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- A Tribute
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CREATIVE VOICES
March 22nd, 2009 by christo
~Shyla of Shadows~
Prologue:
Venice. Various things make Venice a place of interest: the fact that it was built on waters and marshy lands; the way its inhabitants shaped the lagoon and managed the quaint environment. Venice developed into a capital of merchant empire and into a city of pleasure by the sudden loss of independence. In considering the view and thrilling experiences, Venice defies description. You might actually have to see, wander and feel Venice to believe what extraordinary things we have to say about it. Yet you might have troubles thinking it real although it soon won’t be real because the city is slowly sinking into the depths of the sea until someone can give a solution.
Funny how in a tranquil and exciting floating city can experience the harm, the effect and feel the danger happening around the world. Stories of a band of ‘seers’ who came from the further reaches of Earth: Antarctica – journeyed almost around the entire globe predicting life as it was. When something would happen, when someone would fall in love, which racehorse would win the championship and most disappointing of all – when someone would die. They have since journeyed across the deserts of Egypt, the jungles of Africa, the mountains of China, the barren land of Australia including countless others – they were feared to be the most accurate seers in the entire history of seers. Most think of them as a hoax before they appeared before them, others a messenger from God but either way – whatever they think, their next stop is Venice.
November 3rd – Venice, 1854 AD
“Ugh, no more…please…” Sophia slurred her face white and her eyes red-sore from the amounts of alcohol she had been drinking.
“Come on, a few more. This is a day to celebrate – my treat to you,” Maira replied in the same state Sophia was in.
Together they drank deeply from their glasses of vodka and headed out to the streets of Venice which was crowded with tourists embracing their loved ones. The scenic lights were lit with an azure radiance of light and among the crowds was a small pavilion, striped with the primary colours. In the centre of the pattern was a wavy sun embroidered with gold leaf.
“Hey, how ‘bout we get our future told? Huh?” Maira replied after gasping in the night air.
“Sure why not?”
They both walked out of line and sang a rhythmic tone whilst they approached the pavilion. No one else was in line, no one but the faint whisper of voices. They lifted the pavilion flap up and sat down rather roughly. Maira had finished her vodka and tossed the glass outside only to hear the shattering of broken glass. She sighed miserably.
“…No more vodka…what a…shame,” she muttered whilst she burped.
Sophia chuckled as she gazed upon her friend’s reddened face.
“Hey, you’re so red, you look like you’ve been smitten by a hunky, somewhat sexy man.”
“Shut up!” she giggled.
Unaware of the seer’s presence, they realised that the seer was waiting patiently for them to finish bickering.
“I’ve been expecting you…” she said, an expression of amusement in her voice.
“Yeah, if you say so…” Maira burped again.
Maira and Sophia shared a distorted giggle.
“I will say this only once and only briefly, only because you are too drunk to listen to what I have to say and that you have no money since you spent it on drinks,” she stated quite clearly as Sophia and Maira quietened – intent of what she had to say. “You, Maira will fall in love with a man you care for deeply back in New York. You will live until the age of seventy-six and die of overdose on painkillers.”
Maira laughed and squealed as she shook her head in disbelief.
“What about me? Am I going to marry and live happily ever after?” Sophia sniggered.
With a stern composure the seer replied: “No such thing as happily ever after. Death comes eventually and death comes quick. You Sophia will experience that feeling for the next three days. You will feel as if time has been shortened, that life is short and everything around you is quickening. The time is exactly 8:59 and in exactly seventy-two hours, fifty-nine seconds or if you are too drunk to comprehend exact time – on the 5th of November at precisely 8:59:59 – you will die. Except your death will be different to the others, you could call yourself special – in a way.”
She halted her breath and sank into the darkness of the camp. The fire in the berth died down and the two once giggling women were silent. They left the pavilion without a word and took the journey back into the safety of their homes by their canal. Even though Sophia was drunk, the seer’s words repeated and echoed throughout her faint mind. ‘On the 5th of November at precisely 8:59:59 – you will die.’
When Sophia approached her bed after a tiring evening, she collapsed without knowing onto the soft quilts. She had drunk too much that night and would wake up with an agonizing migraine the next day. What she would not realise the next morning is that the next three days would be restless and mark the beginning of her insanity.
November 4th – Venice, 1854 AD
Morning came quickly and soon Sophia was up and at it doing her normal routine like she does every day. She brushed her teeth very well since her breath still retained the smell of vodka and alcohol. Sophia would then cook breakfast which was the usual omelettes and bacon. Sophia worked at a photo studio for the past several years, taking family photographs for a hefty price but she was considered worth it. The snaps were so sharp, you could see the wings off a fly in the photo – if there was a fly. Sometimes famous authors and celebrities visit her studio and pay her double the amount. Yep, she was handling life pretty while she reaped the benefits.
She quickly finished her breakfast leaving the fatty strips of bacon behind for she had no time to eat. She was already late for work and that was because she overslept due to the alcohol. Sophia snatched the twenty mega-pixel camera from her elegant, wooden dining table and approached the car – fumbling with the keys.
When she finally slot the keys and turned it until somewhere inside the car door clicked, she opened it without hesitation. From out of nowhere she heard a whispering voice that sounded ghostly. It sort of echoed through her mind and a cold, rather unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.
“Yes…go my lovely – enjoy your day while it lasts…” echoed the voice.
