Alyss // Shadows of the Past \\

Alyss woke up to the sound of her sister’s screaming. She couldn't see Marian but she could definitely hear her thrashing around. Alyss reached for the flashlight that was under her pillow, flipping it on.

“Marian.” She whispered while sitting next to the tattered mattress that Marian slept on. She shook Marian’s shoulders.

“Wake up.” Marian sat up quickly, her tear filled eyes wide open.

“Alyss!” Marian wrapped her arms around Alyss, refusing to let go no matter how many times Alyss tried to push her off.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay now.” Alyss said attempting to comfort her sister.

“This was w-worse.” Marian said choking back a sob. Alyss sat in silence while she waited for Marian to recover. She looked around the old warehouse loft that they had lived in for since she was nine. An old woman had brought them there one day after she had found them out on the street. She brought them to the warehouse and told them to stay there and to try not to be seen. She visited often in their first year there but one day she decided to stop coming. They had never found out what happened to her but they assumed to worst. The worst was all they ever got.

“Alyss?” Marian asked, bringing Alyss back to reality.

“Yeah. You okay?” Marian nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?” All that came after was silence.

        It was around five in the morning and Alyss couldn't come up with a reason to go back to sleep so she walked towards the open window on the opposite wall. Leaning against the frame she was thrown into her memories. The shadows of her past. She saw her sister leading her by the hand down a dark alley way. She saw the elderly woman help them up into the abandoned loft. She saw all of the years that she and Marian struggled to get through together. None of these memories affected her but the one that did was from the day before.

***

        Alyss walked towards the jewelry store with one thing in mind: Marian’s birthday present. She had seen it in the shop window one morning and immediately planned on getting it but there was one problem. She had no money. Alyss walked into the jewelry store, the bell over the door rang as it opened and closed.

“Hello, may I help you?” The clerk asked from behind the counter. She had long, caramel colored hair and was covered with freckles.

“I’m just looking around, thanks.” Was Alyss’ response.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything.” Alyss nodded distracted. She browsed the shelves until she found what she was looking for.

A simple, silver crescent moon necklace. Perfect.

“How much is this?” Alyss asked the clerk.

“That…is thirty dollars.” The clerk said with a smile. “It’s very pretty isn’t it?” Alyss just smirked. The clerk was so nice, she almost felt bad for what she was about to do. She put the necklace back in its case.

The clerk turned her back and Alyss shoved the case into her pocket. She casually made her way to the door. The bell rang twice. She waited to see if the clerk would notice.

“Thief!” Alyss heard the clerk yell. She turned the corner and began to run. Not too long after, Alyss heard the sirens. She laughed. That was fast.

Alyss was three blocks away from the shop, the park in front of her. Alyss broke into a sprint. She turned her head to look back but all of the sudden she hit something hard and hit the ground.

“Watch it!” The object yelled. After she recovered she looked at the figure in front of her. It was a boy around her age. He was tall and looked a little awkward. His icy blue eyes complimented his dark brown hair. Alyss looked back to see if she had lost the cops, which she had.

The boy saw that she was on edge, “What are you running from?” he asked. Alyss was dazed from the impact. He must have been running too to have hit her that hard.

“I may or may not have just robbed a jewelry store. Why do you care?” Alyss said with a smirk. She checked her pocket for the case, it was still there.

“I don’t. I’m just…making conversation.” he said with a shrug.

“What were you running from?” Alyss asked raising an eyebrow. The boy laughed.

“I may or may not have just robbed a tech store downtown,” He said pointing his thumb behind him. Alyss smirked. The sirens were coming from both directions now.

“Well, I should probably get going.” Alyss nodded. “See you later!” The boy yelled as he ran in the direction of the jewelry store. Alyss ran in the opposite direction.

***

Alyss sat down and folded her legs underneath her. She closed her eyes and began to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. She opened her eyes and looked over at Marian, her hair shimmering in the moonlight. She looked peaceful.

Alyss sat in silence for a moment but the silence was broken.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

BRITANNICA: Chapter 1

 *To the wary reader. Be aware that mild language may be used on this blog.*  

* * * 

Name please.

“Lucas. Britannica.”

Unregistered.

“Fine. Ossian.”

Unregistered.

“Lucas. Ossian.”

Unregistered.

Britannica frowned and poked the LP3 Card Generator. “Soul,” she muttered.

Unregistered.

Shut up.

Britannica Lucas flipped shut the flashy green keyscreen on the Generator and pulled a small scrap of paper from her belt. She glanced behind her shoulder for a moment. It was not bright in the porcelain-like hallway, colored pale blue. But technically it wasn’t even open to the public right now, to be fair. It was nice. More than two years old, it was still sleek in comparison to her rough attire.

And today it was empty.

