Young Writers Society

This is a quick beginning for a story that I threw together in about a week. Feel free to rip it apart until it's raw and bleeding.

It was just before the first hints of color streaked their way across the sky as I tore through the harsh and rugged terrain of the Suicide Cliffs, my dirty gray sneakers pounding a familiar beat against the barren earth. I hated the way that my eyes betrayed my panic by unconsciously darting from left to right and back again, showing me the practically identical views on either side of me: the arid and rocky ground of the Suicide Cliffs expanding on both sides of me for roughly one hundred yards before succumbing to the heavily forested area that was the Stoners’ Wood, which went on for only-gods-know-how-long. I felt an eerily familiar wrenching feeling in my gut as I heard the cold howling of bloodhounds from a mile or less behind me, informing their devious masters that they were drawing nearer to their prey.

Shit.

I could feel a grimace pulling across my face as the biting autumn air stung my face, making my hair billow out three feet behind me as it blew. I could sense my blood running through my veins with the coldness of ice, could hear the erratic beating of my heart reverberating around my skull, and could feel the burning knives slipping through my ribs with every breath that I managed to gasp in. There was only one fevered thought rushing through my mind:

I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die…

I suddenly realized that I could hear nothing but the pounding of my heartbeat in time with the rhythm of my sneakers against the earth, and I felt a sudden hope rise up in me. It was shattered several previous moments of life and freedom later, when I heard the yowling of the bloodhounds pick up once again, louder than ever. I felt a paralyzing fear make a liquid-like heat run through my muscles as I whipped around in a one-eighty, so that I could see behind me as I ran backwards. The scarlet eyes of the three demonic bloodhounds stood out as six sadistic lanterns in the early morning darkness; they had gained seven hundred yards or more and me, and they were drawing nearer with every passing second. I hurriedly twisted around again so that I could harden my run into a frantic sprint, feeling unwilling terror etch itself across my face as a frantic prayer formed in my mind, rash promises on the tip of my tongue.

If you let me live tonight gods give me one more hour of freedom I swear I’ll stop running fighting I’ll go back to the Abyss be a good girl do whatever daddy wants me to do no complaints I know it’s wrong hurting stealing killing but one more hour one more minute one more second please gods I promise don’t let the dogs get me don’t let the guards get me please no I’ll be daddy’s good little marauder daughter-

I suddenly realized that the edge of the Suicide Cliffs were rising up ahead of me, much closer than I had expected, and I whipped my head desperately around, my eyes flitting around to find an escape route. It was several minutes too late now, with the edge only twelve yards or more ahead of me; if I switched my course to the Stoners’ Wood, those dogs would surely intercept me midway, and then I would be done for.

I guess that you’re not on my side tonight, gods. Bastards.

I stared in horrified anticipation as the edge of the Suicide Cliffs grew closer with every step that I took, but I slowly began to realize that every time that my sneakers pounded out a new beat on the ground, more and more of my fear was washed away, replaced by a sweet and haunting indifference. I felt my thoughts become hazy as pure adrenaline took over my tired body, mechanically driving me nearer and nearer to the endless drop.

That old saying- back in the Abyss- liberation or fatality- just a fancy way of saying- freedom or death- freedom or death- freedom or death- freedom or death…?

I felt a laugh rise up in my throat, surprising me as it crept past my lips, cruelly mocking my very existence. I felt an overwhelming impulse rise up in me, and I obeyed it without logical argument, spinning around drunkenly as I approached the daunting edge of the stone overhang. I staggered around on the hard ground for a few moments, an oddly trippy feeling rising up in my mind, before I felt my sneakers catch on the last step prior to the ending of my world, steeled myself for what I was about to do, and propelled myself into empty space.

I choose- deliverance- independence- emancipation- liberation- freedom- freedom- freedom-

I felt like I had stepped into one of my nighttime trips, not one of the nightmares, but one of the rare and incredibly surreal dreams. I could feel the sparse early morning sunlight warming my skin; I could taste that the cool breeze had a bittersweet scent, like burning roses; I could see the sky enveloping me, enticing me into the clouds with its billion or more dazzling sunrise colors.

So sweet… so beautiful… like nothing in the Abyss… so gentle… so unrestrained… like nothing in the Abyss…

That was right about when my eternal descent into darkness began. I felt my eyes widen in abrupt shock as the Rush Oceans, nearly a thousand miles below me and growing closer with each passing heartbeat, sped up to meet me. I felt a wall of terror slam into me at once, but it dissipated just as quickly, to be replaced with a tired kind of sadness. I found it pitiful that I couldn’t even summon the will to scream as I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the sunlight warm my face for the last time.

So… terrifying… and yet… so… peaceful…

That was when I heard his voice for the first time.

“I’ve been waiting for you, girl.”

I felt a dark shroud of peace instantly envelop my body, smothering the initial burst of shock that had burned through my veins when I first heard the voice, haunting and chilling in my mind. I hazily realized that my descent had slowed, as though I was falling through liquid sunlight itself, as I whispered three words in my mind:

“Who are you?”

The response was instant.

“Think back to the only place that you have to remember to forget, girl: think back to the only soul in this world who ever showed kindness to you.”

I could almost see the answer hanging out in the air in front of me.

That cruel… skeletal… lawless… hopeless… village… in the lowlands… the Abyss… my home.

I felt an odd tingling sensation run down my spine, and I realized that even though the voice hadn’t sounded again, it was nodding its agreement, prompting me on.

That elderly man… the storyteller… the Wolf Master… the only soul… who was ever kind… to me… Wolf Master Sinn.

I heard a chilling laugh in my mind, and I knew that I had guessed right.

“Precisely. How many of his stories do you remember, girl?”

I didn’t think that I would be able to forget any of those nightmarish stories for as long as I lived.

“All of them.”

The presence seemed satisfied.

“Then you remember the blackest and most lethal of all the gods and goddesses.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew that I knew the answer. He had probably known that all along.

“Lord Miekel.”

That coldly amused laugh was back for only a moment before the god of death and darkness proclaimed grandly:

“Call me Miek.”