This is a story I've been working on. I'd love feedback..I'm new so be gentle! Sorry about sp..lazy!
Hahahaaa!!! This is Meg hacking into Katie's account. I saw that her journal layout was all screwy so I had no choice but to try to fix it. Sort of. Also, I've taken the liberty of lj-cutting the story. There we are.
Katie, will be im-ing you later in order to tell you how to lj-cut. And so forth.
BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!
The sparse, muted landscape flashed by as she ran. The sound of waves crashing on the nearby rocks mixed with the ragged gasps of her lungs, filling her head. Every muscle was tensed, strained, screaming for relief but still she pressed on. Legs burning, she reached the edge and looked down to the surf some seventy meters below. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, took a small step forward. Filled with a sudden clarity and serenity, she knew what she must do.
Llyr awoke with a start, small beads of sweat shining on her pale face. Shaking slightly, she raised her head to observe the bed sheets twisted around her legs. They, like the pillows thrown across the room, were the product of the dream…a nightmare in reality. It had been the same the night before: she ran and ran, then woke as she fell. Shaking off the shivers which ran down her spine, Llyr stood and began to make her bed. Her standard issue gray flannel nightgown, also clammy with sweat, was discarded in the hamper as she dressed. She replaced her nightclothes with a long woolen tunic and pants. The only color in this gray ensemble was found in the three buttons at the neck of her tunic. Intricately carved silver, inset with a single gem in each which were no larger than a grain of salt. The buttons represented her position within society, her familial rank, and her choice of employment. Sighing dejectedly as she looked into the mirror, she pulled back her hair with an old shoelace she had pilfered form the laundry room.
Llyr pulled back the window shade, gazing out into the pre-dawn dimness of the morning. The sun wouldn’t rise for another two hours, but she could not face her dreams any longer. Instead she sat, curled up in her small wooden armchair, contemplating the world outside her window. If she listened closely, the breathing and snoring of the other girls in the dormitory became audible. This was one of the five dormitories in the city reserved for the Young.
The Young were not determined by age (the oldest was ninety-three), but by their souls. The government recycled souls, carrying on the wisdom and memories of the of the past through the bodies of it’s current population, At birth, a baby had no soul. It had the small beginnings of a new soul, but these were stamped out with the installation of a previously formed soul. If the baby lived for five days, it was assigned it’s soul from the vast collection maintained by the government. As the child aged, it had no knowledge of the past memories or experiences of it’s soul. This immediate realization had been to be dangerous in terms of the child’s physical and mental development. At the age of sixteen, when the mind and body were deemed mature enough to resist the most common types of damage, the child was given a test. If they passed, the memories of their soul were unblocked and they were allowed to know their soul to it’s fullest extent. Of course, those children who were installed with exceptional souls were monitored closely from birth. They were also given the best educations, in hopes of preparing their physical capabilities and intelligence to correspond with their soul’s potential. Once the child knew it’s soul, it was considered to be an adult and given employment. However, if they failed they became one of the Young, knowing only the experiences of their body. These children, though still employed, were forced to remain under the guardianship of the government. Llyr had taken the test three years ago and failed. She still didn’t understand why.
She had been seated in a small, white room with a chair, table and hand mirror. Once you looked in the mirror, if you were ready, you saw a moment of a memory from your soul’s past. Llyr looked and saw…nothing. Not even her own reflection. Simply a stark, white, blank space. She started to cry then, silent tears running down her cheeks as the monitor entered and told her he was sorry, but she had not passed. Llyr was quietly escorted out of the room, out of the building, and left to stand on the street. She climbed quietly into the taxi, full of the knowledge that she was different…that she had failed. So she remained one of the Young, watching as those around her became adults and hating the expressions of pity and disdain she saw in their eyes.
Llyr curled up tighter, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Across the street she saw storeowners unlocking the doors and lighting the lamps in their shops. Llyr glanced at the silver hourglass mounted on her wall and noticed that it was almost time for breakfast. If she hurried, she could steal a bun from the table and go to work before the others from her dormitory awoke. She preferred this solitude, enjoying the security of living in a practically self-contained world. This was a luxury in which she could indulge while in the dormitories. However, once at work she usually had no choice but to speak. Llyr lived in constant fear of these moments, afraisd that she might betray herself, let slip that she was inferior. Opening her door, Llyr slipped downstairs, grabbed a piece of bread and an apple of the table, and stepped outside.
