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Depravity

I was eight years old when the world decided I was a lost cause. Everyone else in my class had already manifested their aberrations, every single student, except for me. Even the sickly Ignatius Thistle, who was absent five days out of seven for dizziness and weak lungs, had manifested a few weeks ago. He had a rare gift, transferable regeneration, and was not only able to cure his elderly neighbor of skin cancer, but his weak lungs as well. However, he is still frequently absent, dedicating the majority of his time in the terminal ward of nearby hospitals. Devoting the rest of his life to care for and cure ill patients. He was the closest person I have to a friend, and sometimes I wish he would come to school more often, but I could never ask him to limit his time at the hospitals. Besides, we have hardly spoken to each other before, it would be too selfish.
My mother was my most resilient supporter through the years, always reminding me that her manifestation was not until three years after every other girl she knew. My grandmother had all but given up on her, she would remind me, up until her seventh birthday party when she blew the candles so hard it broke every window in the house. But when my seventh year came and went, her smile was numbered, waning each month until there was nothing left.
“You are just a late bloomer,” she would tell me, “just like me.”
She was kindhearted by nature, but even her seemingly endless faith had to cease at some point, and it seemed that time was now. Like a kettle overflowing on a hot burner, I could no longer ignore the signals.
There had never been a recorded case of manifestation occurring after eight years of age. In a recent statistical review, funded by BAM (the Board of Aberration and Manifestation), it was reported that less than ten percent of the population registered as void of an oddity. A diminutive margin that included those who had lost their aberration due to old age and or medical means. As well as those whose skill was below a recognizable level, such as increased muscle fibers or brain cognitivity. But despite the broad categories I could have landed in, I was unqualified for them all. My name was dropped into the smallest percentile, below two percent to be exact, a naturally born depravity. I had no aberration at all.
These facts and more were mailed to our house in a crisp, yellowish paper package on the twelfth of October, my eighth birthday. Despite my growing inklings, I was still caught off guard when my mother burst through my bedroom door, tears pouring down her face and neck. Her voice was choking out my name as she ran to my side. I did not know how to react to the abrupt onslaught of anguish, especially from the soul who had always cheered me on. I sat as still as cut marble and waited for her to calm down. She held me close and ran her trembling fingers through my hair, chanting a chorus of apologies.
I wanted to tell her that it was not her fault that I was a depravity, and to reassure her that I was fine. But my mouth would not open, an hour had passed, and I said nothing. My mind was too busy to function, replaying the past eight years of my life like a poorly funded, musicless video. Images flashing around in my brain of all of the times I had stood with my chest puffed out and chin skyward. The daily pain I suffered from craning my neck too far and for too long. Trying to eavesdrop on my classmate’s conversations about how it felt to fly or to breathe underwater. How many times had I envisioned myself in their shoes? How many hours did I spend daydreaming of this power I would surely soon be bestowed?
Every lunch period I would close my eyes tight and imagine myself on the top of the tallest building in the city, watching the birds fly by. And with a crinkle of my nose I would soar off with my arms out stretched, ready to embrace the world. Landing only for a moment to save a wayward cat from a busy intersection or to stop a speeding train from running off an unfinished bridge.
But this eight and a half by eleven inch paper, warping in my clammy hands, is an empty pistol. All of its ammunition released the moment I unwrapped the blood red string and rendering me motionless, possibly dead on the scene. My mind flutters over Ignatius for a moment, a fleeting thought that perhaps this was a disease, and with a few short treatments I could be cured. I knew I am grasping at invisible strings, but reality is a harder concept for me to understand at the moment.
That night I counted every crack in my ceiling, 847 if I included the small bump left to the light, and I imagined they were people. Each one in trouble and calling out for me to save them from a one perilous danger or another. The last memory I had that night was of my bedside clock flashing at three in the morning and how the the darkness seemed to be encasing me like a blackhole.
The next morning my parents were both awake and baking in the kitchen. I can tell from the scent of burning pancakes wafting in the air and the slight smog stinging my eyes.  The table, the granite counter top and the center island were all covered in a collage of breakfast food and desserts.
“You’re up early today, honey,” my mother cheered, plucking up the spatula from the skillet and posing for a moment.
“It was the tantalizing smell of my cooking wasn’t it?”
How could I not smile at that?
“Yeah, Mom, it smells great,” I laughed, patting down my morning hair and grabbing a seat at the island. “So what’s up with all this food?”