Funny it seemed as if only she could hear the voice. Her neighbour next door on the balcony was busy fertilising her plants. She tried not to think about it and started the car. The ‘vroom’ of the car, completely woke her up and she remembered her memories from last night. ‘On the 5th of November at precisely 8:59:59 – you will die.’
The statement kept ringing in her head as her neighbour showed a face of concern. She nodded, expressing to her that she was fine. Sophia rode the car through endless and endless streets and traffic lights when all of a sudden, people started to shout in every direction.
“Hey Nate, when are we going to finish the construction?” a builder shouted.
“Maybe tomorrow…around nine, we’ll be working late – don’t you worry!” another man replied.
Sophia waited for the traffic lights to change to green but more voices rang in the very cranium of her head.
“Hey Melissa, want to go out tomorrow? Say nine?”
“How ‘bout I meet you a minute earlier, that’s a minute more of sex!”
“8:59? Okay by me!” the large muscled man shouted from a window of the nearby buildings.
“Twenty-two hours and fifty-nine minutes until my birthday Roger!” a woman shouted over the radio, “That’s right, tomorrow is November the fifth and it’s my birthday!”
As the lights changed green, she zoomed through the crowds of cars, hoping to escape the voices that surrounded her. She was distressed and very concerned about her health right now. She now considered the possibility of giving up on drinking alcohol. Who knew if she was hallucinating or not, everything was revolving around November the fifth, eight-fifty-nine.
When she finally arrived at work, she was so stressed out that she literally shouted at the first family to get into their picture portrait. Sophia was now very grumpy and distressed by what the seer had said.
‘Flash’, the first picture was taken and she checked it for alignment and quality. Everything seemed fine until she saw an hourglass hovering above the youngest child of the frightened family. They were frightened by Sophia’s attitude today. A ghostly figure appeared beside the hourglass.
“Enjoying your last full day? Hope you are because time is precious. Especially yours…” the figure whispered, to Sophia it sounded as if the figure was right next to her ear.
She gasped in horror and glanced away from the picture. The family had left with euro bills on the counter. Sophia looked back at the photo and all that remained was the family’s photo and their expressions hard and terrified.
Sophia slumped into a nearby chair made out of polished wood. She thought about how she’s going mental and if she would be sent to a mentally insane rehabilitation facility. That’s what she called it but that wasn’t what it was officially called.
Regrettably Sophia didn’t go home to take a rest. She continued to work; observing every picture, her quiet surroundings and the people she met very closely because she wanted to confirm that she wasn’t going crazy.
After work, it was around eight ‘o’ clock and she usually worked overtime. Sophia enjoyed her work, taking pictures of other people and seeing smiles upon their faces. Today, all she saw were dreaded expressions, somewhat concerned about Sophia for she was wary of everything that passed – like any sudden movements.
On her way home, the streets felt never-ending and the traffic slower than ever. That was when she heard the voices again and again – repeating and repeating what it said before.
“You are going to die my poor little girl…all the fun for me then…”
She hesitated then. The car swerved and almost hit a brick wall in a deserted alley.
“Oooh, can’t have that. You aren’t due for death now, who knew you could be so eager to die…” laughed the voice in her ear.
Sophia couldn’t take it anymore and jumped out of the car seat into the streets outside. Thugs and teenage boys with bling-bling strapped around their necks and arms appeared behind her. They had tattoos drawn on their chests and arms, piercings on their lips and ears. A tall brute just beside her had a tattooed eye which looked like a dulled, bluish pupil. It didn’t look like an eye but she didn’t think he could see with that eye either.
“Hey pretty lady, you lost?” said the thin one.
“How old do you think she is?” a bearded thug asked towards his comrades.
“Maybe early twenties or late depending on her ‘figure’,” chuckled the thug with the tattooed eye. “Might have some fun tonight, boys!”
One of them grabbed Sophia by the arm, she whimpered as she struggled to break free of his grasp. In minutes they were already crowded among her, no one else around to see what was happening. Becoming a great nuisance to the thugs, they attempted to rip out her blouse but only succeeded in tearing the first few buttons off. The menacing and spooky voice appeared in her ear once again.
“Can’t have this, can we? We mustn’t let you get raped now, not before you die – no, no – that would be cruel of us reapers,” said the voice, the expression soft and comforting in a way. “Must think of something without being seen by other mortals, ahhhh, here is a local law enforcer now.”
A man with the sign of Venetian police appeared just by the corner of the building ahead of her. He came to check out the commotion and luckily he came. The law enforcer drew his gun out and his badge shouting some weird police phrases and rights to the thugs. All sounds deafened as Sophia somehow became very lightheaded. She pushed the thugs away who were already withdrawing as the armed man came striding towards them. She hopped into her car as the officer looked back and waved for her to keep calm but she was already off.
“Well done, escape the feud – leave it up to someone else. I like your style. Maybe I should report this to the Grim. He’ll know what to do…” the voice whispered into Sophia’s ear and trailed off as if into the distance.
By the time Sophia got home, she was so lightheaded and out of breath that she fell one step into her Venetian apartment and fainted. The voices trailing around her like memories of a past life.
‘Death is near…November the fifth…eight-fifty-nine…the reapers…the Grim…’
All voices and sound faded among her loss of consciousness.
November 5th – Venice, 1854 AD
The very next morning, she woke up, door remained open and keys dropped in the middle of the corridor. She had a blasted headache and slowly got up to her feet. She collected her keys and shut the door tight when she saw a red velvet box and a note on the dining table. She approached it and read the note, grasping the box firmly in her palm.