The air was cool and fresh with the indescribable taste of morning on the breeze. A slight fog still remained, but would have burned off completely within the hour. Small metal carts moved along the narrow street, hovering about sixteen centimeters above the iron-paved surface. People in the carts used long wooden poles to push themselves along the street. Llyr preferred to walk, taking her time to traverse the three kilometers to the building where she worked. Smiling at a few familiar vendors along the street, she walked slowly along the sidewalk, watching the slight wind toy with the canvas signs hung from the shop doors. All too soon she reached her destination, a tall building with extremely conspicuous security guards at the door.
The inside of the building was cool and dim, stone walls stretching up to meet the ceiling eighty meters above. Llyr stepped through the inner door into a small room. As the room filled with a soft purple, almost tangible light, she felt both her muscles and mind relax. Once the light had gently searched and identified her soul, the small white door at the other end of the room opened. Llyr once again walked into a large hall, but while the entrance had been dim, this room was bright and almost blindingly white. In the center of the hall was a globe which stood almost six stories high and filled the entire width of the room. Observation decks encircled the globe, allowing those on the perimeter to both observe and transfer it’s contents. Inside the globe, billions of soft quivers of light swam together, distinct in character but individually indistinguishable from the whole. Llyr, no matter how many times she encountered the globe, was always awed by the enormity of what she was seeing. Her civilization’s power, wisdom, and existence: it’s souls.
“Llyr! Early as usual!” a voice from behind her softly exclaimed, interrupting her silent reverie. She turned and saw the man for whom she worked, Mr. Lighsterick. He was a short, wizened old man with an even older soul. He was the Collector. The Collector had perhaps the most important job in the world. When a body died, the soul had to be transferred back to the main library globe for reassignment to a new body. This was the job of the Collector (there was only one); to collect the souls of the dead as well as chase down those souls which escaped their bodies before collection. A soul deemed worthy of this position was trained and maintained the position through all their lifetimes until their soul was eventually so aged that it was unable to function. When that occurred, a new Collector was trained and the current Collector’s soul was retired from circulation. In the sixteen years between the death of the body and the assumption of the position once again by the chosen soul, a selected committee was placed in charge of collection, although many times the souls were mishandled during this period, leaving a mess for the sixteen year-old Collector to clean up once again. Though Mr. Lighsterick had functioned as the Collector for two thousand and twenty four years, many hoped he would continue through at least two more bodies. Llyr was his assistant, caring for his delicate tools and assisting in the collection.
“Good morning, Sir.” She replied, inclining her head respectfully. “I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.”
“Well!” said Lighsterick, “It’s shaping up to be a busy day! Must get an early start, musn’t we?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, I’ve been informed of one death already this morning. Poor woman was attacked by her cat! Nasty little creatures.”
“Her cat, Sir?”
“Yes, well…it turns out that the cat was accidentally given the soul of her ex-husband. Husband had a bit of a vendetta. Apparently she robbed him blind and pushed him off a bridge! There’s going to be hell to pay at the Office of Distribution!”
“But how was the soul….?”
“Clerical error. Some fool transferred the soul into the Animal Retirement section. Not many old souls request that program, so you would think that he would have been noticed. But those blighters can’t even count to ten, let alone identify obviously misplaced souls.””
“What will we do with the soul now, Sir?”
“Well, since the act was committed in animal form, he’s not entirely responsible. No concrete thoughts, you see? Just simplified emotions. I expect we’ll simple retrieve the form, put him in containment, and let nature take it’s course. His soul might be wiped after death of course, but that’s highly unlikely.”
When souls committed crimes of incredible gravity, occasionally they were wiped clean and allowed only to recall the memories they would create in their future lifetimes. All memories of their past selves and recollections were blocked from recollection.
“Shall I prepare you tools, Sir?” asked Llyr, partially turning from Mr. Lighsterick.
