|Author:||La Reina (Authenticated as La Reina)|
|Date:||August 7, 2012 at 5:16:13 AM|
|Reply to:||The Build-a-Story Game, Resurrected: ROUND ONE! by Viola Eponine|
My story is set in the future (I settled for piano).
My story must feature a fight (j'adore le nuit).
My story features a recurring metaphor of glass and/or mirrors (I chose ice cream, because I just ate cake).
I must in each round make reference to a quote from a book (I own a dog).
This is relatively easy. I might as well write Insurgents, but... let's see what this ends up like, shall we?
It hurts. It hurts like nothing I ever felt before. It was more than the injection Dr Bell gave me when I refused to come to the Seminary. It was definitely worse than the slash she inflicted when I fought back after that, and I still have the scar on my arm. I remember Dr Bell, running after us. Dr Bell, with her mouth wide open, screaming things I barely understood. Dr Bell, struggling, arms outstretched and trying to grapple at me. I looked down and saw her, lying spread over the cement floor, unmoving.
I blinked repeatedly. The images that came to my eyes were hazy, as if I was looking at a foggy mirror. Dr Lesya Bell, one hand limp over her chest, the other held parallel to her head, just atop her tangled mess of black hair. It was a pose I recognised, one I had seen before.
I thought of Aqila bint Habib. Luckless Aqila. Blunt Aqila. Aqila, whom everyone thought was named after the Latin word for "eagle". Aqila, who got into a catfight with Jama Bahar after they argued about her name.
Aqila, who was found dead the following morning.
I shook my head, trying to clear the misty obstruction to my vision, but the blur would not go away. The wall behind my back was cold, but it was welcome support. I leaned against it, positioning myself next to a column. Dr Bell lay still on the floor, and I wondered vaguely if she was dead, like Aqila.
Another surge of pain gripped me, and my eyelids snapped open again. The throbbing sensation kept me awake, but just barely. I wondered about Sadie, and if she would manage to lead the rest to safety; about Prudence, and if she would be able to see those edelweiss-coated fields she often wrote about.
About myself, and if these eyes would ever see daylight again.
It was dark and cold in the tunnel, but I didn't care. I took a deep breath and let my mind wander away from the pain. Phantom faces greeted my eyes, phantom shadows flitted across the room, phantom voices filled my mind. It won't be long now. My breathing began to steady as the pain slowly ebbed. But at least it wouldn't be in vain. I believe that it would not be in vain. I do not fear dying - never had, never will. I had always thought it was inevitable. But if we should die, then, let us sell our lives dearly. I am about to die, that is to say to triumph, here; whatever happens today, through our defeat as well as through our victory, it is a revolution that we are about to create.
My vision began to flicker again. A drop of water fell and dripped on my brow. I ignored it and bowed my head.
An omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.
This message was edited by the author on August 9, 2012 at 6:27:05 AM
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