Britannica turned to the scrap in her hand. Eleventh Province, Station 24. JUNEBURN. Just some numbers and a name. Right. But without a card, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Maybe she should try again. Or not. “Don’t think so,” Britannica said aloud. She tapped her left earbud and pulled out her controller, tapping a few images on the lit screen. “Soul,” she said. She sounded calm. A voice responded in her right ear, muffled by what she guessed was Juniper Gas. Always so careful, she mused.

“Britannica.”

Britannica could picture him - her old boss. A huge, black-skinned man from the third Province, scars spreading across his experienced arms like spider-webs. Age: Forty-seven. No. Forty-eight now. Cleanest mouth in the Scruffs, so it was said. Also the harshest, usually.

“Soul,” she repeated evenly. “Why did you delete my LP3?”

Deep, gruff chuckles rattled her eardrums. She grimaced. “What is your problem. I’m gone, remember? You don’t have conch anymore. I’m free. On my own.” She leaned against the wall and began to bite her fingernails. Soul had stopped laughing.

“I don’t touch your shrapnell, Brit. That then. That then be Siren.” he told her. “You been looking for her?”

Britannica tensed. Uncertainty flashed through her green eyes for but a moment. There was a silence.

“I haven’t seen her,” Soul said quietly, as if to answer the question not spoken aloud.

Britannica nodded, though there was none to see it. “Yes,” she said. “But I’m done with this Soul, you know that. Screw Siren, remember? Screw her and her cats. I don’t care.”

“Yes,” came the somber reply. “But that doesn’t change what our old friends be doing.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Britannica mumbled. “Soul,” she said. “I need a card. I’ve got to ship in one half-hour Z-time, and - and they think I have one already. My employers. I had to come in now, when no one else was here, but the Generator won’t take me.

“Britannica,” came the rumbling voice again. “Do you remember Jetson?”

At the sound of the name, Britannica instinctively reached for her belt, where a gold javelin nestled comfortably, folded carefully by her hip. “Damn it Soul,” she hissed. “Let off.”

“He be tracking you, Digger.” Digger. Her old nickname.

She shook her head. “Clocks is in the Chinese Scruffs. Province Fifteen.”

“No more. Si-”

“Look Soul, this is dumb. I don’t care. Let them come. Next time they drop by for a chat, tell them to come. See if I care.”

Britannica cut the connection. And then she sat down, her back to the smooth pale wall. Her skin was still cool, but she needed to breathe more evenly. Siren... Clocks... She could murder their titles alone. The grim fourteen-year-old pulled out her javelin and immediately it snapped to attention, gleaming dimly in the light. The point was sharp and regal.

Let them come, thought the girl they called Britannica.

They may chase, but she would never run, like last time. Never in a hundred lifetimes. Though by Scruff standards, those were pretty short.

Let them come. But now, Britannica thought, she had a flight to catch. And someone had already stolen her ticket.

Kenzie - Chapter 1

                

                 Lost. She was lost in the hollow of darkness created by her despair. Vague sensations from the movement around her threatened to pull her into reality, but despair had too great a hold on her feeble soul. Guilt. It surrounded her being, and tugged her deeper into the anguish in which she was trapped. A chilling, white hand slapped her already torn back. Her red lips wrenched open as she let out an ear splitting cry that demonstrated the depth of the misery she had endured. She lurched forward, and stumbled to the ground, screaming in pain. The hand whipped across her battered head, and a foot slammed into her weakened ribs, which emitted a gruesome crack. She toppled onto her back, and warm blood pooled onto the sterile, white floors.

                Two muscled hands grabbed her shoulders, forcing her onto her feet. She glanced upward, and white, metal bars greeted her gaze. They’d reached her cell. One of the hands thrust her into the cell, and slammed the door behind her. She fell into a crumpled heap in the middle of the room. She was drenched in blood and sweat - not a bone in her body did not ache with excruciating pain. A sob escaped her mouth, before she blacked out.                
               A flood of warm water washed over her face as she started awake. Red spots danced on her eyes, as she tried to open them. Drops of water spilled into her eyes as they cracked open. The clang of the doors locking greeted her ears. Looking past the white bars, she saw someone walk back down the hallway. Her eyes fixed on the shape until it was but a shadow at the end of the long, white corridor.                                                                                                           She glanced the food she had been brought. It was hardly worth eating, but she reached for it. Anything was better than starving to death in this miserable place. She painstakingly grasped the spoon. Her fingers had been sliced, her nails bent and broken off. Lifting the utensil to her mouth, she gagged as the wretched substance slid down her throat. The taste was nauseating, but it appeased her hunger immediately. She reached for the glass that was sent in with the food, but discovered it empty. Its refreshing contents had been used to wake her up. Her throat parched, and her body aching, she collapsed once more on the hard ground.               
               How much longer can I endure this?