Worth 50,000: Day Eleven - Evil and a Heathen

[momebie]

It's Friday morning, and those of you with desk jobs know what that means. One more walk across the hot coals before the weekend! (Not colas, as I just typed. Though some book at Joann's the other day tried to convince me to drink warmed Dr. Pepper. Igh.) There are often a lot of paths to freedom. Not the big, all encompassing Freedom that Veteran's Day reminds us of, but the smaller, quiet freedoms that are the first steps in our voyage to becoming who we want to be. Trouble is, there are just as many versions of that freedom as there are people in the world, and sometimes it's hard to know if what we're heading towards is the right one. But there's good news, too. Even if you make it to the wrong one, there's no one saying you have to stay there. You may have to traipse back across the embers to find your path again, but it'll be worth it, right?


[Credit.]

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Comments

[ecosopher.livejournal.com]

You're just coming in with all the right things for me at the moment ;) I was just thinking today when I was walking the dog, that there will be fire in my novel, because what's a breakdown of society without a good blaze?

On a more personal level, it's occurred to me that I've still a good way to go to having confidence in my own ability to write anything. I get to a point where I'm feeling good about how I write, and then somewhere I'll doubt myself, and then it's a hard slog back (over hot coals) to get to the point where I feel happy about my writing again. I think the regular Idol insecurities don't help, but I think NaNo kind of compounds it, because I'm writing all this rubbish which I know I can't yet edit, and I feel so inept. It's a real struggle to keep it moving.

Wow, obviously picture prompts in your journal really get me to open up, don't they? I should have put this all in my novel...

[lady-ganesh.livejournal.com]

what's a breakdown of society without a good blaze?

IKR?

[rapunzelita.livejournal.com]

HOLY SHIT GIRL.

HOLY SHIT.

My main character's thematic dream arc is ALL ABOUT THIS PICTURE. This is the image in my head. (Fire and trees and purplish smoke) Whaaat. I haven't even shown you my story! I mean, holy crap!

Will have to write a little something later today.

[momebie.livejournal.com]

William’s grasp on Amelia’s hand was tight, and he pulled her roughly as they stumbled through the smoldering debris and tight groups of panicked people. She struggled at first, tugging on him and trying to go back, wanting to check on Derek. But there had been people with him, and she’d seen the physician heading in that direction. He would be fine. Probably.

With her free hand she tried to keep her skirts from snagging on the uneven path. People were scrambling. All around them there were shouts and cries and scuffles breaking out. With everyone streaked with dust and sweat it was hard to tell which class of people the person next to you belonged to.

“We’re going to the opera house, stick close,” William said, and let her go. He pulled his sword free from its caned scabbard and held it at the ready. Amelia used her recovered arm to cover her mouth and nose against the smoke as they picked their way across the city, barely noticed.

The fires hadn’t yet reached the opera house. The mid-afternoon sun was beating down on it, and it looked strangely bright against the pillars of smoke rising up behind it. There was a carriage out front and Nathan was hurriedly tying several small suitcases to the roof. When he saw them his face split into a manic grin. He hopped down and rushed over, gathering Amelia into his arms and holding her tightly against him.

“You’re okay,” he breathed into her ear.

“Oh course she is,” William said from behind her. “She had me.” He sheathed the sword back into the cane and gripped it at the middle, holding it like a weapon even though the deadliest part was covered over.

Nathan let go of her and reached around to clasp William’s hand. “Of course. Will you come with us?”

“No. I need to double back and find Edmund. We may have work to do yet.”

“Into the stables with you then,” Nathan said. “Take a horse. I’m sure you’ll be doing whichever one you pick a favor. No doubt the flames will eventually reach this place.”

“No doubt, go,” he said. “We’ll catch up with you on the road.”

“Until then,” Nathan said. He put his arm around Amelia’s shoulders and turned her toward the carriage. “You look worried, my dear. Not all is lost. There’ll be fire for a while, but then we’ll come back, stronger, and put it back together the right way.”

“I’m not worried about the city,” Amelia said. “I know we’ve done the right thing for the city.”

“What then?”

Amelia climbed into the carriage. She didn’t want to answer, but he looked up at her from the door with his own worry and she couldn’t bear to weigh on him as well. “Derek,” she said. “He was hurt. A stray bullet.”

“He’s alive?” Nathan asked quietly.

Amelia nodded, trying not to give over to fear and exhaustion.

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “That was never in doubt. It just isn’t that kind of love.” Nathan pulled away and closed the door. She leaned her head out of the window as he placed his foot to climb into the driver’s bench. “Nate,” she said. He hesitated, keeping his eyes on the seat. “He gave us his blessing.”

Nathan paused for a moment more and then pulled himself up into the seat. Amelia sat back against the rear of the carriage and closed her eyes. He would be okay. They would all be okay.

[extemporally.livejournal.com]

that is such a gorgeous picture.

[gisforgreen.livejournal.com]

Brian didn’t really consider himself a romantic person and nostalgia wasn’t going to do him any favors now, but he could remember the light of the fireflies in the summers of his youth. Would go outside on the porch, alone, and spend hours trying not to think about how lonely he was.

He had his team, had his family but didn’t really have anyone that was really his. He had read a lot of books where someone would have a best friend, someone to just be himself with, and he had wanted that so bad. Was so lonely that he would cry, surrounded by the bright lights of the fireflies, until it got too late and his mother would call him in to go to bed.

The feeling of melancholy he always got around summertime faded once he had met Jeff. Or, should he say, when Jeff unabashedly adopted Brian as his instant best friend, no questions asked. They had been together in one form or another, best friends, boyfriends, lovers, husbands, ever since. Had sat outside on their own porch, with their own kids, watching the fireflies and Brian was happy.

[lady-ganesh.livejournal.com]

That picture is so gorgeous.

[pocky_slash.livejournal.com]

These keep making me want to write horror stories. I don't have tiiiiimmmmeeeee.

***

There's no other way.

The trees are blackened and embers are still sputtering out on the ground. Smoke's obscuring the air and filling Charles' lungs, but the way he came in has already disappeared behind him. The only way to go is forward, even though the ash and smoke and stench are suffocating.

"You can do this," he says to himself, as if saying the words will make them more true, as if hearing them will make him believe them.

There's something on the other side. Through the orange glow that promises more flames, through the smoke obscuring the path, Charles can sense something. It's not a mind, not like any mind he's ever felt before, at least. It's a... it's a....

Whatever it is, it makes him sick if he concentrates on it for too long, makes him shudder and shake and goddammit, he can do this. Someone needs to find the children, someone needs to find Erik and he's the only one left and he can manage. He can. He's more than just an academic, more than the rumpled professor he looks like. He's capable and he's strong and every second he can feel the echo of Erik's mind far on the other side of the smoke is a second too long.

"I can do this," Charles says out loud again. "I can--Erik, I'm coming." He can't speak to Erik in his mind and he knows that saying the words here, alone, with nothing behind him and who knows what in front of him means nothing, but he needs the words. He needs the certainty. "I promise, I'm coming," he says, "please just... hold on. Please hold on."

Three deep, measured breaths and he takes his first step into the charred husk of the woods.