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and the youngest, and my favorite XD
Do me a favor…. Tell Cress I meant it
-ThorneLove those!!
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
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@smiley Love them!!!! SO MUCHHHHHH!!!!! 💖💖💖💖
AHHHH I’m so glad y’all want to read it 😭 (btw I haven’t reread it since last time opening it soooo here y’all go! Sorry I didn’t post it yesterday, I just wasn’t really feeling up to much writing stuff lol)
@euodia-vision @smiley @keilah-h @freedomwriter76 @highscribeofaetherium @esther-cAlso I’m not gonna give any context….feel free to ask afterwards. This WIP is…still so close to my heart 😊
Chapter 1
The family is dragged away. To where, he doesn’t know for certain. Wherever they’re going, he doesn’t want to be. He’s sure of that. Most people around him don’t seem to care about the family and their problems.
He watches with a helpless feeling in his chest. Can he do more?
Two children stand at the feet of a woman who must be their mother, crying as the station workers push them through the crowd. The yells of a man fade as they’re taken closer to the exit, and most likely to the soldiers.
The Umbras.
Peter’s face flushes and he swallows. His hands are shaking but he doesn’t care. Let people see. It’s not like he doesn’t have a reason to be afraid. Or angry. Guilt fills him.
“Where do you think they’re taking them?” He asks his sister, whose eyes are fixed on the ceiling.
“Taking who?” She didn’t even notice them.
Peter opens his mouth, about to answer, but decides better of it. They can’t do anything about it now. He needs to forget it, if he can.
“Nevermind.” He looks away. “Do you see mom and dad?”
“No… but it’s hard to see anything in this crowd.”
That’s true. It’s like something out of a picture book. One of those where you have to find certain items in a giant crowd. Except now Peter’s one of those objects. Lost in a sea of faces and clothing.
Moonlight flashes through a window, glinting onto the sleek steel of a train a few feet away. Gray steam covers the tracks. A bright glow illuminates the tunnel the train has exited from. It’s beauty beckons people to it, but Peter stays rooted in place, his palms sweating at the thought of riding it.
A deep hole at the end of the track is the trains only exit. It’s a dangerous ride, but people will do anything when they’re desperate.
Rows of black gates open with a whir of machinery and a high pitched ding, allowing a segment of the crowded area to lighten as passengers make their way into the train’s many cars. It takes only a few moments for everyone to board. Train workers call out names and ticket numbers. Bits and pieces of dialogue echoes through the room, but only one is attention-grabbing.
“We haven’t done anything….you can’t…what are you…?” He strains to listen but the conversation is interrupted by a shriek.
The young couple is pulled from the line and questioned. The workers, dressed in neat white shirts and vests ranging from red to gold, gaze over them. Their eyes are cruel. One, an older man, points a stiff, violent finger to the rightmost wall and they’re pulled away. The lady seems to put up quite a fight, resulting in a collective gasp from the crowd nearby, and they all move away, ignoring her cries.
Peter’s heart leaps as he watches the couple disappear among the crowd. His slow breaths don’t calm the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if that happens to his family?
“When do we leave?” His voice quakes, making him regret speaking.
His sister’s eyes are half-lidded. She’s expressionless, like a statue. “The airships are moving quickly. It shouldn’t be long.” A sigh of relief escapes his lips. She lifts an eyebrow, staring at his face. He shifts his feet and refuses to look at her. His neck burns from her glaring.
“Your eyes.” She says. His eyes twitch as he glances at her.
“What about them?”
“They look the same as always.” Her forehead creases, as if this makes her sad.
“And that’s a problem…?”
“You have bags under your eyes. You’re tired. As always. Are you not sleeping?” She places her hands on her hips, turning to face him.
He blinks, his lips pushed tightly together. Her statement rolls over in his head, causing him to yawn. His eyes grow heavy, as if they’re picking up on how exhausted he is.
With a fake smile he says, “Can you blame me?” She cocks her head and crosses her arms. Her green eyes seem to slice him open, allowing her to see everything he’s thinking. She’s exposed him. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Peter averts his attention to everything else.
To the right, a row of large wooden desks sit. The people at the desks are barely visible, but he knows from standing in line earlier that they don’t seem any happier than the train workers. Most are women with scowls and pale faces.
Behind the desks is a large glass window. Instead of viewing the outside into the sky, all that can be viewed is an assortment of golden gears, each spinning at a slow pace. A circular, white marble clock face sits behind the window. It’s large enough to reach the floor and the ceiling, but the clock hands and numbers are backwards.
He winces, the mix of sounds and smells causing a massive headache. It extends from the middle of his forehead to his ears. The loud ticking of the clock-tower isn’t helping things. He rubs his temples as a hand runs through his hair. He jumps, turning to face whoever’s touching him. His shoulders relax and his face brightens.
