Young Writers Society

http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=112393

13 when I wrote this, I think. It was absolutely hideous, I don't even know how I can be considered a writer. I revised it a ton of times over the years, and the revisions ended up completely different to how it was originally. But for this challenge I went back to the most basic original draft and took the first chapter.
Brief synopsis: It was about some maniacal demon and 'Hunters' who were knights that had to rid the world of him but never succeeded. The first chapter was set back in time and tells of how this thing got out or whatever.

Revised story: https://docs.google.com/document/d/16Cw ... sp=sharing

Original: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pr1 ... sp=sharing

I was playing at the bar Ellipsis. The old brick bar was at 56 Lincoln Street, right between the butcher and the nail salon. The smell of acetone and blood swam out front like a cocktail of death, but it was Kit and I’s first gig in months so we had no choice. New York was always cold in winter, the snow blew around like an ambivalent figure who cared not for man or beast. We were all worthless and equal in its eyes. I finished my set to the usual set of unappreciative glazed eyes who wouldn’t know good music if it killed them, but hey the money wasn’t bad and the vodka was even better.
I finished my set at 12:43. The hands of the clock ticked by leaving an echo throughout the quiet bar, but hey the vodka was cheap. Some people clapped whilst others were interlocked in a passionate mess at their tables. Glasses shattered on the floor as lovers made their way into the realm of bad regrets. Everyone had a place, everyone except the woman in the teal dress. She reminded me of someone….Alisson? Louisa? Clara? ...I couldn’t place her face but she definitely looked familiar. She held in her manicured hand a single glass of malt whiskey. The ice in which had long since melted. She looked at us for the entire set without breaking eye contact once. Her fingers traced the circle rim of the glasses as she shyly bit her lower lip. Her eyelashes were long and exaggerated and I could sense she was attracted to me, they were always attracted to me. Kit didn’t mind, she was good like that. Very understanding, one of the best partner’s I’ve ever had. After my wife left me Kit was all I had. She helped me get better. Grace left me for another man, her boss I think. I don’t remember the exact details other than breaking his jaw. My fist collided into a beautifully satisfying crack and I was gone. Grace was a heartless woman, but Kit wasn’t. She cared for me, helped me. Hell she even got me seeing other people! But that was Kit, a real diamond in the rough if there ever was. Though this woman in the teal dress has really ticked her off. She didn’t smile or frown once for the entire show, just stared at us with those framed eyes. Like she wasn’t even really there.
After we finished and I had had shot of vodka she got up and left. Kit was still whining about that good for nothing tramp. Who did she think she was acting all high and mighty better than everyone? Does she not know how hard it is to be a musician in New York these days? I mean she didn’t even tip us! Kit was mad furious but she made some good points, so I went to have a word with the woman in the dress. Nothing sinister, just an apology. I walked outside and she was leant up against the brick wall of Ellipsis. She had a cigarette placed between her lips. She held it there, but the end was not glowing. She was holding it but not breathing it in. Her head turned towards me causing her auburn curls to flick in my general. She had found a shawl, must have been from the cloak room.
“Hey” I offered but my words caught got in the back draft of the wind. I cursed, I needed this to be over before Kit came out because Lord she would not hold her tongue. The woman threw the cigarette on the floor before stamping on it with her heels, they matched her dress. The smoke from the cigarette danced in the wind before disappearing into the void of New York, after all it is very easy for things to become lost here. But the woman in dress had that same expression on her face, not smiling not frowning. That’s when the penny dropped, she reminded me of Grace. She turned on her heel and marched away from me towards the corner, she took a left onto Washington Street towards downtown. I still didn’t have my apology so I started after her. I couldn’t leave without Kit so I ran inside to get her, she was still so angry so she agreed to come with me. That may have been a bad idea but we deserved an apology so we headed downtown.
We followed her for about five minutes, I was holding Kit back all the way. The woman’s heels rang out across the street like a violent echo of a gun. The snow had begun to settle so I drew into my coat more to save myself from the wind. The woman took a right onto fifth and Kit started cursing like crazy. Saying the things she was going to do to that woman. I wanted to dispute it but the more I thought about her the more she looked like Grace. That heartless witch Grace, who tore out my heart and didn’t care about it. Kit started to get more irate and I didn’t want to hold her back anymore.
We rounded the corner and she was waiting there for us. She was tapping her heel against the pavement like an irate little girl…that was the final straw.
“Will you stop following me?!” She screamed out. The words hit me hard, but were quickly caught up in the breeze and dragged away.
“We will when we get out apology!” I yelled. She looked puzzled.
“We. Who is we? It’s just you and that stupid saxophone!” The wind rushed out between her words. The syllables were caught on the snowflakes and fell on the ground between us with such precision that it was almost sad to tread on them as I shortened the space between us.
“Saxophone? Kit what is she talking about?” The woman had a perplexed look on her face, the spit of Grace. She raised her hand and slowly moved it towards us. She placed her fingers on Kit’s neck so I grabbed her arm. I squeezed her arm tight. She screamed and fell to her knees but I didn’t let go.
“How dare you touch her?!” I spat out in venomous tones. She screamed louder, her auburn hair now littered with snowflakes. I squeezed harder and dragged her into a doorway.
“Listen Grace, we don’t need no jumped up little girl watching our shows. So why the hell do you keep coming to watch us? You left us, so let us move on!”
“Grace?! The hell is Grace! I’m Amelia you freak!”
“Shut Grace. Kit and I don’t need you anymore!” I yelled. She let out a bloodcurdling scream so I punched her in the stomach. She keeled over gasping for breath though my hand was still wrapped about her wrist.
“Kit is a saxophone you bloody freak!” She yelled out and her words winded me as much as I had her. As her words did so did her nails straight into my groin. The immediate stabbing pain left me feeling sick and I dropped her arm. She stumbled away trying to crawl across the now white pavement away from me but before long she was back in my grip. How dare she call Kit a saxophone? Kit was always a better person than Grace. I tightened my grip even harder. Fury was pumping through my body and with each thought my grip tightened. She was flailing beneath my grip like a fish out of water; a teal fish in a sea of snow. Though after a moment she was still. Her mess of auburn hair was entangled in my arms and her breathing had stopped. I dropped her and she fell to the ground with a deafening thud. Grace was gone, not Amelia, she was definitely Grace. They are always Grace. I grabbed Kit’s arm and ran. We turned away from there and headed to the train station. We were always partners in crime, Kit and I always knew what to do. As we were running Kit started singing an old blue’s song. She always sung so beautifully, her voice rang out in a raspy harmony as our feet left footprints across the empty streets of New York. The same streets where we would forget Grace forever.