“Well...with all that happened yesterday we never had a chance to celebrate your birthday,” she smiled warmly at me, ignoring the pause she took and started grabbing all sorts of dishes and piling it all on a plate. After the mountain was safely packed and stable she placed the plate in front of me and started crafting another for my father.
“She’s right,” my father started, ignoring the pile set before him. “I know that you are upset about -”
“I’m not upset, Dad,” I cut in innocently.
“Wait until I am finished, please,” he said in a serious tone, demanding my full attention. “I know you are upset, but despite what label they put on you, it does not lower your value as a human,” he had barely blinked and my eyes were trapped. “Aberrations are not a deciding factor for who you are and who you will be,” he continued, as resolved as a mortician. I wondered for a moment if I was still in my bed dreaming. The amount of food was curious, but never in my life had I seen my father so stoic.
“Phil,” my mother warned, her spatula aimed and ready to strike.
“This is important, Claire. I can’t just sugar-coat it,” he was so calm, so collected. How long had he been preparing for this moment? How many times had he practiced this speech?
“Dad, I’m alright, really,” I said in half truth. I was able to get out of my bed this morning, that was true, but it did not diminish the fact that I was walking around with eight or nine bullet holes to the chest.
My mother and father exchanged a look and I knew that I had said too much. But instead of pleading them to believe me, I started eating. Stuffing my mouth full of chocolate chip banana pancakes until my cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk. I raised my head and smiled at my parents, syrup dripping from my tightly sealed lips.
“Mm-ovf-ooo,” I muffled to them before painfully swallowing the sugary mess I had stored.
“We love you, too,” my mother said, giving me a quick hug before walking over to the fridge and grabbing the milk and a glass.  
My father seemed satisfied for now, but still his mouth was pursed in thought, possibly tip toeing on whether or not to continue his speech. In the end he grabbed a slice of bacon and stood up from the table, walking over to the window.
“It’s a warm day out,” he commented, lifting his palm to the largest light beam and spread out his fingers in a fluid motion. A flame sprung from amidst the rays and danced around his digits, circling downward toward his knuckles and then to his wrist, only to vanish into the air. “The traffic is going to be Hell, I just know it.”
“Why don’t you stay home today, sweetie,” my mother chimmed. I thought she was speaking to my father, but her head then turned in my direction. I placed my fork down and quickly jumped out of my chair.
“I can’t, Mom. I have a big test today and if I miss it I will have to stay after school tomorrow to make it up. I’d rather just get it done,” I say running over to my backpack and then to the front door.
“Oh, okay then,” she seemed a little hurt by my immediate answer, but I could not stay home today. I needed to get out and breathe.
“Remember what I said,” my father called from the window, a cool breeze brushing past him.
“I will, Dad. Goodbye,” I called out, gently opening the door and stepping out into the inviting air.
“Have fun,” she hollered.
School had never been fun, but I promised her I would anyway.
We lived a few short streets away from the brick building they called ‘Rogers Junior High School’, and I was glad I was able to walk to it every morning. Once in a while I needed the fifteen minutes to clear my head and prepare me for the day and today was definitely one of those days.
The street was still asleep beneath the orange sky, my only companion a forgotten pink tricycle in the Ander’s yard. Maybe the owner had left it there overnight, after rushing inside at the call of dinner Or maybe she was ignoring it, her mind set on the newest model coming out next week. I felt unsatisfied with either answer, so I kept walking, and put my mind on something else.
“I wonder what we will learn in class today?” I said under my breath, my eyes skipping around the trees and following a leaf in its descent to the cement ground.
After the first corner the city was thrumming, cars lined up in the early morning traffic, and students slowly making their ways through the streets. The metallic chirping of electronic walking signals drowning out the chickadees and allowing the annoyed pedestrians to enter the crosswalk.
I ran to catch the heard, but my feet were not cooperating and I was too late. The speeding cars forcing me to wait until the synthetic birds would once again allow me a chance to cross. I slumped my exhausted body against the steel post and watched the stream of colors pass by.
“Move!”
My ears rang from the intensity of the shout in my ear, a blur rushing past me throwing me off balance. I stumbled from my position against the pole and wobbled in search of my feet. Voices and screams flooded the streets, pointing and staring in my direction. I turned in a circle, my eyes searching for the source of this unforeseen, rapid terror.
“Oh my God! Someone stop him!”
“Quick, help him!”
“Stop him!”
“Someone do something! Where are the police?”
A crowd had materialized around me, sucking me into its depths before I had time to blink. Where had these people come from so soon? Why are they here? What is happening?
I stretched my neck over the crowds and pushed through a blockade of backpacks and briefcases to get a better look.