“Everything okay?” His mother’s eyes greet him. Like the sky, they’re a bright blue and beautiful. A strand of blonde hair falls over her pearl headband.
“It will be once we leave,” Bell says.
“Speaking of,” their father enters the group, “The line’s moving.” He prods the family forward. The crowd pushes against them, knocking Peter off balance. “Keep your heads low,” Father whispers, glancing around with suspicious eyes.
His skin is pale and his eyelids are dark, as If he’s sick.
The entire family has been off for a while now, and it’s taking a toll. From the start of everything, Peter’s felt anxious. Worried. But now, with the way his family is reacting to situations and the stress piling onto each of them, it’s heightened all of his senses.
He sees his home city differently now and isn’t sure he likes that. It always made him happy, knowing he could see the world with a fresh set of eyes. He could always see the good in people, even those that might seem too far gone. This was never a problem for him until now. Instead of seeing with bright, childlike eyes, he saw the world as a dark, evil place. The people he thought he knew had turned on each other in an instant. When trouble came, it brought out the worst in people, not the better, and this hurt him. More than he could say.
The thoughts and feelings swirling in him are ones he can’t understand. And it scares him. He doesn’t admit this though, at least, not to the entire family. Only one person truly knows what he’s going through. And it’s the only person he feels can help him.
“Soon,” she places a gloved hand on his shoulder, “We’ll be out of here.” Peter licks his lips, watching the different station workers walk back and forth through the crowd, their eyes scanning the scene. They call more names and miscellaneous info out as they read tickets, and he waits for yet another person to be dragged away.
“What if they don’t let us leave?” He asks. His mother’s lips pucker and she clenches her hand into a fist.
“Then we’ll figure something else out.”
She’s not denying it, he thinks. Which means there’s a chance it might happen. But why? What would be the reason for stopping his family? Why were those other people stopped?
The line surges forward again, and Peter slips his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. It’s moments like this when he wishes he could’ve packed, at least then he’d have a suitcase to hold on to.
The airship deck grows closer, as do the gates surrounding it. More dings as they open and shut. The rumble of engines causes the floor to shake. They were almost there! He leans over to his father.
“Which ship are we in?”
“Doesn’t say.” Father glances at the ticket. “But we should be in the next group.”
Peter smiles, ready to leave. His fear of flying in the ships is overcome by his fear of staying. The line in front thins out, giving him space to breathe. The family approaches a gate where a black podium stands.
A man with brown stubble on his chin and dark brown eyes glares at them. Peter flinches under his gaze and looks away. His gaze falls on his sister’s boots. They’re made from brown leather with gold etched into the laces. In his desperation to ease his mind, he counts the number of times the laces wrap. He gets to five when a gruff voice makes him jerk.
“Peter Barrie.” Out of habit, he stands straight and meets the man’s eyes. “14. Lives with his parents and sister. This is you?” He nods. With a vicious slam, the man stamps the ticket and hands it to him.
He takes it with an almost inaudible “Thank you.” The gate opens and the man motions for him to walk through. His eyebrows furrow as he throws his parents a glance. A subtle nod from his mother sends him forward. With a snap, the gate shuts behind him, making him jump. He glances back at his parents, who are waiting for their tickets to be stamped. He can’t help but shake now, being pushed away from his family by two workers.
His mother’s eyes catch him. They’re creased and he can tell she wants to call out for him, but keeps quiet. Everything inside of him wants to run back, but he knows better. They’ll be reunited on the ship.
“Matthew Barrie. 35. Occupation….” The man stops speaking, or at least Peter can’t hear him anymore. He looks back to see his father’s worried expression. The man at the podium whispers something into his collar and another, older worker joins him. Peter stops where he is, ignoring the prodding of the other workers.
“Come on, lad,” one, a nasty sounding young man, pushes him forward.
“Wait.” Peter says, shaking the workers off of him. The men at the podium speak to his parents. They don’t sound happy. With a full spin, Peter faces his family across the gate. His sister’s usual stony expression has disappeared, her eyes wide. She looks at Peter, and he knows something isn’t right.
“Let’s go.” The nasty man sounds more forceful now, gripping Peter’s sleeve.
“No!” He pushes the man’s hand off of him, only to be grabbed around the waist and dragged away. “No! Let go!” He struggles against the man’s grip, watching in horror as a worker points a finger to the right. In a flash, they drag his family opposite of him.
The memory of the young woman from earlier thrashing about and crying runs through his mind. Except it isn’t a memory. And it isn’t a random lady.
It’s his mother.
“Mother!” He cries. With a stomp and a yelp, Peter breaks free of the young man’s grip and bounds over the black gate.