Ellipsis. 56 lincoln street, N.Y. My first gig in months. Me and kitt did all our gigs together.
12:43pm. I have finished.They loved her, except the woman in the teal dress. She was sat there all night with a single glass of whiskey. She was expressionless. Not a smile. Not a frown. This annoyed Kitt. She could be so tempramental. I left 2 minutes sfter the woman in the teal dress. She was stood outside leant against the wall of the club. Smoking. At the sight of me she threw her cigarette on the floor, turned and headed east. Expressionless. The smoke from the cigarette climbed the wall of the club. It was now 12:52 and i couldn't help but follow her.
Her heels clicked against the dark wet floor of the New York pavement. She turned right at fourth onto fifth. Past the strip club and the smokes shop. Kitt urged me to go on. She said she hated her the moment that she set eyes upon her, and i couldn't disagree with her. The women picked up her pace. The chase was on.
2 and a half blocks later and i was still following her. she stopped in the middle of the street and pivoted on her heel.
'will you just stop. Stop fucking following me with your stupid fucking saxaphone' She screamed. I looked puzzled, what did she meen saxaphone. She picked up on thaqt. She steeped catiously and carefully towards me and kitt. She placed her long fingers on Kitt's neck. I grabbed her wrist
' How dare you lay your god damn fingers on Kitt' I sneered 'Your a tramp and kitt and me dont need no messed up little sluts watching us' My grip tightened. She screamed. I gave her a jerk forward. It worked; her heels snapped, she fell, i pulled her wrist up her back and my free hand over her mouth and dragged her into a deep doorway. Kitt remained motionless.
' If you want to get out of here alive you will be quiet' I whispered. she fell silent. Her brown ringlet hair clung to my chest and her deep hazel eyes were full of water. Her teeth dug into my finger. I yelled and let go.
'Kitt is a fucking saxaphone. You freak' She yelled. Adreline surged through me; she was lying. Within seconds she was in my grasp again. Except this time with an arm tight around her neck. She started flailing like a fish out of water. i tightened my grip even more. She deserved it. 1:39, she went limp. She stopped flailing and her knee's caved. She was dead. Definitely dead.I layed her in the doorway. Her brown hair layed out behind her revealing all her face. Expressionless. Even in death she was a bitch. I grabbed Kitt and ran. Kitt started singing a old blues song as we passed the graveyard on our way back. They would never find us, kitt and me. Partners in music and oartners in crime. I headed west leaving behind me the women in the teal dress and all memory of her

"I must die."