‘Dear Sophia, my beloved – my lover. Sorry I had to picklock my way in but it was worth giving you something that is contained in that tiny box you are now carrying. Yes, I know you well enough that you like to feel what’s inside and rattle the box but I urge you not to do it now. Open it now and read the rest when you have seen what is inside…’
Sophia, unconcerned about her upcoming death tonight, she lifted the red felt cover of the box and it revealed a piece of paper in the shape of a heart. On it, it said: “Will you marry me?”
Her heart lifted and her expression ecstatic. Although where was the ring? She continued to read the note.
‘…aha, there is no ring because I want you to think about it and make your decision so that you know you are not going to have cold feet later on. Meet me at the Venetian church tonight at seven (yes, I bribed the reverend for the keys to the church) and I’ll hear from you then. I have the ring in my pocket, ready to confess my love to you.’
With all my love, Rupert
She smiled and muttered to herself about how happy she was. Sophia had completely forgotten about the seer and her prediction. Then it happened, a few minutes into preparing for tonight, the voice faintly whispered into her ear.
“Till tonight, my dear – till tonight; keep that soul of your happy with content for the happier you are, the happier I will be…” and the voice trailed off once again.
The afternoon passed quickly and Sophia had a wonderful day with Maira, picking out her dress for tonight and explaining how joyful she was. The night of romantic dinner went by slowly but in the eyes of the reaper, it went by all too quick. The couple had just completed their dessert and Rupert was about to head into the next room to fetch something of great importance.
Sophia sat in her chair listening to the soft, smooth movement of the flames swaying back and forth. The wind outside was brisk and chilly, the trees looked as if close to falling and the Moon shone a great pearly colour. The luminescent glow of the Moon shone through the stained glass with Jesus on a cross. She smiled as she felt warmth contain her chest.
When everything seemed fine, shadows began to move about the church, shadows without something to cast it – shadows in the shape of wolves and dogs. Sophia’s heart instantly took on weight as she remembered that tonight was going to be her death. Surely the seers couldn’t predict the future. They were a hoax, a phony. That was when Sophia heard the cry of wolves within the night. It was not so distant but as if inside the very church itself. It echoed through the corridors, through the rooms.
Sophia tried to stay calm, she wiped her forehead from drops of sweat as the noise slowly began to increase in pitch. Struggling to keep still, struggling to hold herself back from screaming – the voices persisted.
“Death is coming, death will come – it is inevitable, your fate will become.”
A warm hand touched her shoulder and she shrieked as a result. She turned around with Rupert, an expression of worry and concern among his handsome face.
“Are you alright, you seem ill at ease?” Rupert said in a calm, strong voice.
“Can’t you hear the voices, the sounds…the wolves?” she replied hesitantly, her voice shaking.
“Hey, let me go get the reverend and see what he can do.”
Without further ado, he sprinted off in search for the reverend who was praying among the devotion rooms across the other end of the church. Sophia calmed down a little, it was just her imagination – it was just Rupert and his shadow. The noises were of her mind and not of reality. Then when she finally settled down, she felt a hand touch her shoulder again but this time there was no warmth. There was no heat, just pure chills that ran across her spine and her bones.
She turned around and there a dark lady with no pupils in her eyes. She was wearing a black hood and a cape that intertwined around her breasts, a cursed symbol was drawn around her belly button and a silky, black garb from her waist down. The strange, bloodcurdling woman stared hard at her, holding the scythe in her right hand and a black sparrow in the other. It screeched piercingly and the woman spoke, her expression dark and deathly cold.
“Your time is up, fifty-nine past eight – the Grim demanded. He needs you to die but you are special. Your death is just the beginning, you are suitable for something than eternal death,” the woman said.
Sophia never believed in the Grim Reaper but it seemed she was a reaper too, a different one.
“Ahhh, I know what you are thinking – I am a reaper, there are many of us although the Grim is our leader. He controls death, he tells us who and when they are going to die. My name is Shyla, Shyla of Shadows. I am somehow honoured to kill a mortal, hand chosen especially by the Grim,” she continued.
“Why me, why now? How did the seer know?” Sophia asked; her voice shaky and her sweat burning her eyes.
“All will be told, all will be answered…but first I have to separate your soul from your physical self. You will still retain your memories once you enter the world of Grim,”
“What…” her voice trembled. Shyla had swiftly slashed her scythe across Sophia’s chest. Blood was spurting clear from her heart as the images around her faded among her breaths.
“See you in the Palace of Shadows…my home,” giggled Shyla.
The night sped up and Shyla disappeared among the soul of Sophia, her body left behind as a token for the mortals. Rupert and the reverend entered the room, shocked to find Sophia lying dead n the floor. The candles burned out and quite quickly, the investigators arrived at the church.
They searched for evidence, linking clues to the killer but nothing turned up. Not a fingerprint, not a smudge nor weapon or signs of entry. All they could find was a watch strapped onto Sophia’s hand, cracked and wrecked with the clock hands resting on the numbers eight and one minute before the integer twelve: 8:59 and zero seconds.
As for Sophia, she met the Grim: a skeletal figure wearing a hooded black cape. He carried a large scythe, one marked with eternal blood and his voice sturdy and very deep. He had explained to her that she was to be a princess. A princess of shadows, a princess for the Grim world. They needed a living, mortal life essence in an immortal physical body to complete the ritual – a ritual which bound the Grim’s soul so that the Grim could have flesh like the other reapers after him.
