Twilight: Rewritten (Prologue)

I realize it's been month since I've posted anything. Honestly, as much as I've been saving writing prompts on Pinterest and all, I simply haven't had any actual desire to write. However, as I was cleaning out the trunk of my car earlier today, I came across a box of books that had been sitting there for I'm going to say well over a year. They're all books bound for Goodwill, but me being me, I went through to make sure there was nothing that I wanted to keep. Among the various books was the Twilight series, four of the books I hate most. Out of random curiosity and a half-assed desire to try to once again understand why these books are so popular, I flipped through the first one and was once again massively unimpressed. The concept was still spectacularly stupid to me and the writing awful. Not that I can really talk since I can't say if my writing is any better, but then again, nothing I've ever written has gotten on the New York Times Best Seller list. And as most people know the popular Fifty Shades of Grey series originated as a Twilight fanfiction before the names were changed and it was published. Well, flipping through the book, I decided that I wanted to attempt my own "fanfiction" piece, except that I'm not a fan and my idea was rather darker and more in the typical vampire theme. If you've read Twilight, you know it starts with a prologue. Below is my prologue. I'd love some genuine feedback if it sounds interesting and if I should continue. I may continue anyways, but feedback always helps. ;)

Forever. That’s what he’d told me, what he promised me. An eternity together. He wouldn’t lie to me, he couldn't. Why would he when he so clearly loved me; it was in his every look, his every move. It couldn’t all be a lie, could it? I raised my hands to cover my face, to block out the sight before me, and found myself staring at blood, my blood, covering my hands like a scarlet glove. My breath caught in my throat as I stared, my mind struggling to understand all that had transpired within the last hour.

I slowly raised my eyes to his, hoping beyond hope to see even a glimmer of affection. I saw nothing. I looked up into the eyes that had once been so filled with love and finally understood. I had fallen for a monster. I let out a short, hysterical laugh as the pieces slowly fell into place, as I was finally forced to face and accept the inevitable. I was an instrument, his instrument, only wanted and useful until the job was completed. And now, the job was done; I was of no more use to him. A cold smile spread across his lips as he saw the veil lift, as I saw him for who he truly was: a master of manipulation.

I stood up painfully, every inch of my body screaming in protest. His eyes flared with interest, clearly wondering if his prey was going to put up a fight. I, however, had no intention of fighting him, I saw no point in delaying the inevitable. But even as he stalked me, I was once again struck by his beauty, his gracefulness. I was no longer under his spell though and for the first time, I saw just how terrible and dangerous his beauty was. How could I have been so blind? Looking back, it was so easy to see that he was using me. As tears slowly trailed down my cheeks, I turned away from him and pressed my palms against the cool glass of the window. The sun was just beginning to rise over the treetops in all its glory. I drank in the sight for a long moment, thankful that beauty, not darkness would be the last thing I saw. I slowly closed my eyes and waited.

The Judger of Souls

The old man sat huddled up against the wall, seemingly just another homeless person struggling through life. The buildings towered up on either side of him, dark and forbidding. He glanced up at the small patch of sky visible to him and noted the fading light. Night was his favorite time, when fools went out drinking and nightmares came alive to devour souls. He fully considered himself to be one of the nightmares, one who preyed on the fools who drank too much, on the young and the innocent. He didn't discriminate. As long as he could subdue them, he hunted them.

As the last of the light faded, he stood up and stretched, letting the blanket wrapped around him fall to the ground. Pulling a small mirror from his pocket he checked his reflection. He ran his fingers through his hair and beard in an attempt to comb some of the knots from them to no avail. Giving up, he shoved the mirror back into his pocket and picked up the bag and hat that lay next to him. With the cap on his head and the bag slung over one shoulder, he set off through the gloom of the alley looking for all the world like a harmless old man who wouldn't hurt a fly.

"Help! Help me!"

The Assassin

This is a story I came up with and wrote in about 30 minutes. I saw this prompt and the story just kind of hit me. I realize it's probably not all that great considering the fact I typed it out in such a short amount of time, but it was fun to actually have the inspiration to write after not having really any free time to do so during this semester. So hopefully it's better than I think it is and if not, well, I had fun writing it.

She never forgot that it was a job, her way to provide for her family, to get medical care for her father and sister. She also never forgot what she was taking away every time she pulled the trigger: a father, a son, a mother, a daughter. Their faces haunted her dreams at night, but she never tried to make them go away. What she did to survive was nothing short of monstrous, but when she was the breadwinner of her family, she didn't see another way out. It made her hold her family closer each night she made it home safely.

She had tried earning money the right way, through hard work and sheer willpower. But she could never earn enough, not on her own, and she began to despair as her family slowly slipped deeper and deeper into debt. She was well-known for being an expert markswoman; it had been her one release as she'd grown up and she had practiced every chance she got. Still, she was shocked the first time she was approached by a tall man who wanted to hire her expertise to kill a man who had committed some crime against him. She had refused immediately on impulse. She had been taught that a gun was not meant to kill a human unless there was no other choice. But he insisted that she think about it, offering her a large sum of money if she accepted.

Divided: Part 3

Lea crouched behind the sturdy trunk of the tree, eyes fixed on her prey. One of her knives dangled loosely from her fingertips. The deer she was hunting took a couple steps closer to the tree, nibbling at the grass that grew near the stream. She was beautiful, delicate and graceful, but Lea only noticed that she was well fed and healthy. Inching forward, she slowly raised her hand.