She didn't say it out loud. She didn't have the strength to. She just whispered into the mist as it rose around her gradually, like a lisping hand covering her throat; she gasped for speech, but the lack of oxygen suffocating her in a way that her sorrow never could. Sorrow had never penetrated her iron clad determination before. Never.

Why was sorrow defeating her now?

She stared down at her hands -- her hands, white as sheen, almost translucent, her shapely long fingers... like an iceberg; beautiful... but cold.

So cold.

It's never been this cold before.

"Good, it'll make this thing easier."

Why could she talk about it this way? With such ease? It was as if her whole life had been leading up to a black pit hole, a dead end. It was as if she knew that this had always been the purpose of her life, to snap itself shut quickly, swallow up the carcass, and engulf her in darkness. An overblown, distorted darkness, filled to the brim with fear and uncertainty.

The purpose of my life was to end itself.

It shocked her how she had already started to use the word "was" for herself. There were no alternatives. She was not a coward. She was not afraid to die. Her mother would never miss her.

Never miss her.

Never.

Because she didn't care.

"She's never cared," Clare whispered, her teeth clenched, stark white against her pale skin. Her face was turning blue with every passing second; her capillaries were clogging up. Her limbs were so numb, she felt as if her body didn't belong to her anymore. She should have felt weak, and though the energy was draining out of her, though the flickering flame of light was dying out, she gained a sudden ... spurt. An unexpected spark; not precisely a desire to live, but anger: a strange, eerie anger rising up past her lungs and her throat. Clare dug her nails into the dirt, pulled at a blade of yellowing grass, and yelled into the distance. She knew there was no one to hear her here, that no one could interfere with her in this void, and yelling was just a waste of energy that would reel her into the next world quicker.

This world doesn't mean anything to me anymore, her thoughts yelled out to her.

It never has, the voices agreed.

Clare started counting down the time she had left, half an hour at the most, she thought, as the cold sucked at the little strength her slight body possessed. Time was such a funny concept, she couldn't help thinking. It was strangehow she had only supposed six months ago that she would have wads of it; time to throw around, to spin into the air, to curtsy to and laugh at.

Just goes to show that time isn't a game.

She had never felt so young before. These last few weeks had aged her in a way she had never thought was possible. She was thirteen, but she felt twice as old as that.

But now?

She smiled - insane it seemed just then, but she knew she needed that smile. So she smiled to herself, letting the deathly silence blow through her wisp of a body. She twisted a strand of hair around her fingers, hair streaked with gray ... a gray the same colour as the mist hanging around her,a gray that stood out boldly against her light hair. Hair the colour of hay.

Just like your mother, her father had said. That was when he was alive.

Why did that seem so long ago? The questions pounded at Clare, pounded in her chest and pounded in her heart. A blaze of incomprehension and frustration seeped through her, but she let it flow free.

Free, she thought.

Now I am free.

But she knew she wasn't. Not yet anyway. The memories pierced her soul, jabbing at her like a knife, tearing through her. She gasped again, drawing in sharp harrowing breaths.

Don't come back, she thought, her desperation escalating to shaky heights, Let me go.
You've torn me enough already.

She wished the tears would come, the hot, bubbling tears to combat the decay, to warm her up, to remind her that she was still here, that she was free, that the memories didn't matter any more.

The only problem was... she couldn't fight the memories away.

"Memories are glass, ornate as crystal," her father had said to her.

Her father...

"Don't fight memories," he used to say.

Don't fight, thought Clare, struggling within herself.

"Glass looks transparent, so fragile. The truth is, glass, when cut, can nip at you real hard. It can pierce you open and cause a great deal of pain. There's more beyond the surface, much more. And that," his eyes had sparkled, shining in their navy-blue like they always did when he spoke to Clare, his only daughter, " is what makes a memory."

