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| Acmlm's Board - I2 Archive - Modern Art - Long Days |
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Kegan Marius Micro-Goomba Level: 8  Posts: 11/18 EXP: 1866 For next: 321 Since: 03-15-04 From: Chico, California, United States of America Since last post: 553 days Last activity: 339 days |
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| This is part two of my series of short stories. I'm not using this one for a class, but I like the character anyway so I wrote about her second. This piece, which is on its second major draft, is nowhere near as polished as Assassin's Loss, which is on its fourth draft. This story IS slightly longer than Assassin's Loss, though not by much. I would appreciate feedback and nitpicks. ------------------------------------------------------ The subarena's pub almost always remained full during the evening, when activity in the Arena fell silent and fighters needed a smoke and a beer to finish the day. The most rowdy types remained at the bar, where they could harass the help more effectively. The various rickety tables throughout the brick-wall room housed the more quiet fighters, who remained content discussing battle tactics with the very warriors they could duel the next day. Aila Sterling tended the bar whenever she could, as did many of the other grunt workers. A rare skill to have in a coliseum of gruff, dirty barbarians, those with the ability to mix good drinks landed the best shifts of them all, and Aila made the best Cosmopolitan in the entire Arena of Champions. "Miss Sterling? Another beer, please?" Aila blinked. In her fatigue and train of thought she had forgotten completely about her job. Thankfully, it was only the one warrior asking, and he had a history of politeness. Flashing a bashful smile in reply, the spindly woman reached under the bar and emerged with an unmarked bottle. She placed it gently before the warrior. "Sorry, Wallace," she said, her voice little more than a squeak. "I guess I spaced out." "Think nothing of it, milady." The brown-cloaked mage placed a small stack of silver coins, the Arena's standard currency, next to his bottle. "Keep the change." "Thank you," Aila replied, taking the stack of coins and slowly placing them all into a drawer below the bar top. She didn't put any of them into her dirty white apron to keep for herself. It's nice, but I've never needed money, and Chaya could always put it to good use. When Wallace left with his beer, Aila drenched a tattered rag in cold water and absentmindedly squeaked it around the surface of the bar. Her colorless eyes struggled to close, and it took all of her strength to keep her legs from buckling. She made no sound as she worked, and it would take concentration to even notice her breathe. An outsider would think her lack of strength and attention stems from lack of nutrition; Aila's muscles did not seem to exist. She had no obvious body fat yet her features remained defined, and she stood at an average height. Her frighteningly pale skin seemed to blend with her red work shirt and cotton overalls, but to that end it looked as if she had never seen sunlight. Her long dirty blond hair lay on her head in disarray. Indeed, she hadn't had the chance to wash herself in days. As one fighter had put it, "she looks like death's daughter." Wallace again interrupted her, but this time he only returned the empty beer bottle to the bar. He never said a word, merely slamming on the bar and walking away. The sudden slam had to have been deliberate, but at the time Aila didn't care; she was thankful for the return to reality regardless. For the next hour, Aila continued to serve beverages and tolerate tobacco smoke. As time passed, her consciousness took longer and longer vacations. Her body threatened to fail even as her mind measured the right amount of vodka and orange juice. When she saw another worker approaching the bar, the first she had seen for so many hours, her eyes opened as wide as her smile. "Aila! You're off. Chaya's arranged to have you detailed in the Seventh Coliseum at oh-seven-thirty hours tomorrow helping the locals move a new shipment of merchandise in. Until then you're free." With a tired smile, Aila yielded her apron to the worker and immediately power walked her way to the Arena workers' quarters in the opposite corner of the subarena. The courtyard between reeked of various flowers and assorted flora; clearly, the Gatekeeper had more inside her skin than steel nerves. Indeed, Aila couldn't help but see a forest within the courtyard, an extension of her home within the Arena. She didn't look at anyone as she made her way through the foliage; she didn't want to catch anyone's attention. All she wanted was a shower and sleep. Thankfully, the quarters were completely empty; the only signs of life were the faint stench of filth and the unmade cots that lined up at attention across the room. Not a soul, or even any sort of insect, could be seen or heard. Aila enjoyed privacy whenever she could get it. If she had been more alert she may have thought the great absence peculiar. In fact, she would have realized immediately that Chaya had arranged for the other workers to stay out of the quarters in one way or another for the sole purpose of giving Aila some sweet silence. For now, however, she merely enjoyed the peace. Stripping off her uniform, Aila stepped into the common servant's shower. No one around to gaze at her delicate twenty year-old body as she cleansed herself. No one she would have to share the shower with. No one would scream at her to hurry the hell up. Basking in the silence, she stood perfectly still underneath the steaming water. Her eyes closed, allowing her mind to empty itself of everything but the feeling of the refreshing water on her body. The fresh water clung to the caked grunge on her skin and hair, washing away her thoughts and turning the liquid a dark brown. Aila took a pine-scented bar of soap from the tin rack underneath the shower head. Aila emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later. Her hair regained some of its luster, becoming a series of light brown and blond streaks in no particular pattern all around her head. Her facial features became clearer, removing much of the "death's daughter" look and restoring her delicate features. The air smelled strongly of pine, a welcome change from the assorted dirty odors. Above all, her tired smile grew wider from the refreshment, and her beautiful eyes beamed like the world had lifted off her shoulders. She opened a small wooden trunk next to her cot and removed a pair of soft red-cotton pajamas with care. Quickly, in anticipation of a good night's sleep, she slipped the pajamas on feet-first, and bounced on the cot. She never set the small alarm on her bedpost. A weak snore erupted from her mouth mere moments later. The nightmare returned. As if she had never left, she saw him again: her twin, her complete genetic twin, raised as a machine in a lab. Not a day passed that she didn't kill someone, real or virtual. In every mission, in every battle, every time she pulled the trigger on her rifle, she was with him. He expressed nothing; always cold, emotionless, and unchanging, the perfect automaton. They had never spoken beyond the tasks assigned. They didn't even have names beyond their respective designations. She merely studied and performed as told and ordered. Aila watched in her nightmare, for what might as well have been the ten thousandth time, her twin and commander, as his mind snapped. The carnage that resulted. No amount of conditioning could have defended her from the sight. He had gone berserk, grabbed a nearby energy rifle, and fired on anyone near him. Aila watched as the experimental weapon he carried exploded in his face, the mist of blood filling her nostrils, the storm troopers carrying him away. She never saw him after that incident, and her unit disbanded soon after. It didn't matter to her. All she could see was his face, his hazel eyes devoid of reason and feeling, and she couldn't help but wonder if the same fate was in store for her. And how long would it take until she, too, went berserk |
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tinzeee Permaban Repeated warnings and bannings about stupidity Level: 38  Posts: 144/618 EXP: 369695 For next: 752 Since: 04-02-04 From: Australia - Sydney Since last post: 553 days Last activity: 339 days |
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Um! wow and did you really write that yourself? Its good |
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