“Stop him!” A gruff voice yells out, but Peter doesn’t acknowledge it. He dashes through the crowd, sometimes crawling between people.
The first thing he spots is his sister’s blonde pigtails, flapping as she’s carried away. She must see him because her eyes grow wide and she reaches out a hand. “Peter!”
Not caring anymore, Peter pushes people out of his way until he has an unrestricted view of his family. He looks up, seeing the entry to the elevator before him. The exit. If they get into an elevator without him, he might never catch up!
He’s almost reached his sister when a hand knocks him to the ground. He’s grabbed up, and he struggles against the firm grips. His grunts and yells do him no good. These men aren’t letting go.
“You can’t just go running over gates! It’s dangerous, boy!” One man says. Dangerous?
“My family!” Peter struggles.
“Your family is being taken to the Umbras. I suggest you get in that airship before you join them.” His stomach drops. The Umbras. This makes him grapple all the more against the workers.
“I want to join them!” He cries.
The hands release him, and he looks back in surprise. With crossed arms the workers stare, as if in disbelief. They motion for him to continue on, and Peter questions his decision.
He knows he must with them. Yes, it’s crazy, and most would never do it, but he can’t leave them.
He won’t leave them.
“Excuse me! Excuse me! Sorry!” He shoves past the line waiting for the elevator, getting disgruntled and angry yells in return. He slams the elevator button and waits, impatiently, for the next one. Before the line behind him can protest to his cutting, an elevator door opens, and he runs in. He forces the doors to shut before anyone else can enter.
He runs the back of his hand over his forehead, realizing how hot he is. The long elevator ride allows him a moment to catch his breath. Hands on his knees, he bends over and takes in a deep, long breath, bracing himself for what he’s about to do.
For a moment he wonders if, perhaps, those men were right. Should he have gotten on the airship? His mother would’ve wanted him to, but could he just leave them? No. It’s out of the question.
Still, he knows that whatever awaits him, outside of the elevator doors, won’t be fun. In fact, it’s going to be anything but. He’s never seen the Umbras before. Not up close, anyway, but he’s heard stories.
Stories that would make a giant quiver and beg for mercy. He swallows hard and stands up straight, staring at the copper doors in front of him. A ring lets him know he’s arrived at the bottom floor, and he clenches his fists, waiting for the inevitable.
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSeb@freedomwriter65 I JUST READ THAT VLAD DIED…..
😭
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebOoh I love those boards girl!! Great job!!
Wow 😳 that was amazing!!! I really like your style and the worldbuilding!
Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. ~ C.S. Lewis
@hybridlore thank you!!! To this day I still think it’s my best piece of writing 😊
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSeb@lightoverdarkness6 @freedomwriter76 @whalekeeper @koshka @smiley @hybridlore @euodia-vision @esther-c @keilah-h @loopylin @livingwoodchronicles @anyone lol
Sooo I’m trying something…feel free to call me crazy lol…
But I’m going to attempt to write my first draft of project DM….BY HAND!!!
yes, yes ik… “IS SHE INSANE?!”
maybe a little XD
BUT I have already gotten a page and almost a half in soooo that’s progress right?! And I’ll be moving it onto my computer as I go I think, and probably sharing it with y’all. We’ll see.
also! I posted that chapter above from that old WIP if anyone wants to read it. Ik hybridlore did.
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebI do sometimes find that writing by hand is actually helpful. Typing on computers is a wonderful convenience, but there are so many distractions available. Another plus is that it’s harder to erase when you write it by hand (yes, that’s a plus) because it’s easier to stop editing and just write.
A disturbingly short time ago, in a land uncomfortably close by...
@highscribeofaetherium yes I struggle with my self editor (in writing and in life in general….) so that is one thing for me. I kept finding myself wanting to change words and then I was like “Nope! U can do it later just keep going” XD
#IfMarcelDiesIRiot
#ProtectMarcel
#ProtectSebThat’s a good idea!! I even do that with RPs too, if I don’t have access to the internet and want something to do. It adds a bit of healthy density to your writing – although be warned, unless you have tiny handwriting, your work will actually amount to a smaller word count than you think XD
#ProtectAdolinKholin
KP ate my post, so if two turn up haha that was an accident 😉
Anyway, go for it!! I actually started writing my story by hand too, but tbh I don’t even have one page yet, so… 😅 I’m a perfectionist too, so I totally get the inner self editor thing. And definitely tag me if you do end up posting some, cause I’d love to read it!!!
Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. ~ C.S. Lewis
*Tips hat*
I find that writing by hand I write more, but I got tired of transcribing it onto a computer.
And OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU POSTED SOME! (If you get to publish I’ll buy too!)
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the Gork
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