The List 76-80

Broken Pieces, Test, Drink, Starvation, Words

#76 Broken Pieces

            Sebastian stirred in his sleep as the sound of a music box reached his ears. The young boy rolled over in the bed he was in. He tried to open his eyes, but something had been tied around his head and covered them. The next thing he noticed was that he felt something around his wrists, binding them together. He heard something.

            "Hello?" the young boy squeaked.

            Whatever it was, it sat on the bed next to Sebastian. He heard heavy breathing. In an instant, the young boy's face turned bright red and his breathing sped up. He began backing away in the bed. He squeaked noises that couldn't exactly constitute as words.

            Mary's grin grew at the sight of the young boy's sudden panic. She reached out and brushed his hair out of his face. He made noises again and she opened a drawer somewhere. Her grin grew again as she brought the needle to Sebastian's skin. He yelped in pain as it pierced his arm. the crimson liquid entered him and his movements slowed. The music box continued to play.

            "Mary had a little lamb, and no one ever knew. Silence, hush my little lamb. Nobody can hear you."

            Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. The years melted away. The young boy that was once Sebastian grew to a twisted form of manhood.

            Mary walked into the hall. Old, pompous, rich men sat on velvet chairs at large mahogany tables playing cards and dice. Young women in dresses that revealed far too much skin walked about. Some held trays with several different alcoholic beverages on them. Others stood behind the men at the tables, whispering sweet things in their ears. Mary's grin grew as she scanned over the crowded hall.

            Sebastian walked in and stood next to Mary. The same twisted grin tugged at his lips.

            "Take you pick, my love." she said quietly.

            He turned to her and took her hand. He brought her hand to his lips and laid a soft kiss on her skin.

            "Mother." he whispered, bowing his head.

            He left her side and walked further into the hall. His eyes traveled from one pair of legs to the next. She was a possibility: tall, muscular, pale, and dark eyed. Those were one's he enjoyed. Mary watched from afar as he floated about the hall. Her grin grew again.

            "Mary had a little lamb with heart as cold as ice. Beware, beware, my little sheep. Mary's lamb does not play nice."

            Alicia stirred in her sleep as the sound of a music box reached her ears.

 

 

#77 Test

            Brett followed Damien without knowing exactly where he was being led.

            "So what happens now?" he asked.

            Damien did not bother to look back at him.

            "This."

            From behind him, Brett felt something hard collide with the back of his head. He lost consciousness quickly and fell to the ground. Damien turned around once he heard the thump. Kenny lowered his hood, tossed Damien the club, and hoisted Brett over his shoulder.

            Brett awoke a little while later, his head pounding and a nice lump bulging on the back of his head. He felt someone help him to his feet. When his vision cleared, he looked around to see at least a dozen figures dressed in long black hooded cloaks in a circle around him. Torches were in the ground , lit. In the center was another fire.

            The figure who had helped him up lowered his hood. Brett turned is head and saw Damien. Two other figures in front of him lowered their hoods to reveal Tikki and Kenny. Brett rubbed the back of his head.

            "What's going on?" he groaned.

            "It's a test." Kenny said calmly.

            "A test?"

            "You want to be a Gandro, don't you?"

            "Yeah, but..."

            Brett trailed off when he saw another hooded figure walk into the center of the circle, dragging in a man with a black bag over his head. The man was forced to his knees in front of the fire.

            "This man," Tikki took a step forward, "is a rouge dragon slayer. We caught him hiding in the City of Ancients after an attempt to shoot down Ash."

            Tikki pulled one of her hand guns from the holster on her hip and outstretched it to Brett.

            "Kill him."      

            Brett stared at her, not really believing what she had just said. He shook his head, refusing to take the gun.

            "You have to be able to do anything and everything in your power to protect the dragon race. He put a dragon in danger. We can't afford to keep him alive." Kenny explained.

            "No." Brett snapped, not bothering to take any time to think about it. "If this is what it takes, then no."

            Silence fell over the group for a moment before Tikki smiled.

            "Well done." she said.

            The bad was removed from the man's head. Dunbar smiled up at Brett. Brett's mouth dropped as the others lowered their hoods, laughed, and clapped.

            "We told you man," Damien laughed, "it's a test."

            "That's not right." Brett said bluntly.

            The others continued laughing and clapping as Brett rubbed the lump on his head.

 

#78 Drink

            Tristan made her way to her wardrobe, stumbling over her own feet. She fumbled with the keys for a moment before she could get it unlocked. Her hopes were immediately dashed when she discovered her liquor supply was mysteriously gone. she began tossing things out of the wardrobe in search for her rum.

            "Altair!"

            The first mate walked into the captain's cabin, already knowing what this was going to be about. He dodged a shirt and stepped up to Tristan.

            "Altair!" Tristan yelled again, obviously not noticing Altair was next to her.

            "Yes Captain?"

            She turned around and hiccupped.

            "Altair," she stumbled again, catching herself on the wardrobe, "where is the rum?"

            "The rum is gone captain." he sighed.

            "Why is the rum gone?"