“Righto!” he replied, “Bring them up to my office in about twenty minutes and we’ll go. Oh! Don’t forget, we must retrieve the cat as well.”
“Yes, Sir.” nodded Llyr, starting to walk away. “I won’t.”
Ducking her head so as to avoid eye contact with those she passed, she made her way to a small silver door at the end of the room. Placing both hands on the frame, she felt her palms tingle with the now familiar sensation of a soul scanning. Her vision blurred; softly muted colors swirling and dancing before her in stark contrast to the blindingly white walls. A low strain of music, aching in it’s pure simplicity, filled her mind. As the scanning continued, the notes became more harsh, the chords more dissident. The previously muted colors intensified, becoming almost unbearably bright. Then, just as suddenly, the colors softened and the music continued it’s clear, enticing serenade. As the scanning came to an end, the melody became inaudible and the colors reverted back to their practically indistinguishable hues. Llyr heard a soft click and the door swung open. She stepped through into the dark space beyond, arms extended until she made contact with the cool, metal ladder on the opposite wall. She climbed for almost fifteen minutes, listening to the sound of her own breathing resounding in the dark, endless silence. When she reached the top of the ladder, Llyr whispered to the empty space surrounding her. A small door on her left swung open, flooding the passage with light, and Llyr climbed through.
The small room was bright and circular, filled with a faint silver mist. Llyr moved to the center and stood before a round metal table. Once again, her soul was scanned, although this scanning was much more subtle and the consequences of failure were that much more dire. After her soul was accepted, she was allowed to approach the table and place her palms on it’s warm, smooth surface. As she did, the silver mist shimmered and vibrated, becoming brighter and brighter until Llyr was forced to close her eyes to avoid being blinded. She felt the table shake violently and the bright light subsided. When she looked back down at the table, the Collector’s tools lay before her, waiting to be put to use. Lovingly, Llyr picked up the thick cloth which lay beside them and began to polish. First was the sword, stunning in it’s simplicity. Eight small stones were set into the blade; two rubies for peace, three emeralds for rest, and three diamonds for binding. A single black pearl was set into the helm for release. This sword, called Makra, was used only on an escaped or unwilling soul. After it shone brightly once again, Llyr began to polish the small silver orb in which the collected soul was transported. This orb, called Lija, could only be opened by the Collector. Llyr lingered on it, relishing the cool, empty feeling that filled her. Finally, and most important, was the harp. Small and silver, the harp was carved with intricate, practically unintelligible symbols. The strings, also silver, hummed softly, vibrating of their own accord. The harp, Mageo, was the Collector’s most vital instrument. When played, it wove a melody so enticing that the soul was literally called out of it’s body.. Contained within the humming strings, the soul could only be released when the harp was played again. Otherwise, the soul could escape between the time it left the body and was fully contained.
Once the instruments were polished, Llyr gathered them and started back down the ladder. At the bottom, an impatient Mr. Lighsterick was waiting for her. “Come now!” he said rapidly “Souls wait for no man!” Llyr nodded her head and followed him out the doors into the now busy street. They climbed into Mr. Lighsterick’s cart which, rather than being propelled by poling, was pulled by a small gray mule. When they arrived at the apartment of the deceased woman, Llyr carried as large canvas sack and leather gloves, as it was her task to capture the homicidal feline. The woman’s housekeeper met them at the door. “Glad you’re here…” she stammered “the cat…he’s here somewhere. The missus is in her bedroom.” With that, she hurried out the door. Mr. Lighsterick walked into the bedroom, leaving Llyr alone in the main room. “Come here little kitty”, she sang in what she hoped was an enticing voice. A soft purr sounded from under the couch. Laying on her belly, bag in hand, Llyr peered at the small shape hiding in the darkness. With one hand, she latched onto the cat, pulling it out and, sitting up, into her lap. The cat was tiny and white, more of a kitten in fact. It’s long fluffy hair was inviting and warm to the touch. Looking at the seemingly frail animal in her lap, Llyr had to force herself to remember that it was responsible for the death of the woman in the next room. She steeled herself and dropped the softly mewing cat into her sack. A loud, demonic hiss issued from the canvas, and Llyr held on tightly to the now trashing animal. “Mr. Lighsterick?” she called into the next room “I have him, Sir.”