You see, the Grim was the first, the first reaper to live. In order to produce more reapers to aid his occupation, as death itself – he split his soul into seven separate reapers:
Shyla of Shadows, known as this because of the shadows cast by mortal pride,
Draelik the envious, known as this because of his desire for mortals’ traits,
Vladimire the desirous, known as this because he consumes more than he requires,
Xarlia of pleasure, known as this because she craves for pleasures of the mortal body,
Gerkan the manifest, known as this because he spurns love and opts instead of fury,
Dalculus of avarice, known as this because of his desire to gain large amounts of wealth or mortal things and,
Araniul the indolent, known as this because of his avoidance of physical or spiritual work.
All these reapers were once part of the Grim but he now only governs death, the lists of who lives and the list of who dies. Sophia is lost to the human world but she lives on in where eternal death exists .However sometimes at sea near where Venice once stood you can see Sophia leaning on a broken column of the once great Venetian cathedral, the city almost swallowed by the ocean. Her name was no longer Sophia but Piria, the Princess of Shadows. This was the story of the many things Shyla of Shadows accomplishes in the mortal world of humans and life.
Jeremy NG (Year 9)
The Rousseau Brothers
France was a popular destination for millions of tourists all over the world and mostly because of its incredibly charming atmosphere and serene landscape. There were also numerous sights that never ceased to amaze people, along with plenty of breathtaking entertainment. The food was high-quality and very carefully prepared. Paris, its capital, was also known as the ‘City of Romance’ and that was indeed true. Nevertheless among the lush plains, rich mountains and magnificent coasts that made up the scenery of France – not everything was all that it seemed.
France was also a country amongst other countries and was no different to the communities around the world. There were still threats, burglars, money crisis and other pressing matters. In mentioning that, two of the most notorious robbers roamed France. You could say they owned the place after the many robberies and thefts they performed around the country. Nicholas and Aramis Rousseau were the ‘kings’ of France with a huge reward on their capture.
However they were soon detained and charged for their criminal activities and it was an unusual story on how they lost their reputation of being top-notch thieves. It had all began with their average morning at home. They had recently relocated – due to the rise in local law-protectors – to Calais, one of the smallest French regions.
“Aramis, look at this!” Nicholas gestured to a page in the newspaper as he slammed the door behind him, “I found it on the street.”
Aramis gave his brother a contemptuous glance.
“I hope you kept a low profile?”
“Yeah, of course!” his brother replied hesitantly while he pondered if he actually was noticed.
“Good. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to drink my coffee,” he said bluntly.
Nicholas persisted and slid the newspaper in front of his brother. The two of them, although known to be the best darned robbers they also had their faults. Sometimes they would fight and argue during the robbery and at other times they would work together in unison like two gears of a clock tower. They were willing to do anything to earn a bit of cold hard cash as long as it didn’t shatter their fearsome reputation.
Aramis shoved the paper out of his sight. “Leave me alone, will ya?” Give me a bit of time to think about or next hit!”
“I’m telling you our next hit!” shouted Nicholas,
Aramis gave a strange, menacing glare in his direction. Nicholas was stunned for a few seconds before he rephrased his sentence.
“Possible hit,”
Aramis snatched the paper out of Nicholas’s bony hands. He quickly glanced at the top of the paper, it was yesterday’s and then he looked down to the bottom.
“What rubbish are you trying to tell me, this is yesterday’s?” he asked irritably,
“Just read there,” Nicholas pointed out on the side of the paper.
“French Commandant, Charisse Emerson of the Infantry Section is awarded prestigious award for saving seven from Belgium raiders in Calais,” Aramis read aloud, “We’re robbers not supporters of the French infantry division. Heck why am I bothering to read this?”
Aramis threw the paper in Nicholas’s face making him sigh heavily.
“Impetuous brother,” Nicholas mumbled under his breath.
“What did you call me?” his brother snapped almost immediately,
Trying to cover up on the insult he blurted, Nicholas read out the little section across what his brother read.
“Woman steals ten million in cash and disappears from Paris, local police in awe.”
“Well good for her, she still doesn’t compare to what we’ve earned over the years!”
“You don’t get it, that woman is an easy catch for ten million bucks and she’s standing at the bus stop across our house,” pointed out Nicholas.
Aramis looked at the somewhat confident and delightful woman across the street and pulled the newspaper from his brother’s hands to compare the picture.
“I can’t believe it, it’s her. What an easy way to make ten million Euros!” exclaimed Aramis.
The woman was approached by another fancy, rich woman with a very curious poodle. Together they strode down the street chattering amongst them.
“Quickly, let’s go after her and demand the location of where she’s hiding the cash!” Nicholas whispered urgently as the two women turned a corner, “We just have to get rid of the other lady!”
Aramis snickered which was followed by a devious grin and flung his arm around his brother’s head and tugged him close.
“I have a better idea, instead of killing them like we usually do. How about we follow her back to wherever she’s going and make our attempt then. No witnesses, no bloodshed and hopefully the location of where she’s hidin’ the dough,”
Nicholas chuckled.
“I’m lucky to have such a cunning brother like you!” he admitted and shook his head, “Bless mother for bringing up such intelligent gentlemen.”
Aramis grinned harder which turned into a soft chuckle.
“Let’s go,” he said while he skulled the rest of his coffee.