A circle had formed around a man, he was hunched over something, deep brown stains covering much of his blue suit. I crammed my body out of the whimpering bodies and stood on the inner rim, watching the man bare his teeth and growl. The two twisting horns on his head giving him the appearance of a mad bull, rearing its head to charge. But he did not move from the center, his body covering another figure which seemed limp in his arms.
The people behind me were shaking where they stood, a few running off and throwing themselves between the racing traffic. I swallowed the accumulated spit in the back of my mouth and made my body still, never breaking the sight I had on the frenzied bull-man.
“Police,” a man shouted from behind me, “Police! Police! Police! Police!”
“What are you doing?!”
Blood red eyes locked onto the shrill voice, his nostrils flaring as he bellowed, scrapping his freshly shined leather shoes on the concrete.  He turned away from the body at his feet and dropped onto his hands and feet, his pristine navy tie fluttering in the dust and gravel. With a stomach curdling roar the beast charged at the crowd, his mad eyes swiveling as they tracked down the high-pitched screamer amongst the other nonsensical vocalists.
“Where are the police?” I thought as I watched the crowd fan out, leaving one soul behind quivering and bruised from the stampede. “Where are the fire breathers and ice mages?” The bull-man reared back, his head lowered, bone-like horns gleaming in the sun rays. This would only take a few seconds, a few seconds and another would be killed, I could feel it.
My eyes flickered from the torn and bloody woman the creature had left and then to the trembling man now five feet from his merciless hands.
“H-help,” the man squeaked, tears flowing freely from his eyes.
“Rrrrrrrrraaaaahhh,” the beast sprang forward, gasoline lit candles burning in his eyes.
“Uuf.”
“AAAAAHHH!”
“Ouch! My knees are on fire,” I thought with a grimace, “So are my hands and my head.” I rolled off of my knees and hands and pried open my eyes, feeling the world spin around me. I brought my hands into my vision and watched them split into three copies, each interlocking with the others. They felt like they were on fire, but there was not a scratch to be seen. Slowly I dropped them onto my chest and frowned at the wet slap the action caused.
“Warm?” I coughed, feeling an equally heated river being pushed up my throat. “I hate throwing up,” I thought in a daze.
“Where are the police?!”
“Quick! Call an ambulance!”
“Why are you all so far away?” I whispered as my head lolled to the side. I tried to pick it back up, but I could not feel a connection to the rest of my body. My pupils flickering to the sky, hoping to see the sun again. “Where are you?”
My eyelids wouldn’t close, and I mutely wondered why I couldn’t blink.
“Are you okay?” I heard a voice loudly ask in my ear. I did not pay it much mind, the sight of rushing feet and cars was too distracting. The blurs intertwining and fusing into the flashes of blue, red and white.
“Dear Lord, what happened?”
“We are not sure yet, Sir. Please stand back,” The voice was clear cut, but it sounded nice. It reminded me of my mother.
I felt my body being lifted into the air, my eyes finally able to look at the yellowing atmosphere above the peaks of the skyscrapers.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“We are not sure. Please, step back.”
“He saved my life! Please, can I ride with him? Please!”
“Okay, but stay clear of the EMTs while they work.”
“Thank you!”
It was cold and I wanted the warmth from before back.Where did it go?
“Where?” I asked as the skies were painted white.
“Hey, um-I, you’re in an ambulance,” someone to my right said, but I could not turn to see who it was and I did not recognize the voice.
“He’s lost too much blood. Sir, sit back.”
“Wait, is he going to be okay? Please, there must be a healer close by! Someone has to be able to heal him!”
“Sir, please. You are creating too much stress, lower your voice. We are doing all we can.”
“It’s not enough! Why aren’t you all healers?! What right do you have to be doctors if you can’t heal!”
“Sit down, Sir!”
I wonder if my father is at the office yet. Working his magic on the third floor printer machine. It was always breaking down.
“Why are we driving?! There are hundreds of flying and speed aberration specialists! Where are all they?! What can you guys even do?!”
“Sir, if you continue yelling we will be forced to calm you down. Please be quiet, this boy doesn’t need any more stress.”
There was not one crack in the ceiling. It was all white.
“You’re right. I’m sorry I-...I wish I could do something for him, anything! But all I can do is see at night, I’m nothing.”
The air was so cold, I want warmer air.
“He’s a strong boy, Sir.”
“Yeah, he is. Did you see what happened?”
Dad?
“No, Sir. Please, we let you ride, do not make us throw you out.”
“This guy just lost it and started attacking people right in front of the subway station. No one was doing anything and when he came after me I thought that was gonna be it.”
“Sir, you have to be quiet.”
“No one was going to help me. No one. But this kid ran out and he just ripped one of the guy’s horns right off of his head! The other horn must have...He ran right in front of me. No one would even get close and he ran in front of me. God, if I had a useful aberration, I-”
“There was nothing you could do, Sir.”
“I know. This kid, he is something else. He ran out in front of me. He saved my life.”
“He’s very brave.”
“He’s a hero.”
Depravity
Summary- For most of my life I had believed I would be given an aberration, a special gift. But after my eighth birthday came and went, I had to give up hope. I would be a depravity.