The deer's head jerked up as a sudden change in the breeze alerted her to the scent of the human nearby. Gathering her legs under her, she wheeled around, bounding for the safety of the large trees and bushes behind her. Lea leapt out from behind the tree with a wild cry, throwing her knife with deadly precision. The deer crashed to the ground just feet from the thicket, Lea’s knife buried deep in her heart.

The dying animal thrashed weakly as Lea approached and knelt beside her. With gentle strokes she soothed the doe who slowly quieted under her touch, her great heart slowing till it beat no more. Lea said a prayer over the deer, thanking the gods for providing food to feed her people and asking for the doe’s forgiveness in taking her life. Retrieving her knife, she began to gut the doe stopping suddenly as she sliced down the center of the stomach. How could she have missed something so obvious? The doe had been nursing and recently. Somewhere out there in the dark forest was a fawn waiting for a mother who would never return.

Shock and guilt sent Lea reeling to her feet. Turning away, she heaved into the nearby bushes, her stomach giving up what little food she’d eaten that day. She was always so careful during the spring and summer months to make sure that any prey she hunted were not nursing mothers. But today she hadn’t even thought to check. Her people were starving and depending on her and the other hunters to bring back the food they so desperately needed. The rabbits she’d killed two weeks previously were the last fresh meat they’d had. Since then none of the hunters had succeeded in bringing in anything but a few handfuls of vegetation. Still, not even their desperate need would ever have induced her to break the vow she’d made so many years ago.

Divided: Part 2

"Cataline! Cataline! CATALINE! Where are you, girl?!"

Cataline sighed and walked back into her room from the balcony where she'd been watching the sun set. She loved watching the blaze of colors fill the sky. It was one of her greatest regrets that she didn't get to enjoy it more often.

"I'm here, mother," she called back, wearily settling herself on the small chair in front of her vanity.

"Oh, good!" her mother exclaimed, panting slightly from climbing the stairs. "Kyleen will be up in a moment to brush your hair and help you change for bed. Don't forget that tomorrow's a very special day!"

"I won't, mother," she said quietly, gazing at her reflection in the mirror and dreading the coming day.

Sensing her daughter's distress, her mother moved to stand behind her, gently laying her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "It'll be alright, Cataline," she murmured gently. "Kyleen will help you get ready and no one will notice. Never fear." She kissed the top of her daughter's head before leaving the room, pausing for a moment at the door to look back. Anger once again coursed through her as it did every time she saw her daughter's scarred face.

Divided: Part 1

Since I had several people tell me I should continue developing the story from my last post, I decided to do just that and this is the first part of the continuation of that story. Let me know what you think in the comments!

A soft chanting came from deep within the monastery, echoing off the bare stone walls. They stood in a circle around the flames, their hands joined together as they sought the wisdom of their god. Carefully arranged in a circle around the flames were laid six thin sheets of stone painstakingly carved with ancient runes that only the monks of the monastery could read. The words glowed scarlet in the dancing firelight, seeming to take on a life of their own.

This was the prophecy. Thousands of years ago their god had spoken to the head of their order, giving him the prophecy that was to change the order of the world. Since that time, the prophecy had been fiercely guarded by the monks, the exact words known only to their inner circle. But now the time was coming for it to be set into motion. If ever there had been a time when the world needed to change, it was then for the world was terribly divided. The rich lived in towns of extreme grandeur, feasting on the best food, dressing in the most elegant clothing, living in opulent mansions, all of them commanding a bevy of slaves and servants from the poor class. The poor lived in towns set far apart from those of the rich, forced to survive and try to scrape out a living in the frigid mountains, arid desert or rugged plains, the best land, of course, in the possession of the rich. There was no equality; the rich ruled and the poor served. They had no rights, no ownership, nothing. Everything they had could be stripped from them at a moments notice.

And though the rich depended on the poor to till their fields, raise their livestock, cook their meals, sew their clothes, and serve them in every way, they refused to lift even a finger to help them regardless of how dire their circumstances. Entire towns of the poor were regularly wiped out by disease, wild animals, bandits, and natural disasters without the rich ever noticing. They were safe behind the high walls and gates that protected them.

And so as the division between the two classes continued to grow, the monks prayed over and over again for the events of the prophecy to be set into motion. Surely it was time. Their chanting grew louder as they poured out their hearts and souls, the sound traveling through the dark halls out into the frigid mountain air carrying a message of hope and change.

Divided: Prologue

Writing Prompt: As my story came to a close I realized that I was the villain all along.

I've always been intrigued by the idea of writing a book or short story focusing on the "villain" who really doesn't understand until they've lost everything that they were the villain. A villain who's very human, who truly believes they're doing the right thing for everyone involved. This is a very short portion of a story that I have semi-formed. So at the moment I'm asking for opinions. Should I continue and flesh it out, or just drop it?

The flames were getting closer. I shifted slightly in an effort to move away from the heat, stopping as a searing pain exploded in my chest. I could feel the blood pooling in my lungs, making it hard to breathe. At the same time I realized that I had no feeling in my legs. I gasped out a laugh at the irony of it all. The prophecy, that damn prophecy. It was the cause of all this. The laughter died on my lips as I stared up at the darkening sky. I tasted blood, my blood. No, it wasn't the prophecies fault, it was mine. Me thinking that I could stop it from happening and instead putting everything in motion. Me thinking that I was the hero destined to save everyone. But no, I was the villain. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. All I'd wanted to do was help, to be the hero for once. I was no hero, I was never meant to be one. I could feel the heat searing my skin. So this is how it will end, I thought, just like all the stories children love. The hero has vanquished the villain and everyone lives happily ever after. I closed my eyes for the last time and gave myself up to the flames.