Aramis and Nicholas grabbed their coats and opened the door to a crisp but pleasant misty air that overwhelmed the countryside. They could hear the gentle breeze along the trees and the clamour of the market gardens a few kilometres around them. When they noticed the woman, they started to walk at a slower pace, keeping to the shadows. The woman was so preoccupied with her friend that she didn’t notice them through the mist and slight darkness of the street.
The two women paused briefly before they separated down different paths, they waved goodbye to each other and continued their day. After an hour of following the novice thief, they arrived at what seemed like her home.
The woman picked up a newspaper from out of her mailbox and smiled smugly. She produced a tear from her eye when she noticed something else in the newspaper. Soon enough she entered her small, tranquil cottage and discreetly the two brothers had crept up to the stone wall in front of the innocent-looking cottage.
They peered around the corner and then towards the backyard. The door was likely to be locked but the back seemed like a good choice depending on the mist.
“Well, I could kick the door open and then…you could rush in to handle her?” Nicholas asked attempting to intimidate Aramis.
“No…We need to be discreet about this…how about we play disguise for today?”
“And how are we going to do that?” exclaimed Nicholas, “I’m not too good with acting and disguises.”
“You don’t need to be skilled, just watch. I saw a small, family owned market garden on the way,”
A few minutes later after Aramis left, he returned with a basket of assorted fruits and vegetables. He wore a beret and carried a walking cane.
“What are you doing?” asked his brother trying to contain himself from laughing.
“Just follow my every move and stand quietly next to me,” he replied grinning.
As they both made their way to the door and knocked on the wooden frame, Aramis held the basket of fruits in front of the peephole.
“Yes, who is it?” she asked while she sounded like she was far away.
“We’re community service members and we are giving out free fruit and vegetable baskets to every residence across Calais,” Aramis lied.
“How lovely!” the woman said as her voice sounded closer to the door.
The woman in the house gasped and they could hear her unlocking the door. Aramis winked at Nicholas and he returned a sly smile. When the door unlocked and the woman opened it slightly, the two brothers nodded at each other. Aramis dropped the basket and shoved his walking cane in the doorway as Nicholas drew a pistol from his belt.
The woman almost immediately shoved the door which was halted in its tracks by the walking cane. Nicholas aimed the pistol in the woman’s pretty and unusually calm face. As the two brothers laughed and asked her to let them in peacefully, Nicholas stopped laughing as he noticed a ‘ball and shot’ twelve shotgun that was thrust upon his chest. The woman also aimed an old revolver at Aramis who softened his grip on the walking cane.
Both brothers knew they didn’t have a chance at running and groaned as they thought about being beaten by who they thought was a novice thief. The reputation of the Rousseau Twins was over.
“Drop your gun and the one with the cane, release your grip!” she commanded,
The brothers did as they were told and she fully opened the cottage door.
Aramis shook his head in disbelief as Nicholas bit his bottom lip nervously.
“I can’t believe it, outdone by a novice! I bet you bought a whole collection of firearms due to the millions of Euros you stole, didn’t you?”
Expressing amusement, she smiled.
“That explains why you two idiots followed me home. I knew you two were up to something when I noticed you two hiding among the shadows when my Colonel and I met up at the crossroads.”
“Who are you calling idiots, we’re the infamous Rousseau brothers?” snapped Aramis,
“Colonel, have we got the wrong person?” Nicholas asked the woman as he turned to look at his brother’s now gloomy face.
“Yes idiots, I guess you didn’t read today’s edition? You probably read yesterday’s and like idiots – you didn’t check the date of the paper,” laughed the woman.
“I blame you Nicholas!” mumbled Aramis towards his slightly depressed brother.
She edged them inside the cottage and nudged them towards today’s newspaper, which was half sitting on the table next to the door.
“Read the box highlighted in yellow,” she told them, “I’m on my holiday retreat.”
Aramis and Nicholas read the text aloud:
‘CORRECTION: Due to an unknown error, a photograph of French Commandant Charisse Emerson of the Infantry Section was inadvertently transposed with the photograph of Darlene Delaney who stole ten million Euros from the French bank, ‘Banque Populaire’. We regret any confusion this error may have caused.’
“Argh, heck we should’ve just played golf today. I heard they have fine, exquisite golf functions around Calais,” grumbled Nicholas.
| Do shut up!” his brother replied angrily, “It’s your own fault!” |
Jeremy Ng (Year 9)
THE MYSTERIOUS OLD MAN
He came-like the wind, as if from nowhere. And as the gentle wind ruffles the placid surface of a still pond, his visit caused small ripples on the smooth surface of the peaceful life that prevailed in our small village. At that time none of us had the foggiest idea of the shape of things to come.
To appreciate what I mean you have to step into our shoes. Perched on the sea-facing slope of a hill that forms part of a mountain rampart along the seaboard, our village is a perfect haven for anyone who hates modern civilization. It takes half day’s walk by a foot-path to the nearest town. The march of time has left us behind by many decades. In a way we are happy that the wind of change did not blow in our village. We are contented with life as it is, for it is very much the same as it used to be for centuries. Our village folks are mostly fishermen and peasants. The fertile land and the bounteous sea are very generous towards us in their gifts. And then there is James, the village shopkeeper, who gets for us the few things we need from the outside world. Visitors from the outside world are few and far between-who would visit such a god-forsaken place? When occasional visitors come, they inevitably arouse our suspicion. And so it was when this stranger came.