Another Creative Writing piece I made with only the objective to write four pages or more. I am pretty fond of this story and I had a lot of time writing it. 
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Raindrops Talk
The sun should have rose an hour ago, but the dismal morning storm clouds prevented even the slightest view of its rays. A sunrise is considered by most to be a sensational and alluring view, inspiring even the most gloomy of creatures. Not that he coveted any aspect of light or the daytime hours. If anything he was trying his best to avoid the sun all together and today was turning out to be the perfect day for him to slink about in the shadows. It was these dark, pluvious days that Jaden looked forward to most. If it were a usual day, he would have had to leave his apartment in the cover of night or before even the earliest bird could yawn and stretch. He had to become a vampire for this job, a being deprived of light, life and love. And no matter how he started his days, these early mornings proved to be putting more and more strain between his eyes. He was only in his late teens and already he was experiencing the plummet of a youthful face.
The somber sky was as grey and stormy as he had ever seen it, a blessing to wake up to. Nothing could have proved itself to be more relaxing for him at the moment and because of the elongated hours of darkness, Jaden was able to sleep past three in the morning. So with the renewed strength of an extra two hours of sleep, he dashed out of his apartment and blended into the scenery with a confident ease.
Lately there had been a legion of exceedingly sunny days, bordering on a drought, and precipitation was gladly received by the city. But no one was as appreciative as Jaden at the moment. Where most days he was forced to gradually slither through the alleys, today he was just another pedestrian desperate to be out from the deluge and wind. Adorned in his newly acquired rain coat, he could walk virtually undetectable anywhere he wished. However, when turning the corner he came into a blind collision with a body that outweighed his own. The force threw him off of his feet, his breath leaving his body before a large weight dropped on his chest.
“Oh geez man I’m sorry,” the figure cried while quickly moving off his chest. Jaden felt the weight lift from his chest and took in a deep breath. A hand came in and out of his view, creating a dull pain between his sore eyes. With a groan he ran a hand through his hair and around his head, which was throbbing from its sudden contact with the pavement.
“Are you alright?” the blurry mass asked in a panic, his waving hands wavering in the cold rain.
Jaden scowled as his vision cleared and the hazy figure transformed into a drenched teenager who was staring at him with wide ebony eyes. Jaden rolled his own green eyes and picked himself up off the ground.
“I’m fine.” Jaden monotonously mumbled, dusting off his pants and checking his knees for wounds. The doe-eyed teenager seemed relieved to hear that and stood up as well.
“Thank goodness,” he exhaled. “I was afraid you would get a concussion or something,” the boy laughed and gave a weak smile. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Jaden allowed him a small nod, after all he too was not watching his speed as he turned the corner. He was partly to blame as well.
Jaden turned on his heels and continued a slower trek down the street, having learned his lesson after feeling his head smack on the pavement without any shock absorbent. A frigid hand fell on his shoulder after a few measured steps and he was forced to turn his head.
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I mean that was a hard fall and you don’t look so good.”
It seemed this teenager not only had bad balance, but was shortsighted as well. He must not have understood that his nod was to be the end of their meeting.
“I told you I’m fine,” Jaden blinked.
The unsagacious teenager stood awkwardly as he watched the gray hair boy slowly turn and walk down the street. Shifting from foot to foot and looking around the street, the astigmatic teen was met with nothing but apartment buildings, a cafe, and a single parked car. The rain clouded much of the scenery, along with bursts of fog and steam from the sewage vents, but still he could clearly watch the other boy walking away. He bit his lip and fiddled with the hem of his pant pocket, mulling over his options.
“What would my mom say if I let this kid pass out in some alleyway?” he asked himself in a whisper, pulling at the ends of his hair and kicking his marshy feet. “She would probably hit me over the head too, just to show me how he must’ve felt,” the imperceptive boy laughed before starting a small jog after the other teenager. Expeditiously grabbing at the sleeve of the grey rain coat and tugging it toward him. The boy reacted quicker than he was expecting and in the blink of an eye he was flat on his back, an acute pain resounding in his head and spine. Green eyes widened as he was once again looking into wide black pupils.
“What are you doing?” Jaden asked, his right hand ghosting over the knife he concealed in his left sleeve. “Leave me alone. I already told you I am fine,” he glared at the speechless teen below him, his tan hands lifting up in surrender.
“S-sorry dude you are right,” the boy stuttered and gulping down the spit that had accumulated in the back of his mouth. “I-uh, I’m sorry I ran up on you like that.”
Jaden released his tense muscles and clicked his tongue in annoyance. He had just about had it with this intrusive teen and he was not against using threats to make him leave. But after looking down at the shaking form on the ground, he was certain he would not need to persuade him any longer. Jaden cracked his neck with a satisfying crunch before leaving the drowned boy to quiver in the puddles.
“Man, that was impressive! You must do karate,” the black haired teen jogged after him with unpunctured charisma. The obtuseness of his character was unfathomable to Jaden. Even the most dense of men should have understood by now that he was unwanted.
“He can not be a normal civilian,” Jaden thought, grinding his teeth loudly in an attempt to scare off the other off. When the action went unnoticed he tried scowling and even gave a small growl. The smiling fool simply snickered, as if it were meant to be an endearing form of humor.
