Protector Art and Fiction

Mr_Grey · 12-18-2009 10:35 PM

Thanks, Bayani. I noticed it earlier from the fan art section and joined.

As for me, continuing my prose... I decided to add another chapter to My Beautiful Misery.

My Stories

Look at that. A full-grown woman pulling off pigtails. Her crazy is off the charts.

vulpish_one · 12-23-2009 11:31 PM

Here's some copy-paste from something I wrote...about two years ago today, as I recall. How do your characters spend the holidays?

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Snow fell quietly there, soft white flakes soundlessly impacting asphalt and metal in one of the world’s busiest cities. The sky was gray. It was early in the day. Yet, in a city that never truly stopped moving, there was an air of peace everywhere. Traffic was lighter than usual. It was a holy day for many, and a holiday for many more. A day set aside for serenity and contemplation.

Every bit as softly as the snow, a figure lit atop a post. First feet touched down, and then hands: soon the unusual figure was crouched with four points atop the traffic-light post. Even the few cars already on the road barely stopped. What would have been strange or unusual in other places--a powerfully-built bare-chested man with long black hair and spotted skin, a beast-like face peering all about—was fairly common here. The form was different, but the spirit was always the same: one of the city’s chosen protectors, keeping silent vigil.

The task fell to him that day, moreso than most. Everyone enjoyed time off, and his beleaguered fellow warriors were no exception. Still, their holidays were not his own. There would be no feasts to honor his rites in this place, even as others invited family and friends close by. For them, he would work as hard as necessary to allow the luxury of a day spent idle. It was a cold vigil, and it was a lonely vigil, but it was his choice, a choice made to honor his fellow warriors.

-----

In another part of the same city, a girl was just stirring on that morning. Her ritual for the day was one that would be repeated in many, many apartments and condominiums throughout the city that day. First, she would wake up. Then, she would need to take the dog for a walk. After that would be the exchange of gifts between the girl and her parents, and later that day would be a meeting with extended family for food.

But then, many things were different for her, as well. She no longer required “sleep” in the traditional sense: she would instead rouse herself from time spent dormant to replenish energy by drawing from any that was available in her environment. As she walked her dog, people would no doubt stop and stare, and some of them would point. Some might ask for advice or help, and she would gladly stop to assist them. When exchanging gifts with her parents, she would be dressed in a tasteful violet sweater and heavy denim. This would starkly contrast her distinctive white-pale skin and ice blonde hair. More than once throughout the day, she would have to remind herself how, exactly, she should know her family. More than once, she would be frustrated by her own inability to recall exactly how she once knew them all. And on every occasion that occurred, she would remind herself that she was loved by them, and that was what was most important. That made them her family, not her memories…or lack thereof.

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In the mid-afternoon, an actor would find himself upon an unlikely stage. Dressed in rags well below his worth, with makeup to make him look ten years older than he was, he would wait huddled in line with the infirm and the less fortunate: those who had no home. Well beyond their means he may have been, but he was like them in that regard: there was no place left for him to return to, either. That actor would play the part of a broken man with a broken mind taking a holiday meal from a charity kitchen. He would eat quickly and quietly, speaking to no one but the voices in his mind. When he was done, he would return his tray to the kitchen staff. An envelope would be taped to the bottom of the tray, and within the envelope would be enough money to, perhaps, keep the kitchen running for another three months.

Then, he would be done with the act, though he would continue to occasionally whisper to voices no one else could hear. He would take an evening service at a local cathedral, and the voices would—for the only time that year—grow quiet. Freed by his focus on others over himself and the influence of holy ground, holy words, and the faith of those around him, his mind would be calm. Peaceful. He would sleep soundly that night, one night out of many sleepless nightmares.

And he would look forward to repeating the ceremony the next year.

------

As evening gave way to night, a woman in her late thirties with shaggy red hair would sit in her parlor, staring at a fireplace. Everything she had in that city, she had earned herself with her own work. Her own skills. She protected the innocent just as boldly as anyone else, but she had nothing more than her bravery, brains, and equipment to rely on. It was hard, hard work, and she would find herself wondering why she did it as her body continued to age.

She would turn that question over and over in her mind, pondering on the deaths of her parents. Both had died of natural causes: her mother of a stroke, and her father of a heart attack. Both had died in the past two years. The holiday season was always the worst, and it always made her wonder exactly what she fought for. She wasn’t young anymore, and when she was young, she never once imagined she’d live as long as she had. But for whatever reason, she hadn’t just laid down and died.

She drank a lot in her younger days, too. More than was healthy.

All that would rattle through her head as she stared into a snifter of brandy. She would consider drinking it, stare into the fire, and look at it a bit longer. It was a challenge. She loved the challenge. She loved pushing herself, testing herself. But she knew her limits now. Maybe it was time to focus on what her legacy would be when she finally shuffled off her mortal coil. At length, she would make a phone call.

“Hey, big guy. How was Hanukkah?”

“Yeah. Same here. Hey, you busy?”

“Yeah, I could eat. Thanks. And big guy? Merry Christmas.”

Then, she’d gather her worn leather hat and jacket and leave the brandy on her side-table.

------

As night finally came into full effect, a broad-shouldered figure would sit in the middle of a mostly empty concrete and metal room. He would sit on a bedroll, staring at the two gifts he’d been given that year: a small artificial fireproof tree festooned with lights and a worked stone sculpture of a horse. An extension cord running to a wall would power the tree, and he would stare at it wistfully as he turned the figurine over in his tan and calloused hands. He had found it: honest work, work that he could actually perform both in spite of and because of his unique condition. The same condition that now kept him locked in the basement of a building slated for destruction, in a disused freezer: a room that could not burn.

He wanted to curse. His life had been…well, it had been simple before. It was far more complicated now, and that made him uneasy. When he thought about the tree and the statuette, he realized that his life was now tied to others. ‘Nette had said his place needed some decoration, and Jimmy had shaped the small granite horse down to the finest of fine detail. They actually cared, he realized, and there was a very good chance he wouldn’t ever accidentally hurt them. For the first time in a long time, he would smile. He would turn and face away from the lit tree, eyes focusing on the flashing blues and greens across from his bedroll. It wasn’t in his nature to be overcome with emotion. That never did any good, anyway. For just a moment, though, he’d realize that he was happy enough to cry.

Quote:

Newton: I observed Mercury's perihelion moving 43 arc-seconds per century more than it should. Is this WAI?
--Einstein

Sooner · 01-17-2010 09:46 AM

Sooner Nation is back up and in progress.

Now, I originally posted the first part of this some time ago, so this may seem familiar. It has been somewhat updated.