            Tristan tried to straighten up, but stumbled again. This time she fell forward and Altair had to catch her.

            "That's why Captain."

            Tristan cleared her throat.

            "I see."

            From the deck, Tristan heard her crew laughing and banging. She looked at Altair.

            "Rum?"

            Altair needed and assisted his captain to the main staircase. At the sight of their captain as she walked up the steps, the crew silenced. Composing herself to the best of her ability, the captain walked across the deck and sat on a stack of crates. One of the men handed her a bottle of rum. The men watched as she took a long drink.

            Content with the new burning sensation traveling down her throat, Tristan turned her attention to the crew.

            "What are you all staring at?" she asked. "Sing."

            The crew did not move.

            "You heard your captain." Altair said, making his way to the center of the deck. "Sing."

            Altair took an empty mug and started banging it against a barrel. Some of the men joined. Jolts jumped up top of the crates where Tristan sat.

            "Oh, were are Dresden's army, a crew that must be feared! Led by such a captain, both desired and revered!"

            Tristan laughed heartily, beginning to bang her fist against the crate. The crew, including the captain herself, joined Jolts in singing.

            "Oh, pirates, rouges, and thieves; our hearts so black and cold! To the goddess of the sea, out spirits were have sold!

            "Oh, we are dreaded scoundrels..."

            The songs and rum lasted far into the early hours of the morning.

 

#79 Starvation

            Izzy sat up in the bed. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.

            "You can't have any, Wyatt." she said softly.

            A moment later, the door opened and Wyatt came back into the room. He walked to the door of the bed and went down on his knees. His breathing was more labored than it had been before, and now his face was slightly twisted in pain.

            "Please." he begged.

            Izzy shook her head, keeping a calm demeanor.

            "You know the rules."

            Wyatt groaned playfully.

            "Please Izzy, just a little bit. That's all I'm asking." he pleaded with her again.

            "No. Newborns aren't allowed to until-"

            "Until I'm on the verge of death."

            Izzy took a deep breath. She now understood how Dorian felt when he had changed her. It was more than simply painful; it was physically agonizing to have to sit and watch one's fledgling writhe and feel fear as they head in their former lives. He looked so pitiful and weak. He looked human. Had she looked this shameful when she was a newborn? It was disgraceful, but she could not help but want to comfort him.    

            "This is bullshit." he yelled, quickly jumping to his feet.

            "This is the way things are."

            "It's what we do! It's what we are! Why are you denying me?"

            Izzy looked over at him, keeping her composure.

            "If you get a taste when you're first turned, you'll never learn control. That's what we are. Without some degree of control, we're done for. Our species can't survive the way the Ancient Ones did. We need to remain in the shadows more than ever."

            Wyatt knelt beside Izzy and rested his forehead on her thigh.

            "It hurts."

            "You think I don't know it hurts?" she said, still keeping calm. "I was the first they tried this on. They denied me for weeks before coming up with an appropriate time to allow a newborn to feed. I know it hurts, but it's necessary."

            Wyatt closed his eyes and sat on the pillow behind Izzy. She felt his cheek on the back of her neck.        

            "I'm starving." he moaned.

            "I know."

            His breathing sped up again.

            "Can I taste you again then?" he whispered.

            Izzy smirked.

            "That you can have."

 

#80 Words

            You know when you sit there with your pen in your hand and you stare at the blank page waiting for the right words to somehow magically appear on the paper? Yeah, that's basically how it is right now. And the part that sucks the most is the fact that I'm a writer. So, I feel like an idiot.

            I mean, if you're a writer, you know how it is. Even if you're an artist. You can sit there staring as long as you want. You can move your pen or pencil in swirly motions as much as you want. You can make as many weird and annoying noises as humanly possible. That damn piece of paper isn't going to kill up on its own and it pisses you off beyond belief. And no, it won't help if you start cursing.

            And then, when you get to that point where you just want to chuck the notebook across the room, you just start writing random s**t. You write the word "stoned" because it's the first word that comes to mind. Then you ask yourself why the hell the first word you thought of was stoned? You start writing down the lyrics to a Disney song: "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. In dreams you can lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for you keep."

            You stop and just stare at the words you've just written, which causes you to tilt your heard in such an awkward confusion

            Then you look down at the bottom right corner of the paper and discover that you've written these words: "He's a liar, but so are you. She'll pay for doing this to me. It's not my fault." Out loud, you start asking yourself what the hell was going through your mind when you wrote that. When the hell did you write that? Did you zone out at some point?

            Once you get over all that you decide to calm down and go back to staring at the piece of paper, which only pisses you off again because you still haven't written that story you sat down to write forty-five minutes ago. You're frustrated and angry and annoyed and every other unpleasant emotion you can think of.

            "Once upon a time..."

            S**t! What the hell!? Why can't you do it!? Why can't you get something down? Why can't you get something resembling a human language on this stupid piece of paper? Damnit!

            Then you throw the pen across the room and look down at the three pieces of paper you've just filled.

            You smile.

            It's a start.