“You know, dude, you have a scary face,” the boy slapped his knee in mirth and gave the grey haired teen a clasp on the shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” the teen spat. Smacking the appendage off of his shoulder.
“Okay. Sorry man, I didn’t mean to upset you,” the cheerful boy nervously mumbled, taking his hand back and gently rubbing away the aching red mark.
“I’m not upset. I’m angry,” the disgruntled teen shot. “There is a difference.”
“No there isn’t, they’re the same thing.”
Black eyebrows shifted forward, ready to defend his knowledge.
“The definition of ‘upset’ is to be of a nervous, irritable state of mind, which I am not. I already said I am angry,” Jaden quipped.
“Yeah man, you just said it. You’re in an irritable mind set,” the boy nodded his head, crossing his hands over each other as if claiming victory.
“I do not see why you should look so accomplished, you are still wrong.”
“What? How?”
The black haired teen tilted his head at the almost, dare he say, content simper from the usually gray teen?
“Irritable means to be easily susceptible to annoyance,” he could feel a smirk beginning to bloom on his face, but he held it back. “And though you are exceedingly annoying, I am not easily susceptible to it.”
“Dude.”
The dark teen was silent, but continued to walk alongside his gray company.
Thinking that he had won the verbal debate, Jaden let the smirk play over his face for a moment, before letting it melt away. The sound of the violent rain continued the conversation.
“Pssssht,” the teen snickered after breaking free from tight lips and shattering the lull.
Green eyes flickered over to his left before rolling around in his skull. “I should have known he would not stay silent for long,” Jaden thought to himself.
“I think that was the most random conversation I’ve ever had,” the lively teen laughed, with his mouth opened so wide all thirty-two of his sharp, white teeth were visible. Stopping only a few seconds to breathe, he continued laughing until his face was flushed. After a minute or two of watching the boy spasm in self amusement, Jaden gave a small huff. It was only thanks to the thunderous rain that it went undetected.
Raindrops Talk
Another one of my creative writing pieces. This one just had to have two pages of dialogue, which was pretty easy to do. It is a bit improvisational but I think it turned out alright.
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As much as I despise acknowledging stereotypes, arrogance is a greater sin in my eyes. Ignoring my own character would be the equivalent of shooting myself in the foot and throwing my body into the streets. Not only would I be vulnerable, but I would be at a disadvantage. The only way to stay alive in this profession is to know how to blend in, and if you stand out, you need to find ways of quieting your appearance or nature. But instead of characterizing my disposition as “quiet”, I truly aim to be transparent. A highly desirable skill sought out by my employers and the few candidates that so far have survived. While many chose black or navy clothes, I picked only grays, to match my dusty colored hair and the wall paint of the building. If you are not searching for me directly, you would never see me, a fact I am quite proud of.
The two men behind me walked at an even, calculated pace, void of hesitations. Like machines set to a code, they did not need to speak in order to  show me where to go. Instead they used a long metal rod to jab my shoulders in the right directions. Their faces were blank but I knew they were getting some sick pleasure digging it into my skin if I walked too slow. Probably hoping that I resist so they can use the rod for its true purpose, inflicting blunt force.
After being pulled from my room I was pushed down the left hall, taking random turns before we came to a thick, windowless steel door.There were no signs that properly marked it as an exit, but I had gone through it once before. I have managed to block out the major events  of that day, but I remember standing in front of that steel door. And how lucky I felt being to come back through it outside of a body bag. As we approached the door I felt inclined to raise a hand and greet it like an old friend, but I didn’t. It sat numb by my side.
I am not sure if in any other outcome I could have grown differently or have been gifted with another life. If I could allow my mind to wander, I would like to imagine different lives for myself. A calm life in the country with a large family, or maybe a small apartment life in the city. I would attend school and plan a course for my future. Maybe I would get into college and get a degree, start a family. But that is not reality and therefore it is useless to think about. My life was chosen for me and I can not fight that now, it is too late. What resolve I once possessed  was cut out of me, along with random sections of flesh from time to time. But unlike the wounds, I cannot sew my willpower together again. If I have learned nothing, it is when to admit defeat.
That must have been the reason they picked me up. They must have seen my weak design and morals, despite my biting tongue and fast legs. Of course experienced farmers can judge the relative outcome of the seeds they had cultivated. Perhaps it is the gleam of their shells that call out to them, or it may be that they tracked down their parents and evaluated their genes for desirable traits. Testing out ones that looked debilitated, or feeble, and see how they reacted to their first winter. The ones accepting of the cold nights were the most favorable and must have persuaded them not to dispose of them. Even the weakest worker can be given a job, or at least that is what we like to think.
Adaptability was a trait to fight over, but if not naturally possessed there were methods to program it. It is incredible to see how the value of one’s own life can change a person. It occurred so often hardly any of the older candidates blinked anymore. Death was a manageable fix, especially if the subject’s passing could be written off as “natural occurrences”.  After all even killers like clean hands. Why sully one’s knife for free and then be burdened with a useless carcass. The only time they properly disposed of the bodies was in winter. In fact they were delighted to throw them into the fire, smiling as the furnace clanged and clinked at the offering. A smile was hardly seen, and to see them blooming in the stench of burning flesh was sickening. Few candidates could look at the heater coils that stood menacingly in almost every room and hallway. Some were horrified at the treatment of human remains, but it was mostly fright over their own eventual outcomes. I never found myself looking at them for too long either, but not in cowardice, but respect. There are much worse ways to get rid of a body, and at least I could provide something after my consciousness is gone.