To be frank, there was nothing strange about him. But to the simple folks of our village anyone from the outside world is strange and mysterious. So from the very beginning, we looked upon him with suspicion. He was first seen at the local coffee shop. Jeremiah, the coffee shop attendant approached him to ask him what he wanted. Taking his seat, the stranger placed his canvas bag on a table and ordered coffee. Jeremiah brought the coffee; while mopping up the table, he lifted the canvas bag and placed it on a chair. Two blood-shot eyes that seemed to see through everything transfixed Jeremiah.
”My bag,” muttered the stranger curtly, “will remain where I placed it. No one shall touch it.”
Jeremiah just managed to mumble something apologetically. He placed the bag where it was. The stranger sat there, sipping the coffee and puffing a cigar. There were only a few people in the coffee shop then. They all glanced at him through the corners of their eyes as if they did not want him to know that he was being watched. No one dared to approach him. There were whispered comments-it was certain that the stranger had aroused their curiosity. Meanwhile the stranger sat there, as if in deep thought his eyes distant. He was about sixty, lanky of frame, with a droop at the shoulders. Having paid for his drink, the stranger went along the foot-path that leads towards the nearest town. Those who saw him leaving hoped that they would see no more of him in our village.
They were proved wrong; he was there again on the nest day and the next. He frequented the coffee shop; meanwhile news of the stranger figured prominently in the gossip of our village. They all had something to say about him. But opinion varied as to whether his frequent visits were a good amen or a bad one. Elderly people were decidedly against it, for “such strange visitors often bring some misfortune with them,” they argued.
It was really startling news to us when we heard that the old man had rented a room in Madame Julie’s house. Madame Julie is a widow; her only son, Jake the village carpenter, has gone to town in search of work. The old woman was living alone in a three-roomed house. We were a bit puzzled when we heard that the old man was going to stay among us. Mind you, it was not because we had nothing against him-it was simply because it meant a change, at least; we were not used to changes.
Days rolled by and once again life in our village returned to normal. As eventless days passed by, life continued to flow with that same unruffled, placid quietude, but we did not know that it was the calm before that storm; we did not know that we were sitting on a dormant volcano.
The stranger seldom spoke to any of us. A man with few words, he seemed to move in a plane entirely different from ours. We suspected that there was something shady about him. For one thing, he was very secretive. We knew very little about his movements; not that we cared about it, but how would you feel about a fellow who lived by your side and of whom you knew next to nothing? He used to go out early in the morning-no one knew where to. At sunset, he was back, none knew from where. Like a frightened rabbit he would look furtively at anyone who was near him and scuttle off from company.
A fortnight or so later, two strangers called at the local coffee shop. They wanted to see a friend of theirs. The description they gave fitted the old man exactly. Jeremiah showed them Madame Julia’s house and told them their friend stayed there. “But it is no use going there now; he has gone out,” Jeremiah informed them. This seemed to satisfy the strangers.
“We’ll come tomorrow; we know he’ll wait for us,” they said and departed.
They were lying; they came to see him-that night itself.
The next morning our village awoke to witness the bloodiest scene we have ever seen. Murder was committed in Madame Julia’s house. The mysterious old man lay in a pool of blood. A ten inch dagger, plunged into his chest, had skewered him to the floor.
Utter panic gripped the whole village. Fear and consternation could be seen on every face. Jeremiah alone had a head cool enough to act wisely. Hiving instructed the curious crowd to keep clear away from the dead body; he sent his boy to the police station, in the nearest town, but before he could reach there the police were already at the scene. They had caught scent of murder somehow or other. The Inspector in charge of the police party surveyed the scene of murder with an expert’s glance and asked, “Didn’t he have any personal belongings such as a bag or a box…..?”
“Yes he used to carry a canvas bag,” volunteered Jeremiah.
“It is missing, but I didn’t expect to find it. There is a reward of $5,000 for this rascal. Murder was his business. He is the third of the notorious”Five Diamonds” to meet with his end. Now the remaining two, who have gone away, will slit each other’s throat for that canvas bag. It contains a fortune in diamonds and precious stones.”
Arwin. M (Year 9)
The Son of the Vampire King
Ten thousand years ago, a Vampire known only as Valcus Dracula conquered the world in a single night, ending the human dynasty. A single Vampire. A single night. A single power, but with many strengths. The power of Vengeance, the power of Hate, and the power of Wrath. Of all the Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Pride, Envy, Lust and Greed, Wrath is the strongest and most fearsome. Only one Vampire in all of history has been gifted with such a Sin. Valcus Dracula. It has been said that those who wield Wrath are chosen by the gods of the Vampires. They are chosen for a higher purpose. Every Vampire born of Vampire blood are given a Sin as their Ultimate Power. All through history every five thousand years a new Vampire King is chosen to rule. A King is chosen by how strong the Vampire is. They are chosen by how strong their Sin is. Valcus Dracula was the first Vampire King.
Italy: Venice ruins, 11 999 AD.
“Argh!” Blood curdling screams echoed through the damp night air. “Argh! No! Enough! Please- enough! I’ll tell you! Just please let me go-ARGH!”
A dark figure wearing a long black robe stepped forward from the shadows. His piercing blue eyes stood out from underneath his hood, which was draped over his face. Not even the low blazing fire that sat next to him could bring out his face. A long concrete table in the shape of a cross laid before him with a half naked Vampire clamped against it. He was thin due to the endless hours of torture. A loyal servant to the Vampire King.
