June 23, 2011
By SwimmerChickHP GOLD, Burlington, Massachusetts
SwimmerChickHP GOLD, Burlington, Massachusetts
15 articles 0 photos 11 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If A is success in life, then A equals X plus Y plus Z. Work is x, y is play, and z is keeping your mouth shut."

A flagrant pit under a hanging body was the main attraction in the room. It growled and roared, lashing out at the silent figure whose eyes glowed with its light. The eyes started blankly into the fire’s center, the hottest part which burned pure white like a magnet for them. Unblinkingly, they stared. His hands hung loosely by his sides. They had at first been clawing at the rope tied around his neck, but they’d fallen along with the rest of the body when the time came. Now devitalized, the figure was being suspended and saved from a fiery ravaging only by the weapon that had killed it; watched the whole time by a man from the shadows.

This stature was so hidden, he looked like a shadow himself; except for his eyes, which were also lit by the fire, illuminating what little life there was to be found in them. He stood so still, there seemed to be no difference between him and the suspended body, but difference there was, and not only a life-and-death one; this figure’s eyes were able to blink, a motion they took full advantage of every few seconds in order to blot out the fire’s light for a moment. For a second, the figure’s black cloak shifted and a small beam of purple light spilled out through the shadows, lighting up the figure’s partially hidden face. A small stream of black hair hung limply on his forehead, like a wet rag, and the bridge of his nose was visible for a moment before he wrapped the cloak around himself again, tighter this time, and decided the suspended body was not going anywhere. He turned sharply on his heel and began to walk through a hall with dirt walls. Meanwhile, the body’s dead hands shifted slightly, in what seemed to be a wave, a last farewell by a dead man brought upon by a slight breeze from the hole in the side of the wall.

Pieces of rotten wood barely hung on in places on the dirt walls. Perhaps this cave had once been a tourist site, the shadow mused. The flickering lights seemed to uphold his assumption. As he walked in amongst the semi-darkness, he loosened his cloak so the purple light was once again free to escape its confines. The light was coming from a hexagonally-shaped purple medallion, hence the purple light and it was held on the figure’s neck by merely a single, black string. However, this string was not as fragile as it seemed; it was held together by the medallion’s power, a power greater than that of any god’s. At the moment, it was working both its powers onto the figure in black

…Why did you kill him? He hadn’t done anything. He was just a tourist who’d stumbled upon this place accidentally. Why did you kill him?

The figure closed his eyes and tried to shut the thoughts out, but that didn’t help. I wish I’d never found this stupid thing… He thought as quietly as he could, but he really didn’t care whether the medallion heard him or not. He didn’t believe he had done anything wrong. But the medallion did. And it was never wrong. However, it didn’t answer.

You were there. You saw what happened. It was an accident. The figure thought to the glowing object. No answer still. The figure obscured by shadow sighed and took off his cloak, the purple medallion completely visible now against his black T-shirt and dark jeans. The face was no also completely visible, and a thin mouth that looked like it was threaded out of string and glued haphazardly onto his face with no true image in mind. The bridge of his broad nose was once again visible, along with the rest of it, underneath his two cold, murky eyes. They continued to stare ahead, as the figure rolled up his cloak and hung it on a crooked piece of wood. He looked to be about thirty, with a strong muscular build and a tattoo of a bird on his left forearm. When he moved his arm to hang his cloak up, it moved as well, looking as if it was about to fly right off his body.

Why did you do it? Was all he got as a response.

Why had he? To feel powerful? To truly feel as if he was a thirty year old man instead of actually being a thirteen year old boy? The medallion grants someone their wished age, but it came with a price. It became their stupid conscience. His hands drifted towards the string, but he held them back. He didn’t want to revert back to his true age. Not yet, anyway. He was an amateur of power, and that meant he had to put up with the medallion’s words for a little while longer. The figure still had to call his journeyman, but decided to wait for a little while. His muscles didn’t have to be any bigger just yet.

At last, he came out of the cave and into the bright, blinding light. The medallion’s glow only increased from the sunlight, and when the man in black looked down, the glow seemed to blind him even more than the sun’s reflections from the dew drops on the grass. In his animosity, the man in black’s hands flew up to the medallion and ripped it off his neck, willing for the bright spots behind his eyelids to subside. The string along with the purple glowing jewel fell to the ground, increasing in brightness if that was even possible. The man in black held his hands in front of his eyes as a change began to some over him. His tall, muscular frame began to shorten, his muscles disappearing. His black shirt hung looser and looser on him, until it looked like a paper bag had merely been placed over his head with arm holes cut out of it. His arms became shorter, his fingers fatter. The long black pants would have fallen off if not for the fat holding them in place. His hair, which had looked greasy and unkempt, grew in length and looked ever messier. His eyes, even though they had been cold and dead seemed proportionate to his body, now looked like two bugs approximately placed onto his face where his eyes should have been.

As his hands were removed from his eyes, the boy gazed at the fallen medallion. The voices had gone from his head, and in their place he felt a certain…lightness. There was still that nagging feeling that he had done something wrong, but at least there was no one in his head constantly telling him what he had done wrong. Even though the medallion gave you maturity, the boy hated the discord it was causing between himself and his own mind. I guess this is how crazy people feel, thought the boy. As if someone had taken hold of their mind, and wasn’t letting go. Except I can make their force let go. But for how long until I need the power again?

The author's comments:
This was written as a make-up story for my English class. I know the ending is really bad, that's my worst point, but I really enjoyed writing the beginning, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

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