Despite the questionable morals, they were at least methodical. But if one thinks on it for a moment or so, it is only logical that a corrupt and secret organization would need a stable financial manager. A man that would get things done quietly, quickly, and efficiently. There must have been a party when they found a man who suggested burning the useless candidates for fuel. Finally, they must have thought, a man who has some sense.
Beyond the steel door was a dirt path and a ten foot fence with spirals of barbedwire. Leaving those metal gates and tainted brick behind would have been the highlight of my younger years, had I not been aware of where I was heading. With a paperless order still ringing in my skull and a knife weighing down my usually empty pocket, I took my first tender steps into the cold. My eyes couldn’t help but flicker over the slightly bulged pocket of my tattered pants. It was so odd. With what felt akin to fear, but was more a mixture of curiosity and temptation, my eyes flickered over the handle of the knife. It was not special to me and it was far from new. In the time it took to blink I pictured all of the blood it must have tasted covering the ground, a stark contrast against the white. It was too red, bleeding into the snow and the frozen earth, desperately searching for its final resting spot. If it were any other time I would have liked to think longer on the image, but this was not a time to be dreaming. My hands curled tight into a first, curling around the knife in my hands. I do not remember grabbing it, but I recognized the rough texture of plastic and knew it could not belong to anything else.
This is the moment I had been waiting for. Seven years had been almost a lifetime and I am now hours away from leaving this place. I am not sure if all of those years had passed or not, or if I had just slept and am now waking up. At first I thought I would be focusing on the sky and breathing in the clear air while I could, but instead the instructions were numbing my thoughts. The odds that I will perish in this last test are high. I could not hesitate, I could not waste time, I could not let my mind wander. But still, no matter how long I have been here and how many times I have tried to will away my personality, I can not kill my curiosity.
These are thoughts for another time, I remind myself. I could not spare my mind on that miniscule subject at the moment. I had to move. And to accept the inquisitiveness of my own being would be allowing myself to feel linked to humanity, a step back I could not afford. I had lasted so long behind those gates and I was finally out, for however long that may be I am not sure. But I could not deny, despite the biting cold wind, the air was refreshing.
Beyond the view of the brick building sat a stripped forest of soaken black trees and white desolate paths. Taking one of these perfectly cut trails seemed like the most accessible choice, an easy trek no doubt, but I knew better than to trust the obvious. So I took to the trees, while staying within sight of the road, maybe my opponent is a half-wit.
It was silent with barely a sound in the wind, not a good sign. I pulled up my hood and crept from tree trunk to tree trunk. Watching my feet to keep them from touching the snow. leaping from uncovered rocks, dry patches, and large roots jutting from the ground. My eyes flickering around the area, scanning for any sign of movement. The lull was threatening. How could he be moving without making a noise? Even my clothes were making a soft brushing noise as I jumped, it was unavoidable. The only ways it could be this quiet is if he is not moving, no one is out here and I was fooled, or he is much more advanced than I am. None of the options sounded pleasant, and even with these in mind I am no where closer to finding my enemy.
Roughly twenty minutes had passed when I decided to stop in my walk and settle against one of the trees. This was getting me no where and it left me more at a risk of being found. If he is hiding, then he might take me by surprise, or he could be waiting for me to tire out. I had not been walking fast enough to feel fatigued, but still it would not be long before I am running on sore legs.
Stashing the blade back into my pocket, I grabbed at the tree and leaped for the closest branch. There was a soft crunch as my hands pulled at the moist bark. I gritted my teeth before pulling myself up all the way. If the enemy has a long ranged weapon, that could have been all he needed to shoot me down. Now at least seven feet off the ground I took in the new view. It was better, but still I could climb higher and widen my range. Jumping to the next branch and twisting myself up to the fourth limb of the bare tree, I stopped and settled against the nook. The forest was larger than I had first thought, but it did not come as too much of a surprise. Calmly catching my breath, my eyes continued searching. He had to be here, they have never lied before.
Five minutes passed before I spotted movement. From the corner of my eye I saw a black movement pass behind a tree, 300 feet to my right. Judging from the size of the tree and the blur, he was small and fast. I crouched lower to the branch, hoping that my gray clothes made me look like accumulated snow. I muffled my mouth behind my sleeve, not wanting the cloud of breath from the cloud to give me away. Slowly I reached for the knife, watching as the enemy stealthy crept closer. He seemed to know relatively where I was, but at the pace he was moving, he must not be able to see me.