The cloaked man stretched out his arm toward the fire and placed it in the flames without hesitation. The burning fire had no effect on him whatsoever. He clenched his fist and brought it out slowly. Holding his fist in front of his face he unclenched it and the Vampire Servant once again saw that a large orange flame hovered over the palm of his hand. The cloaked stranger stepped up to the servant and ran his long white fingers through his hair.
“You’ve finally come to your senses Dreth,” the cloaked man whispered in a calm trusting voice.
“Yes-yes, I now know what I must do.” The servant could barely manage to breathe.
“Then tell me. Slowly.”
The servant tried gathering up saliva in his throat. “The key is in Florence. The Florence ruins. King Vaolin wanted to keep it in the one place where he knew the Vampires could be trusted. You’ll find it around the Captains neck. He never takes it off and there is a magical spell that keeps it around his neck.”
“Then I’ll cut off his head.” The cloaked man continued to stroke the servant’s head as he began clicking his tongue. “I am so very sorry Dreth, but you know the law. Those who betray, shall be betrayed. Those who deny, shall be denied. And those who kill, shall be killed.”
The servant lifted his head with great difficulty. “Then you shall rot in hell!”
The cloaked man laughed a wicked laugh. “My dear Dreth.” He leaned in closer to whisper in the servant’s ear. “I’m already there.” He stood back up straight and turned the orange flame into a hot blazing blue flame and sent it shooting into the servant’s body, burning his insides.
As the cloaked man stepped up onto his horse and walked a couple steps, the servant screamed out at him.
“WRATH!”
The cloaked man stopped in his tracks, slowly pivoting his head to the side. He frowned darkly. As he watched the large fire blown out by the rising wind, a blue ball of crystal light rose from out of the servant. It was his life force. The life force formed a ghostly mouth and eyes.
“Are you the son of the Vampire King?” The wind blew stronger as did the pressure. “Who are you? Who are you? WRATH!”
The life force of the Vampire Servant turned into the shape of a sphere and like a lightning bolt, it shot into the sky. The cloaked man’s red-eyed horse puffed out hot steam from his nose and the cloaked man turned his head back around and continued at his original pace.
When in darkness, there is no light. No more day, only night.
The power of Vengeance, the power Hate. Only Evil shall we create.
The urge for blood is too strong. Listen close, hear our song.
When you see us, you’ll see death. We’ll take your life; we’ll steal your breath.
In the sun we turn to stone. But during night, you’re not alone.
When in darkness, there is no light. No more day, only night.
Italy: Florence ruins, 12 000 AD.
Through the harsh winds and summer nights the cloaked man galloped through the ruins of Florence. It has been one year since the information had been passed onto him by Dreth the Vampire Servant. Long cloak rippling in the wind he told his horse to run faster. Much faster. Stopping during the day he hid from the sun in underground sewers left over from the human dynasty where he slept peacefully. Since the information was given to him he had travelled the world becoming stronger, for if he wanted to go to Florence then he needed to be stronger. Much stronger.
Though his power was that of the First Vampire King he has not mastered it. How can you master something that even Valcus Dracula had difficulty controlling? As he approached the ruins he saw – using his unique sense of sight – fifteen guardsmen all on foot standing in a perfect straight line. They were waiting. Waiting for him. The cloaked man closed his eyes and pulled his hand off of the rein and reached for his sword. Tuning into his power he searched his soul to find it. Once he had found it he snapped his eyes open, fearsome strength radiating out of him.
With such grace he quickly stood up on his horse and kept perfect balance. He held the blade of his long two-handed sword in front of his face as his hood was blown off in the wind, revealing glistening dark brown hair and a complexion that would have been thought impossible for a Vampire. He wore a cross earring in his left ear. As he came close to the small squad of Vampires all holding single-hand swords and a shield each, the cloaked man jumped high off of his horse and began soaring through the air. They also wore the Crest of the Vampire King Vaolin.
The Vampire guards charged at the lone Vampire and his horse who was gathering up incredible speed. The cloaked man froze in the air and held his sword in front of his face like before, but this time his horse jumped up higher than the cloaked man and began soaring through the air. Bolts of steam shot out of his nostrils as he flew closer toward the unsuspecting squad. The horse remained a fair distance as it shot fire streams of the sun out its mouth and nostrils. Its eyes turned ablaze. Only seven remained alive. Among them were only three Sins: Gluttony, Sloth and Greed. Fairly ordinary Sins.
The horse landed and began charging at them as the cloaked man landed on his horse keeping perfect balance. He held his sword horizontally in front of his body and crouched down, turning his sword to his side. Memories of the greatest battle in his life flashed through his mind. He once led ten thousand Vampires to war against the King. The flashes of that time filled his head. He stood in front of the army as the King’s forces charged at them. After three endless days of battling, the cloaked man was beaten.
He opened his eyes and sliced his sword through the air, a thin blue line shooting out of his blade and went straight through the army who hadn’t seemed to notice it.
“One,” said the cloaked man as he slowly lifted his blade. “Two.” He placed the tip of the blade in his sheath keeping his amazing balance on top of the horse. “Three.” He slid the blade in and just as the hilt clicked against the sheath the guardsmen were all sliced to tiny pieces. The cloaked man kept riding standing on the horse, arms crossed.
He came to the largest Vampire building in the whole city after just killing fifteen more squads, each with fifteen Vampires in them. Outside the building were over two thousand Vampires all waiting eagerly to kill him. In front of the Vampires was the one the cloaked man came to see. The Captain with the key around his neck. One of many keys that altogether would unlock the knowledge to controlling his Sin, and when he has that he will be able to kill the King. The Captain stepped forward.