Meg out.
Katie, will be im-ing you later in order to tell you how to lj-cut. And so forth.
BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!
The sparse, muted landscape flashed by as she ran. The sound of waves crashing on the nearby rocks mixed with the ragged gasps of her lungs, filling her head. Every muscle was tensed, strained, screaming for relief but still she pressed on. Legs burning, she reached the edge and looked down to the surf some seventy meters below. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, took a small step forward. Filled with a sudden clarity and serenity, she knew what she must do.
Llyr awoke with a start, small beads of sweat shining on her pale face. Shaking slightly, she raised her head to observe the bed sheets twisted around her legs. They, like the pillows thrown across the room, were the product of the dream…a nightmare in reality. It had been the same the night before: she ran and ran, then woke as she fell. Shaking off the shivers which ran down her spine, Llyr stood and began to make her bed. Her standard issue gray flannel nightgown, also clammy with sweat, was discarded in the hamper as she dressed. She replaced her nightclothes with a long woolen tunic and pants. The only color in this gray ensemble was found in the three buttons at the neck of her tunic. Intricately carved silver, inset with a single gem in each which were no larger than a grain of salt. The buttons represented her position within society, her familial rank, and her choice of employment. Sighing dejectedly as she looked into the mirror, she pulled back her hair with an old shoelace she had pilfered form the laundry room.
Llyr pulled back the window shade, gazing out into the pre-dawn dimness of the morning. The sun wouldn’t rise for another two hours, but she could not face her dreams any longer. Instead she sat, curled up in her small wooden armchair, contemplating the world outside her window. If she listened closely, the breathing and snoring of the other girls in the dormitory became audible. This was one of the five dormitories in the city reserved for the Young.
The Young were not determined by age (the oldest was ninety-three), but by their souls. The government recycled souls, carrying on the wisdom and memories of the of the past through the bodies of it’s current population, At birth, a baby had no soul. It had the small beginnings of a new soul, but these were stamped out with the installation of a previously formed soul. If the baby lived for five days, it was assigned it’s soul from the vast collection maintained by the government. As the child aged, it had no knowledge of the past memories or experiences of it’s soul. This immediate realization had been to be dangerous in terms of the child’s physical and mental development. At the age of sixteen, when the mind and body were deemed mature enough to resist the most common types of damage, the child was given a test. If they passed, the memories of their soul were unblocked and they were allowed to know their soul to it’s fullest extent. Of course, those children who were installed with exceptional souls were monitored closely from birth. They were also given the best educations, in hopes of preparing their physical capabilities and intelligence to correspond with their soul’s potential. Once the child knew it’s soul, it was considered to be an adult and given employment. However, if they failed they became one of the Young, knowing only the experiences of their body. These children, though still employed, were forced to remain under the guardianship of the government. Llyr had taken the test three years ago and failed. She still didn’t understand why.
She had been seated in a small, white room with a chair, table and hand mirror. Once you looked in the mirror, if you were ready, you saw a moment of a memory from your soul’s past. Llyr looked and saw…nothing. Not even her own reflection. Simply a stark, white, blank space. She started to cry then, silent tears running down her cheeks as the monitor entered and told her he was sorry, but she had not passed. Llyr was quietly escorted out of the room, out of the building, and left to stand on the street. She climbed quietly into the taxi, full of the knowledge that she was different…that she had failed. So she remained one of the Young, watching as those around her became adults and hating the expressions of pity and disdain she saw in their eyes.
Llyr curled up tighter, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Across the street she saw storeowners unlocking the doors and lighting the lamps in their shops. Llyr glanced at the silver hourglass mounted on her wall and noticed that it was almost time for breakfast. If she hurried, she could steal a bun from the table and go to work before the others from her dormitory awoke. She preferred this solitude, enjoying the security of living in a practically self-contained world. This was a luxury in which she could indulge while in the dormitories. However, once at work she usually had no choice but to speak. Llyr lived in constant fear of these moments, afraisd that she might betray herself, let slip that she was inferior. Opening her door, Llyr slipped downstairs, grabbed a piece of bread and an apple of the table, and stepped outside.