She smiled through her tears, her face no longer wearing the glazed plastic look it had become accustomed to when she had lived with her mother. It was the first time she had smiled in a long time, and today her cheek muscles ached, an ache unlike heartbreak, it was mellow and sweet. It was an ache she missed having. And as her body drained of life, she wished she could have one wish, one chance to change things. Ever since Father had died, her mother had started drinking. She drank so much she lost her mind. It was a life of straitjackets, medicine and blank walls. Hours of nothingness; days of ruthless anger; months of insanity.

Life wasn't meant to be that way.

Clare remembered a time when her mother had loved her, when her mother had actually been able to recognize her own daughter, when life had meaning. But now...

Life without meaning is no life at all.

Clare remembered a time when her own mind had harnessed the flowery wonder that dreams pose to the young and the new... it was wonder what she could do with her hands, how she could take a stick and a bit of ink and sketch the roosters on the fence, how she could take her father's old, dried-up water-colours and paint the sunsets in all their glory. Her father had told her she could be an artist when she grew up. The dream...the beautiful incense filled desire thudded deep in her heart. She sat at her window, hours at a time, dreaming of becoming A Name. Someone the world would know and respect. Not just a scrawny little girl who was "nifty with her fingers," but someone who really mattered, someone who was of significance in the world. She remembered her father's strong, proud gaze when she came home, beaming, a trophy clutched tightly in her hands.

Her first triumph.

"You'll be an artist someday, Clare," daddy told her, "You'll be a Something all right. And when I'm old and withered, I'll always remember how proud I am. How proud I am of you."

But there was no "being proud" anymore. There was nothing worth being proud of.

Everything that Clare knew, the world she had once cherished and lived for, worked for, dreamed for...
It was gone. Nothing but a charred ruin of smouldering ash, mocking her about 'what could have been'. Her world was one of darkness, denial and decay. It was dead.

She was dead.

Once, just once, she had herself fooled quite well. She thought the world was a beautiful place, full of rhythm and song. It still was, in some places. It had been.

War changes everything. War changes people.

She remembered those days, when her father had been whisked off in that rusty, dumpy green army truck, telling Clare he'd be home soon... not to worry.

"Whenever you feel like remembering me," he had said, "Just go up to the vanishing lake, and remember how we used to fish trout there, the talks we had. Words never fade, you know. They never die. They dissolve in the air, echoes of the past. But they're there." He lifted her chin as she tried not to cry, and buried her in a hug. As he waved goodbye, he yelled to her, "Remember! I'll be there too, Clare! I'll always be there!"

Three months later, the Mildew household had received a telegram. Clare's father was dead.

Clare was never the same. But through her grief and despair, she managed to stay strong. It was her mother who changed, both inside and out. The damage was irreversible. She was no longer Clare's mother.

She just... was.

She remembered her mother's honey-blond hair, how she used to smile, her mouth curling upwards so inconspicuously, that tiny dimple reminding her of memories indented in steel. Steel... supposedly unbreakable...

Supposedly.

Just last night, her mother had one of her "fits." Clare always thought of those spurs of emotions, uncontrolled emotions as "fits," though she knew in her heart that they were much worse, matchless in agony and underived in suppressed pain. It was pain suppressed that dealt the hardest blows to Clare's heart. But she knew she couldn't deal with it anymore. The memory was so vivid, so real... how her mother had whipped her across the face, hit her again and again until the blood came.

"Who are you?! WHO ARE YOU?!" her mother had yelled, a look of unexplained fury in her eyes, singed with utter lunacy.

"Clare!" her daughter gasped, her eyes and her heart filled with desperation, too tired to yell, too tired to resist the blows.

I'm falling, she realized.

Never fall, her father had said.

Never fall.

Never fall.

NEVER.

And she reached for her mother's hand, as another slap plummeted towards her, stopping her in mid-action. Her mother was so shocked, her mouth fell open, she forgot to scream. She looked at Clare, a breathless, sweaty, panting Clare, slumped up against the wall, her face streaked with blood, and asked her once more...

"Who are you?"

That sealed it. Clare's heart broke faster than she had ever dreamed it could. She had always known it would happen someday... except... she never knew that "someday" would be so hard to deal with. She didn't answer. She didn't cry. She just stood up and walked to the door. Leaning against it, she whispered,"I don't know anymore."