Next to the trees his dark clothes worked well to mask him, but as he ran from one to the next, it was impossible not to see him. He was a black blur on white ground, completely out of his element. I gripped the knife with white knuckles and with each step the other took my lungs ached. My breath was slipping from me as I clung to the branch. I knew what I had to do and I was so sure of my victory I felt my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. It was not the first time I had tasted blood but at the moment it felt too foreign.
Twenty feet away and I could see his face, it was controlled well, but his eyes were strained. No doubt he was trying to track where I went. I shifted my hand infront of me, and pointed the blade in his direction. I was surprised at how still my hand was, although blades had always been my preferred weapon, this was the first time I was pointing it with malicious intense. Before my eyes had always focused on red outlines on a target board or a tree trunk with a white circle painted on it. Now it was focusing on the area between his two brown eyes. A space of only an inch in length, but it held both my future and my humanity. What I thought I had lost over the past seven years was twenty feet away, looking for me.
The boy started to walk again so I had to act fast before he was out of range. I scrapped my foot against the bark and watched as the noise startled him, his head whipping straight in my direction. His hand moved to his pant pocket, but before it could reach in, it stoped. And seconds later his body fell back, creating a soft thud in the snow.
I dropped from the branch and pulled off my hood, glad to feel the chilling wind slice against my ears and neck. Slowly my feet brought me over to black mass in the snow, its eyes opened wide and mouth hung. A small stream of blood flowed from the knife, dripping into the white ground. I reached down and took back the knife, my hands finally beginning to shake as I went to shut the boy’s eyes. I kept my hand over the lids for a moment, hoping that the muscles could relax, but they fell open when my hand left. They were looking straight ahead with no thought or life behind them and yet I could feel them piercing me. I grabbed the hood from his jacket and pulled it over his face. If I could offer him anything it would be an honorable death. My knees fell as I sat beside the body, my head bowed low.
The knife must have burned my hand because the snow suddenly felt soothing. I buried my hands beneath its crystals and rested my head on it. The biting pain reassured me to some extent, and after a minute I found the strength to stand. Deftly brushing off the snow collected on my pants and sleeves, I took to walking in the fallen boy’s footsteps back to the brick building and metal fence. They were a size smaller than mine and powerless to stop my shoes consuming any trace of the other’s steps. It was as if I were erasing every sign he was alive.
My ears seared in the cold but still I made no move to pull up my hood. If I could see them, I hope they are red.
It was a long time before I heard the buzz of the gates roaring to life and clanging open in front of me. A flash caught my attention and I raised my hand, effortlessly grasping the handle of a knife inches from my face, its blade reflecting a set of blank green eyes. I lifted my head and saw three men standing a foot out of the door.
“Congratulations candidate 11. Your first mission is in ten hours, be prepared and report to the information room.” His voice was deep and emotionless but that was no surprise. Most workmen were lithe and pliant, but this man was anything but. His face demanded attention with large commanding muscles and his chin poised high. His clothes had a camouflage pattern of brown and gray and a belt with holsters for various sized guns. I had never seen this man before. Something in my stomach told me to be wary.
The others I had seen before. On the left was a lengthy individual who found pleasure in needles and darts. Most called him The Doctor, but I have yet to see him attempt to save or alleviate anything. On the right was my weapons trainer, possible the most receptive man here, and yet I have heard less than five words out of him that have not pertained to aim and posture. He never said his name so I only knew him as Trainer, and he has responded to it before. I never placed him very high in this system, as I have only ever seen him taking orders, but seeing him standing next to these two imposing men, I was starting to reevaluate him.
“I heard you like knives.” The burly man chuckled discerningly. I briefly looked down at the weapon in my hand, its weight slightly heavier than the one in my pocket, and blinked at the shape. It was double edged and came to a fine tip, a rope woven handle and a circular ring at the bottom. I flipped it a few times and stashed it in my pocket.
The man laughed loudly before returning into the building, The Doctor right behind him, his sharp silver eyes lingering as he turned. I started to walk in behind them when I felt a hand fall on my shoulder, I blinked and watched the hand slip off.
“Good work, Jaden.” I could not hold back the surprise on my face. Seeing my wide eyes Trainer turned and slowly followed the other men into the building, leaving me to watch the ground.
I grabbed my head and pushed hard into the temples, finding a pressure flair to life. Pounding against my skull, flashes stabbed at the back of my eyes. I had just killed a man. I had just murdered a friend. I threw a knife between his eyes and watched the blood drip. I walked away from the body like it was nothing. Why are my eyes only hurting now?
Graduation
I have been taking a creative writing class for the last month or so and this was my very first assignment. We were told to write about anything we wanted as long as it was more than two pages. I had a lot of fun, but looking back on it now there were a bunch of things I could have improved on. The point of view is from a young teenager and his life as he comes to terms with finishing training. Which he now learns is to be a hitman/assassin. It was a broad assignment so I guess I went a bit wild with it.
Bunny Emoji-56 (Nomnomnom) [V3] 
Loading...
The last month has been hectic! I was overrun with inspiration and before I knew it I was knee deep in projects! But thankfully I am a quick worker and was able to bust my butt and get them all done. As I reach the end of the month there are only two more pieces for me to finish before the release of Images Magazine and the Arts Festival! Bunny bored  

