Hey, here is the complete and whole part two f Unknown. I hope you like it, and please comment because I only had one comment last post. Thanks!
A sharp blow to her stomach and the air rushing out of her lungs woke her. Paige opened her eyes to darkness below with shadows dancing across some sort of beam. Looking around, she saw that she was lying across a tree branch, and that the high way was above her. Carefully holding onto the tree branch, she turned over and saw a large orange blaze, bright against the black night sky.
I did that.
She sat, watching the fire, a chuckle rising in her throat. She had no idea why she was laughing, but it escaped her lips, echoing across the hills and valleys that surrounded the highway, the snaps from the fire joining in. The two sounds merged together, dancing, winding themselves around her head, climbing into her ears and driving her mad. Paige covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stop the horrid sound, but it kept coming. Knowing that it just had to be a matter of time before it stopped she sat, tears rushing down her cheeks, the sound racing around in excitement.
It was when the fire trucks and ambulances showed up was when the laughter was finally cut off. Paige sat, staring, transfixed, hoping to see the men in yellow suits pull survivors from the wreck. But that moment never came. There was an explosion, and the flames engulfed a few firemen, who were instantly killed. A small titter escaped her lips, but quieted down. Paige sat there, horrified by what she had just seen, but unable to move. More fire trucks and ambulances appeared, extinguished the fire, collected their dead and injured, and left. But still, Paige sat.
I did that.
Carefully, she climbed from tree branch to tree branch until her feet steps on the asphalt. She silently crept forward, terrified that at any moment the charred body of Agent Smith was going to jump up and get her, even though she knew that it wasn’t. She touched that grey, smoldering mass of what used to be her prison. She was sorry for what she had done, sorry that she had been so cold, sorry that she had caused so much damage, destroyed so many lives.
I did that.
And all she wanted was it to end. The grief, the sorrow, the pity. She hated every emotion, and she knew that she had to end it to survive. She was able to put on a mask before, cover up her emotions, but now she wanted them gone.
She knew what she had to do.
Three suns had gone by. Paige didn’t know why she was referring to days like that; she only knew that it was what her ancestors used to call days. The end of the fourth sun was drawing near, and she held up the wooden box she had carved out of a hollow tree branch she had found. Paige stuck the hunting knife, which she had found under some leaves caked in blood, unto her waist band and settled down in a comfortable area of the clearing, waiting for sundown.
Four moons ago, she had climbed down from the accident to the valley at the bottom of the mountain. If Paige climbed a tree, she could see the high way from here, slowly sloping up the mountains towards Seattle. For once, it hadn’t rained. For four suns, she worked on the box, needing to finish it by the full moon. Paige didn’t know how she knew how to do these things, but she did. She knew how to capture a fast moving deer and kill it with no tools, she knew how to stay warm without a fire, and knew how to make the box even though she had failed at woodshop two years ago. Tons of bits of information flooded her brain, seeming to come from nowhere.
Paige opened her eyes, looking up at the dark sky, the full moon an hour into the sky, the dark canvas scattered with tiny pin-points of light. She rose and slowly began trudging to the highway, where those bad memories were held, the box clutched to her chest.
As she walked, she felt the box, the smooth cuts and sharp edges. Her fingers traced out the design that showed an intricate dragon swallowing a heart. She fingered the symbols on the side that would allow no one but her open the box—as if she would ever want to do that. She didn’t want to feel what she was feeling now, nor would she ever again. Despair, guilt, hate, loneliness. All these feelings filled her heart at the moment, and she hated feeling this way. But after tonight, she never would again.
The climb up the steep him to the actual highway was a challenge, and she was sweating before she was even half way. But, finally, Paige was able to grasp the cement with a single hand and hoist herself over the metal railing that helped to keep cars from driving down the steep slope.
Paige stood right in the exact center of where the blasé had been. The wreckage was gone now, she had watched a crew come out, chop it up, and put it in a dump truck. But even though the elements had been working at the sight for four day, she could still see the burn marks, smell the burnt flesh, and hear the sirens wailing over the crackling of the flames.
Paige took a deep, shaky breath, and, when the full moon was at it’s zenith, she raised her hand up high, thought, Oh, God, I hope this works, and plunged her hand deep into her chest.
To be truthful, she had doubts in the old spell. But, as the spell promised, her hand went straight through her chest without causing any lacerations. Paige could feel her hand rooting around her insides, and it made her itchy. But, she kept feeling around until her hand closed upon something soft and red-hot. Paige struggled to pull her hand, and what it was clasped around, out of her chest, but she was able to manage. There, lying in her palm, was a ball of blue fire—her emotions.
Paige felt nothing towards the fire—of coarse, what would you expect? The emotions that she felt towards her emotions lay in her palm. She opened the box, placed it inside, and firmly closed the lid. Paige turned to start back down the slope when a great pain ripped through her. It felt as though all her limbs were being torn off by fierce, ravage dogs. The wooden box clattered to the ground and skittered out of reach.
Paige through her head back to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, out of her mouth emerged two great, fearsome dragons. One was completely black with white eyes, while the other was white with black eyes. They both looked the same, except for their color. They had thick heads and long, thin necks. Two clawed hands jutted out of their body about half way down, and great, massive wings extended far over head. They had no feet and both their tails extended into Paige’s mouth.
As soon as the dragons caught sight of each other, they threw themselves at each other, roaring and screaming. Paige stood, fascinated, as she watched the two dragons come together, claw at each other, then break apart. They chased each other around the mountains, never straying too far, like lovers in an intricate dance. That’s what Paige would have thought it was if it wasn’t for the fact that each time they drew apart, sliver blood dripped from their wounds.
Paige wondered what was going on. The spell ever said anything about something like this happening before. In fact, she never heard of anything close to anything happening to this before. What could it be? Then, Paige realized that she wasn’t watching from afar, but actually from inside the dragons themselves. It was just that she kept on switching from dragon to dragon so fast, she didn’t realize it until now.
The black dragon drew back, then surged forward towards Paige, the white dragon. But instead of attacking, she opened her mouth and swallowed the black dragon whole. There was a moment of complete silence, then there was a sonic boom and a flash of light that seared Paige’s eye. When the black dots had receded fro her vision, she saw that the white dragon was white no longer. Instead, it had a black strip down its back and black circles around its eyes, almost like a panda bear. Its claws were also black, and so was its tongue. The dragon swooped around over the mountain once more before returning to Paige’s body.
Paige’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she passed out onto the cold pavement, where small raindrops started to make small, dark circles around her body.
Well? You like? PLEASE COMMENT!!!! *tries not to cry*
On drawing the reader into the story: It's quite tough to balance prose so that it is both interesting and not forced. The art of good story crafting pretty much lies in creating this balance so your readers will want to read more. It involves not only writing in an intriguing style, but also writing in a style that makes the reader comfortable. Now take a look at some quotes:
