping you limb from limb. But, I feel as though sending you to the depths of hell with a completely different look isn’t good enough. Not enough at all.” Lance chuckled.

“Ah, before that, let me tell you why, just why, you didn’t get the power of the king- Clades Cruor. The answer is so simple!” Lance laughed, shoulders shaking.

“She didn’t have it. That insect couldn’t even dream of having it! It was a sacred power she couldn’t wield. Not in a million years. That insect loved worrying herself about me having it. She loved keeping it a secret from me! Even when she kept repeating her motto: Home is a place where secrets dwell not. Home is a place you can truly be yourself, whatever you are, whoever you may be, where ever you came from, what you did is not important. HAH! SECRETS DWELL NOT?!” Lance spat in Elliot’s face, anger rising yet again. “I wonder if she would still say that in MY FACE when I tell her that I know she kept such a dark secret from ME! She intended for me to never learn of Clades Cruor! But no matter, she’s dead. You’re about to die as well,” Lance’s insane grin was again etched upon his features.

What will Lance do to Elliot?[okay, stupid question. Work with me, people, i'm trying my best to promote my cliff hanger which isn't much of a cliff hanger.