Young Writers Society

Hello all, time for another prologue. I've been so caught up in reviews that I've only had time to brainstorm, but I think the idea behind this piece has some promise to it. Now, this is a prologue, and it's not meant to answer all of the questions. I'm currently in search of a partner experienced in fantasy or sci-fy (preferably female because that's the gender of the character they'll be writing) to help me in the process of making the story and/or editing the plot to make it better. Just in case you're intrigued, PM me. I'll send you the entire plot idea, and you can reply with a piece of your work if you still want to help. I'll take a look at the piece and make a decision. I reserve the right to refuse, so please don't be insulted if I don't think I want to be your partner.

Anyway, this does take place before the story starts, and it (sort of) explains what happens to the main character in the following chapters.

The breeze lazily stirred the long blades of grass surrounding the spot where Trenton lay. The gentle swish-swish sound was soothing to his ears, and the warm, fresh summer air perpetuated his semi-asleep state. He shifted his position slightly, exhaling a long breath, enjoying the sense of separation.

Out here, the wind whispered notes of tranquility, a sort of music that rose and fell with eddies and currents much like how waves roll upon a shore. In the city, it was smothered beneath honks and sirens, or even disrupted by other things like anger, frustration, or sadness. Back there, chaos rang from every street corner. But out on the plains, when the solitude eventually cleared your mind of all untoward distractions, the notes of the wind’s song became as clear and sonorous as the peals of a crystal bell.

He partially opened his eyes, briefly shielding them from the burning light of the sun, and gazed at the leisurely-drifting white clouds above. A question slowly started to take shape in his mind. If the wind’s music spoke of tranquility in the solitude of the plains, what would it sound like on the summit of a snow-capped mountain range? Victory, maybe? The sense of accomplishment gained from scaling the height of a natural monolith?

He closed his eyes again, pondering this new idea. What about in the forest? Would the wind’s quiet rustling of the leaves and branches sing tranquility as well, or would it be something different? Life? Growth, perhaps? The cycle where everything dies and yet lives on in the legacy it leaves behind?

How about on the vast ocean? The waves crashed upon one another with great force, and the wind caused the waves to roll. Therefore, the wind’s music upon the sea would most likely sing of power – the unstoppable strength of the primal forces in nature.

The swish-swish sound of the flowing grasses helped him to think – that was part of the reason he sought out the isolation it provided. The notes grew softer, their melodious synchronization waning into nonexistence as he entered into a light slumber.

The music that carried across the plain continued its song for several minutes afterward, though it only fell upon deaf ears. However, as Trenton snored loudly upon the grass, a strange shift in the sound slowly began to take place. A note here gradually fell too low; a note there chimed far too high. The few that had started to change rang with a foul-sounding dissonance with the others. After several more fell out of tune, the melody became soured with many off-key notes that didn’t belong.

Trenton’s nose twitched. His unconscious mind could tell that something had changed, but instead of doing anything about it, he simply rolled onto his opposite side and continued snoring.

The wind began to swirl in the grass, picking up stray blades and dust particles and whirling them around in a circular pattern. As more and more notes joined the disharmony, the wind started to grow in its intensity by the second.

Sometimes it collided with itself and fired ricocheting blasts of air outward in random directions. Miniature cyclones started to develop, picking up large tufts of grass and small pebbles; they all ended up hurling their contents across the field before rapidly dispersing in a violent rush. That is, until the released air currents flew by one another while going in opposite directions, in which case the process started all over again. Trenton stirred, hovering on the edge of consciousness.

Dark storm clouds had begun to gather on the edges of the horizon during the first few minutes of the tempest, and now they were all converging on the plain, giving ominous rumbles that echoed across the wide open space.

The music had contorted into such a discordant cacophony of jumbled notes that Trenton finally rose to awareness, his subconscious warning him that something was off. He groggily rubbed his eyes before the violent gale surrounding him caught his attention. He tried to climb to his feet, but his vulnerable balance was taken advantage of by a particularly nasty gust that hit him straight in the chest. He felt himself fall backward and strike his head on a previously unnoticed rock jutting out of the grass behind him. After that, he blacked out.

He was too unconscious to notice the sun’s light beginning to fade into nonexistence, drenching the area in pitch-black shadow. He was also too unconscious to wonder about the cause of the strange phenomenon, since it was only a couple of hours past midday.

When he finally woke up, however, he wasn’t too unconscious to notice his surroundings; he wasn’t too disoriented from the impact to realize something that shocked him to the core.

He was no longer on the plains. He was somewhere else.

Somewhere… horrifying.