“Prince Falcon,” said the Captain warmly. “How may we be of service to you?”
Falcon came to a stop. “You can give me your head.”
The Captain smiled darkly. “And what, may I ask, will you do with that?”
“With your head gone, I can take the key away from you and add it to my collection.” Falcon jumped in the air and hovered above his horse. All the Vampires stood in awe at him except the Captain who stared at him with hatred. He too flew up to Falcon’s height.
“I see that young master has learned to harness the ability of Flight. None of my men can do such a thing. I now see what your father meant by you being meant for something else.”
Hate welled up inside of Falcon. He knew that the Captain’s Sin was Pride and that was one of the top three strongest Sins.
Taking out his sword again he held it up in a defensive position. The Captain smiled mockingly and held out his hands toward Falcon and snickered. Falcon – thinking it was a warning to stay away – leaped forward, ready to slice the Captain open. He cut through the air again and the thin blue piecing line swept through the wind at lightning speed. The Captain remained as he was and the slicing blow rebounded back at Falcon even faster then before.
It sliced Falcon in half vertically. His two halves slowly drifted away from each other but then like a magnet quickly connected again.
“The King was wrong about one thing, though,” laughed the captain lowering his arms. “He said that you might have the power to overthrow him. But the way I see it, how can someone so weak do such a thing? That’s what you are, Falcon. That’s what you are, were and always will be. Weak. Are you truly the son of the Vampire King?”
Falcon looked at the ground where his horse was killing the army of Vampires with Vampire-killing fire. Pain filled him. “Weak?” muttered Falcon under his breath. “Maybe that’s what I am. But I do have the power to kill my father. And I certainly have the power to kill you!” He flew at the Captain, surprising him a little, sword held behind him ready to cut through anything.
The Captain acted quickly and pushed his hands forward, hoping to stop Falcon and his amazing speed. It had no effect. Using all his effort he eventually made Falcon freeze. He exhaled with slight relief, but realised that Falcon was shaking in anger.
“No,” stammered the Captain. Suddenly Falcon broke out of his freeze trance, a flash of red glinted across his eyes, and smashed his head against the Captain’s forehead, breaking his skull, which would have killed a human in an instant.
Blood streamed down the Captain’s forehead as his skull quickly healed itself. Falcon quickly attacked at incredible speeds. The Captain just barely managed to keep up. Then, he was too slow and Falcon sliced his head off in a clean cut. He did not celebrate for very long because the Captain connected his head to his neck like a lid on a bottle. He smiled darkly once more and held up his fingers. Streams of fire shot out of his fingertips and began burning Falcon’s skin. It wasn’t just any ordinary fire. It was fire that not even a Vampire could resist.
Falcon screamed as the Captain laughed wickedly. “Give up, Falcon! You’ve lost!” Not only was the Captain shooting fire streams from his fingertips, but he was also sending out sonic waves from his palms that would of killed a Vampire in a heart beat. Falcon was not dying. “Why aren’t you dying?! You should be dead! How is this possible?! Die damn you, die!”
“NO!” Falcon screamed and stood up instantly as all of the Captain’s powers dispersed. Falcon’s long fangs turned into a shade of blood red as his pupils disappeared.
“What?” asked the Captain confused. “What is going on?”
Suddenly, the wind gathered up around Falcon to such a degree that the whole Vampire building crumbled to pieces. Falcon rose above the Captain and held his eyes shut. Then, he opened his eyes and a brightness so great shone out of him it burned the Captain’s eyes out of his head. Falcon’s hair turned blue as did the blade of his sword, but unlike his hair the sword shone bright and strong. All of this was due to the hatred in Falcon’s heart. This was his Vengeance, this was his Hate. This was his Wrath.
“What are you?” the Captain cried as his skin began to burn up.
“The son of the Vampire King.” He flew closer to the captain making him burn even more. “And this is my Wrath.”
He closed his eyes and gracefully raised his arms up so that he was in a cross position. His glory was increased by ten. Even the Vampires on the ground were burning up because of the heat. The brightness left him and he turned back to normal. He slowly hovered to the ground where his horse awaited him with little patience. All the Vampires were killed. He landed next to his horse and stroked it smiling. He looked into his unclenched hand and chuckled. The key he had been looking for. The Seventh Key of Aldrath. Now he had all the keys and could unlock the knowledge to controlling his Sin. The Sin of Wrath.
Placing the key in his pocket he jumped onto his horse and told it to run. Run to the Kingdom of the Vampires where his father waited for him. Waiting but unknowing that he now had the power to kill him. He was the son of the Vampire King, and this is his Wrath.
By Andrew Leng 9A
Posted in Uncategorized | | | 6 Comments
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on March 22nd, 2009 at 2:54 am
[...] CREATIVE VOICES [...]
on August 23rd, 2009 at 2:06 am
[...] CREATIVE VOICES [...]
on September 14th, 2009 at 4:57 pm
wow, very good. All of you. Especially the first one.Go Rousseau Brothers!
on September 14th, 2009 at 5:00 pm
keep writing, all of you. Such talent these days.
on September 23rd, 2009 at 5:21 pm
It’s wonderful to see students writing in such promising ways. I’m really glad that the future in literature is in such good hands.
P.S – RB, funny stuff!
on September 25th, 2009 at 2:00 am
[...] CREATIVE VOICES [...]