The air was cool and fresh with the indescribable taste of morning on the breeze. A slight fog still remained, but would have burned off completely within the hour. Small metal carts moved along the narrow street, hovering about sixteen centimeters above the iron-paved surface. People in the carts used long wooden poles to push themselves along the street. Llyr preferred to walk, taking her time to traverse the three kilometers to the building where she worked. Smiling at a few familiar vendors along the street, she walked slowly along the sidewalk, watching the slight wind toy with the canvas signs hung from the shop doors. All too soon she reached her destination, a tall building with extremely conspicuous security guards at the door.
The inside of the building was cool and dim, stone walls stretching up to meet the ceiling eighty meters above. Llyr stepped through the inner door into a small room. As the room filled with a soft purple, almost tangible light, she felt both her muscles and mind relax. Once the light had gently searched and identified her soul, the small white door at the other end of the room opened. Llyr once again walked into a large hall, but while the entrance had been dim, this room was bright and almost blindingly white. In the center of the hall was a globe which stood almost six stories high and filled the entire width of the room. Observation decks encircled the globe, allowing those on the perimeter to both observe and transfer it’s contents. Inside the globe, billions of soft quivers of light swam together, distinct in character but individually indistinguishable from the whole. Llyr, no matter how many times she encountered the globe, was always awed by the enormity of what she was seeing. Her civilization’s power, wisdom, and existence: it’s souls.
“Llyr! Early as usual!” a voice from behind her softly exclaimed, interrupting her silent reverie. She turned and saw the man for whom she worked, Mr. Lighsterick. He was a short, wizened old man with an even older soul. He was the Collector. The Collector had perhaps the most important job in the world. When a body died, the soul had to be transferred back to the main library globe for reassignment to a new body. This was the job of the Collector (there was only one); to collect the souls of the dead as well as chase down those souls which escaped their bodies before collection. A soul deemed worthy of this position was trained and maintained the position through all their lifetimes until their soul was eventually so aged that it was unable to function. When that occurred, a new Collector was trained and the current Collector’s soul was retired from circulation. In the sixteen years between the death of the body and the assumption of the position once again by the chosen soul, a selected committee was placed in charge of collection, although many times the souls were mishandled during this period, leaving a mess for the sixteen year-old Collector to clean up once again. Though Mr. Lighsterick had functioned as the Collector for two thousand and twenty four years, many hoped he would continue through at least two more bodies. Llyr was his assistant, caring for his delicate tools and assisting in the collection.
“Good morning, Sir.” She replied, inclining her head respectfully. “I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.”
“Well!” said Lighsterick, “It’s shaping up to be a busy day! Must get an early start, musn’t we?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, I’ve been informed of one death already this morning. Poor woman was attacked by her cat! Nasty little creatures.”
“Her cat, Sir?”
“Yes, well…it turns out that the cat was accidentally given the soul of her ex-husband. Husband had a bit of a vendetta. Apparently she robbed him blind and pushed him off a bridge! There’s going to be hell to pay at the Office of Distribution!”
“But how was the soul….?”
“Clerical error. Some fool transferred the soul into the Animal Retirement section. Not many old souls request that program, so you would think that he would have been noticed. But those blighters can’t even count to ten, let alone identify obviously misplaced souls.””
“What will we do with the soul now, Sir?”
“Well, since the act was committed in animal form, he’s not entirely responsible. No concrete thoughts, you see? Just simplified emotions. I expect we’ll simple retrieve the form, put him in containment, and let nature take it’s course. His soul might be wiped after death of course, but that’s highly unlikely.”
When souls committed crimes of incredible gravity, occasionally they were wiped clean and allowed only to recall the memories they would create in their future lifetimes. All memories of their past selves and recollections were blocked from recollection.
“Shall I prepare you tools, Sir?” asked Llyr, partially turning from Mr. Lighsterick.
“Righto!” he replied, “Bring them up to my office in about twenty minutes and we’ll go. Oh! Don’t forget, we must retrieve the cat as well.”