I have accumulated so much work that I have been allowed not one, not two, but three walls and a table at the Arts Festival! Bunny Emoji-72 (Kawaii) [V4] I feel so lucky to be given a table, I've never seen them used there before. But I needed a way to display my children's book and I didn't feel too up to framing it, because the real work is inside. 

I also tried the 'what's in my bag?' challenge and I loved it! So that should be finished soon! A detailed illustration of my bag and all of its contents! (I had no idea I had so much stuff truthfully):bunnehla: 

My design was not picked for the front cover of Images Magazine....BUT I was asked to design the first two pages of the table o contents and the back cover! So although my aim to be front cover was shot down, I'm glad I held out hope and was given three pages! I start work on that tomorrow.

In response to my life-sized self portrait, a guy is making a fifty-foot self portrait right next to where I store mine. Apparently he took my piece as a challenge, I love it! I can't wait to see how it comes out! The head itself is five feet tall!Bunny Emoji-73 (Wondering) [V4] 

That's all for now I'll update as soon as I am able!
...can't you see that our relationship is stable!
I can see you hate the way we intermingle!
But I think you're just mad cause you're single!
And you're not going to ruin what we've made together!
We are going to stay like this forever!
If you break us apart we'll just comeback newer!
And we'll always be twice the gem that you are! - Garnet (Steven Universe)
bunneh icon4 bunneh icon3 bunneh icon1 bunneh icon12 
  • Mood: Sweet
  • Listening to: Stronger Than You - Estelle
  • Drinking: Tea
Pencil Eater by Deviant-Danni
Pencil Eater
A huge self portrait that I just finished last week! My teacher loves to give me assignments like self portraits and this time it was a life-sized scale! It took about three weeks but here is my 5' charcoal drawing of myself! And to make it more interesting my teacher only let me use a full length mirror to draw it.Bunny Molang Emoji-76 (Selfie) [V4] 
Loading...
The last month has been hectic! I was overrun with inspiration and before I knew it I was knee deep in projects! But thankfully I am a quick worker and was able to bust my butt and get them all done. As I reach the end of the month there are only two more pieces for me to finish before the release of Images Magazine and the Arts Festival! Bunny bored  

I have accumulated so much work that I have been allowed not one, not two, but three walls and a table at the Arts Festival! Bunny Emoji-72 (Kawaii) [V4] I feel so lucky to be given a table, I've never seen them used there before. But I needed a way to display my children's book and I didn't feel too up to framing it, because the real work is inside. 

I also tried the 'what's in my bag?' challenge and I loved it! So that should be finished soon! A detailed illustration of my bag and all of its contents! (I had no idea I had so much stuff truthfully):bunnehla: 

My design was not picked for the front cover of Images Magazine....BUT I was asked to design the first two pages of the table o contents and the back cover! So although my aim to be front cover was shot down, I'm glad I held out hope and was given three pages! I start work on that tomorrow.

In response to my life-sized self portrait, a guy is making a fifty-foot self portrait right next to where I store mine. Apparently he took my piece as a challenge, I love it! I can't wait to see how it comes out! The head itself is five feet tall!Bunny Emoji-73 (Wondering) [V4] 

That's all for now I'll update as soon as I am able!
...can't you see that our relationship is stable!
I can see you hate the way we intermingle!
But I think you're just mad cause you're single!
And you're not going to ruin what we've made together!
We are going to stay like this forever!
If you break us apart we'll just comeback newer!
And we'll always be twice the gem that you are! - Garnet (Steven Universe)
bunneh icon4 bunneh icon3 bunneh icon1 bunneh icon12 
  • Mood: Sweet
  • Listening to: Stronger Than You - Estelle
  • Drinking: Tea

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Deviant-Danni's Profile Picture
Deviant-Danni
Danielle
Artist | Student | Traditional Art
United States
Hey everybody! My name is Danielle, but you guys can call me Danni.

I am in my Senior year of high school, which means most of my time is devoted to my college portfolio, but I hope I can continue being an active member of deviantart.

Thank you for checking out my page, and feel free to drop a message!
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Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconjoe-maccer:
Joe-Maccer Featured By Owner May 14, 2015
:iconblakelord::iconfaveplz: Thank you, Danielle. :iconcheerdanceplz:
Reply
:icondeviant-danni:
Deviant-Danni Featured By Owner May 15, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
No problem, Joe Bunny Emoji-09 (Heart) [V1] 
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:iconjoe-maccer:
Joe-Maccer Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2015
Emote Seasons by a-kid-at-heart     :funnydance: by CookiemagiK:iconfaveplz:
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:icondeviant-danni:
Deviant-Danni Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
no problem Joe :D
Reply
:iconjoe-maccer:
Joe-Maccer Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2014
:+fav: Thanks, Danni. I hope you are well. 
Reply
:icondeviant-danni:
Deviant-Danni Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Of course Joe! And thanks I'm doing fine :D I hope you're doing good as well.
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:iconjoe-maccer:
Joe-Maccer Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2014
I am. I have been very busy working. :iconmoneyplz:
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:icondeviant-danni:
Deviant-Danni Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Oooo money! Wish I could say the same! I've been working so much lately I barely have any time any more. :work: But it's all for college applications and portfolios, so it ill be worth it in the long run, hopefully. I am a dummy! 
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(1 Reply)
:iconsilyah246:
Silyah246 Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2014
Thanks for the fav!! :D
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:icondeviant-danni:
Deviant-Danni Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
no prob! :D
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