Clare Mildew disappeared into the gloom. Her mother gaped, and yelled, "I DON'T KNOW EITHER!" Cackling madly, she sat among the cinders, laughing... and laughing...and laughing.

Clare fought the anger building up inside of her, tried to convince herself that everything would be OK, and this was just another of her mother's "fits." But deep down, in her bushel of sorrow, she knew she was wrong. Her mother was past help. There was nothing worth living for anymore. She had no dreams, no ambitions, no one to care for, no one who cared for her. Maybe there had been dreams once, dreams of a home in the village, the laughter of children, but now they hung in the mist around her... just out of reach. Her life was haunting her, with those dreams that were never meant to be. Maybe if she reached out... maybe... maybe...

Her ghostly hand trembled as she lifted it up against the void, her entire figure shuddered. Her fair hair were cobwebby streams against her snowy face, and just as quickly, the life drained out of her. As she lay there, dying, she smiled, as though her dreams could come true in another life. It wasn't cold anymore. It would never be cold again. She remembered the warmth of her mother's smile, her mother who had died long ago and had been replaced by this ghost of who she had been. She remembered her father, and held on to his hand... tight... tight...

And Clare was no more.

Lia
Sunlight is coming through my window when Mommy comes into my room. She signs “Good morning!” and tells me that it’s time to go to church. She tells me to get dressed, and then starts talking to the boy who just walked in. His name is an E on the forehead. Their mouths are moving, but they aren’t using their hands, so I don’t know what they’re saying. The two of them walk out and go downstairs.
Left alone, I admire myself in the mirror. I like this dress—it makes me look pretty. My hair is still short, but it is longer than when Mommy and Daddy first found me. I like my long hair. Two girls walk into the room just then. They look very different. The older one has white skin and yellow hair, while the younger looks more like me, with slanted eyes and dark skin. Mommy and Daddy found her, too. Her name is an E near the heart, and the other’s name is an A next to the mouth. She signs to me, telling me that it’s time to eat. I follow them downstairs to the table.
Daddy signs “Good morning!” to me, and I sign it back. Besides Mommy and Daddy, the two girls, and E-on-forehead, there are two other boys at the table. When I sit down, I start playing with my Cheerios. I use them to make a person, and I start to make the rest of my family, but Daddy says that it’s time to go. I eat all of them, then I go outside with the three boys. Mommy gets in the car, and I can barely hear the car door slam. I get in and hear very faint voices. I don’t know what they are saying, but I can see Mommy’s lips moving. The voices suddenly stop, even though her lips are still moving.
It’s not fair! Suddenly, I am angry. Why can I only hear little bits at a time, for only a few seconds? Why can’t I understand what everyone else does? There is a very long car ride, and by the time we get to church, I have calmed down. I get out of the car and follow Mommy inside. A big girl comes up to me. She doesn’t have a name that I can understand yet. She signs “Hi, Lia!” and tries to hug me. I move away, and she follows me. I wish she would just leave me alone! More people come up to me. They say some things to me, things that I can’t understand. They grin at me, then walk away. They don’t understand me, and I can’t hear them. Then they laugh at me when they have confused me! I don’t like them, and this makes me mad again.
I finally sit down, and a nice lady starts to sing. If only I could hear her voice! I think it would be as nice as she is. Suddenly, I hear a faint, but beautiful sound. I realize that it is the lady that is singing! When I can’t hear anymore, I play that beautiful voice over and over in my head, treasuring it.
I stand up to get a drink of water, and the big girl offers a cup to me. I am sorry for being mad at her before. When I am done drinking, she tells me that I should go dance. I see E-near-heart twirling, and I join her. It is fun! When we stop, I see the big girl smiling. I have never seen her smile like this! I think she is sad most of the time. I wish I knew why. I go sit next to her, and she smiles even more. She tries to hug me again, and this time, I let her hold me.
Soon, Mommy tells me that it is time to go to school. The teacher gathers all of the kids except me at the table and starts talking to them. She doesn’t know how to talk to me, so I am left out. I feel sad, until the big girl signs to me and tells me to come and play with her. She has paper and markers, so we start coloring together. I notice that she isn’t wearing anything around her neck, like Mommy always does. I tell her to stay still, then I draw her a necklace around her neck. She smiles at me and hugs me again, then tells me “Thank you!” We color some more until Mommy comes to take me home.