“Yes, Sir.” nodded Llyr, starting to walk away. “I won’t.”
Ducking her head so as to avoid eye contact with those she passed, she made her way to a small silver door at the end of the room. Placing both hands on the frame, she felt her palms tingle with the now familiar sensation of a soul scanning. Her vision blurred; softly muted colors swirling and dancing before her in stark contrast to the blindingly white walls. A low strain of music, aching in it’s pure simplicity, filled her mind. As the scanning continued, the notes became more harsh, the chords more dissident. The previously muted colors intensified, becoming almost unbearably bright. Then, just as suddenly, the colors softened and the music continued it’s clear, enticing serenade. As the scanning came to an end, the melody became inaudible and the colors reverted back to their practically indistinguishable hues. Llyr heard a soft click and the door swung open. She stepped through into the dark space beyond, arms extended until she made contact with the cool, metal ladder on the opposite wall. She climbed for almost fifteen minutes, listening to the sound of her own breathing resounding in the dark, endless silence. When she reached the top of the ladder, Llyr whispered to the empty space surrounding her. A small door on her left swung open, flooding the passage with light, and Llyr climbed through.
The small room was bright and circular, filled with a faint silver mist. Llyr moved to the center and stood before a round metal table. Once again, her soul was scanned, although this scanning was much more subtle and the consequences of failure were that much more dire. After her soul was accepted, she was allowed to approach the table and place her palms on it’s warm, smooth surface. As she did, the silver mist shimmered and vibrated, becoming brighter and brighter until Llyr was forced to close her eyes to avoid being blinded. She felt the table shake violently and the bright light subsided. When she looked back down at the table, the Collector’s tools lay before her, waiting to be put to use. Lovingly, Llyr picked up the thick cloth which lay beside them and began to polish. First was the sword, stunning in it’s simplicity. Eight small stones were set into the blade; two rubies for peace, three emeralds for rest, and three diamonds for binding. A single black pearl was set into the helm for release. This sword, called Makra, was used only on an escaped or unwilling soul. After it shone brightly once again, Llyr began to polish the small silver orb in which the collected soul was transported. This orb, called Lija, could only be opened by the Collector. Llyr lingered on it, relishing the cool, empty feeling that filled her. Finally, and most important, was the harp. Small and silver, the harp was carved with intricate, practically unintelligible symbols. The strings, also silver, hummed softly, vibrating of their own accord. The harp, Mageo, was the Collector’s most vital instrument. When played, it wove a melody so enticing that the soul was literally called out of it’s body.. Contained within the humming strings, the soul could only be released when the harp was played again. Otherwise, the soul could escape between the time it left the body and was fully contained.
Once the instruments were polished, Llyr gathered them and started back down the ladder. At the bottom, an impatient Mr. Lighsterick was waiting for her. “Come now!” he said rapidly “Souls wait for no man!” Llyr nodded her head and followed him out the doors into the now busy street. They climbed into Mr. Lighsterick’s cart which, rather than being propelled by poling, was pulled by a small gray mule. When they arrived at the apartment of the deceased woman, Llyr carried as large canvas sack and leather gloves, as it was her task to capture the homicidal feline. The woman’s housekeeper met them at the door. “Glad you’re here…” she stammered “the cat…he’s here somewhere. The missus is in her bedroom.” With that, she hurried out the door. Mr. Lighsterick walked into the bedroom, leaving Llyr alone in the main room. “Come here little kitty”, she sang in what she hoped was an enticing voice. A soft purr sounded from under the couch. Laying on her belly, bag in hand, Llyr peered at the small shape hiding in the darkness. With one hand, she latched onto the cat, pulling it out and, sitting up, into her lap. The cat was tiny and white, more of a kitten in fact. It’s long fluffy hair was inviting and warm to the touch. Looking at the seemingly frail animal in her lap, Llyr had to force herself to remember that it was responsible for the death of the woman in the next room. She steeled herself and dropped the softly mewing cat into her sack. A loud, demonic hiss issued from the canvas, and Llyr held on tightly to the now trashing animal. “Mr. Lighsterick?” she called into the next room “I have him, Sir.”
Meg out.