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Hey, Round Robin
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Hey, Round Robin
Hey, Round Robin Time!!!!! Here we go, beginning a new story:
The candlelight snaked past, each flame wavering in the grip of the frail Holy Ones. Somewhere down the hill, a seagull called out in the blackness of night, the waves crashsing against the shore. As the procession silently proceeded, the stone huts of the Monastery cast dramatic shadows across the silent landscape. Areala shrank back, watching the shifting white tunics dance before her eyes, the corners of her vision blurring. Unable to think straight. A dream. But so real. The same dream each night. The white robed figures. The muted candlelight. The cliff above the sea.
From the shadows, one of the Holy Ones began to sing, his voice wavering slightly, then gaining confidence. The words were not in English, nor were they even words at all. Just a tune...an unknown, mystical tune. Eerie yet beautiful, it echoed off the rocks and trees. Areala felt a presence nearing her. And, like all the times before, in all the dreams, a Holy One stepped forth, their face covered by a white veil. From inside the cloth, the slightest whisper. "You are us, and we are you..."
Areala bolted up from her bed, her ragged gasps punctuated by the thunderous sound of the rain pounding on the shingles above. The dream was so real, and yet so unreal. She rotated her head to the sketchbook lying on her desk, the picture she had drawn of the dream the first night she seen it. She flicked on the overhead, and staggered around piles of clothing strewn across the floor to where the sketchbook lay. There-the faceless figure. The snaking line of Holy Ones, clutching the bluish flames, and all around, the shifting shadows. But the faceless figure. Heart still racing, Areala raised her head to the window, and for just a moment, silhouetted against the darkness of the pouring rain, a white robed figure gazed back.
submitted by Kit Kat
(April 5, 2009 - 4:10 pm)
(April 5, 2009 - 4:10 pm)
((Can I write something? You write really well, Kit Kat, and I don't want to ruin it . . . *bites lip*))
(April 5, 2009 - 5:47 pm)
um, yes? you can? It's a ROUND ROBIN STORY? Just WRITE something!!!!
(April 6, 2009 - 7:15 am)
*rolls eyes* BellaTrix, you WILL NOT ruin it! :)
(April 6, 2009 - 7:17 am)
Hannah, do you really think you would ruin it? NO ONE can ruin a round robin story. Plus your REALLY good. A LOT better than me.
(April 6, 2009 - 10:37 am)
*sighs* Procrastinators. No one is going to ruin the RR. That's ridiculous. If you weren't a splendid writer, you wouldn't be on Inkwell. And even if you really are horrible, as long as you enjoy writing, that's why you're on here. So come on, guys, let's begin.
P.S. Kit Kat, that WAS awesome! Serious bookstore material!
Areala shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the frighteningly surreal visions. She had no idea where these dreams came from. She's never ventured beyond her family's New York City apartment, much less to the strange, craggy mountains these dreams took place. She didn't know why she called them "Holy Ones," seeing as she thought such titles to be silly in the ral world- no human being should be better than another ((not going to power-play her religion)). She had no idea whatsoever, just knew that such things terrified her to contemplate. She turned her head from such things and began her day.
Eat breakfast, take shower, brush teeth, get dressed, comb hair... the same mundane routine almost every weekday. But she found comfort in this regularity of it all, especially after her frightening nightmares each night. She looked forward to the alarm clock playing Christmas carols every day, the choice of her sister Catalina. Catalina was ten, just a year younger than Areala herself. Catalina, with all he annoying foibles, and her eight-year-old brother Marc, with his obsessive "phases" (model airplanes, knights and castles, jungle life, etc.), were soothingly real. Dad, with his lopsided tie and scratched-up briefcase, was consolingly, comically real. Mom, with her drama and imagination, was never the same twice, yet cnsistent and eternal, and real, all the same. Fidi the cat, no matter how much Areala hated him and cats in general, was real. Her best friends Susi and Magdelane were charmingly, pleasantly real. The cute and funny Tomas Rendall was real. The bratty kids in the back of the bus were real. The peanut vendor across the-
Yes, you get the message. But these everyday things comforted Areala, these everyday, real things. After the horror and confusion and surrealness of Areala's nightly visions, Areala loved the imperfect and flawless realness that came with her every waking moment.
((Due to my word overusage ("REAL"), I suggest "Real" for a working title. What say you guys?))
(April 6, 2009 - 4:03 pm)
Areala found herself drawing similarities between everything around her, tying up all the mystique, fastening it securely to the eerie dreams that penetrated the silence of the night. Trying to make it real. But she wondered why. She just wanted the horror to go away...not make it real. But she wanted it all to make sense...to find form and shape. She couldn't stand the not knowing. She just couldn't.
Fifth period at her crumbling school, its days of glory long gone, found her huddled among stacks of books in the library, chewing methodically on a rubbery hamburger, picking the torn spot in her jeans, and scanning over the titles of books she had yanked from the shelf. Ancient Religions...Cults of the Middle Ages...Monks and Monasteries: A Picture Guide to the Religions of the World, Present and Past. Areala sighed as she subjected her mind to the crippling torture of textbook reading. By the time she finished reading about the Egyptian gods (the pictures of Hapi were a little strange...), she had polished off the hamburger and was starting on the sour chocolate milk. By the time she finished the spread of Christianity, she was polishing off some cake. By the time the Holocaust section came up, she was surprised she hadn't grown a beard. She stood up, and slapped the cover back onto the book. This was insane. For two reasons; one, the publishers seemed to almost enjoy putting up a bunch of useless information, and two, she felt as though she was getting a little paranoid. She stormed out of the library, tossing her tray of crumbs into the trash can on the way out.
Okay, everyone, have fun!!!!!!!!
(April 6, 2009 - 5:34 pm)
*gives up trying to boost the self-confidence of Chatterboxers*
(April 7, 2009 - 5:35 pm)
But something was different today. When she turned away from the mirror while brushing her teeth, Areala caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of a white robe. When she walked into the kitchen, the teakettle was boiling, and in the cloud of steam, she thought she saw a white robe. In the milk she poured into her cereal, in the flipping pages of her sketchbook; all day the white robes haunted her. Susi and Magdalane complained that she was no fun and ran off to the jungle gym. In Susi's waving blond hair, Areala saw a shadow of a white robe. By the time she fell asleep again, she was living in terror of the haunting shadows of her dreams.
That night she saw the Holy Ones again. Tonight they went farther. The eerie singing floated, effervescent, in the stifling dark. The blue flames were icy, heartless. The pale veils flapped in a slight breeze that wavered the candle flames. And the entire procession walked toward Areala, growing larger at every step and chanting, "You are us, and we are you, You are us, and we are you...." She shrunk back in terror of the robed figures, breathing hard and fast, finally turning and running, running as she had never run before, running away from the stark reality of her nighttime visions. Just to be away, that was all.... but the chanting grew louder in her ears: "You are us, and we are you, You are us, and we are you..." Crying out, she fell, fear washing over her like a black, icy wave.
((I like the name Areala. Good name. Interesting concept, too - I can't wait to see where it goes.))
(April 6, 2009 - 6:51 pm)
But she did not wake. She wished to, she had to. This time, the dream was different. She was part of it. The Faceless One stepped forth, his candle flaming brighter than the others. Quietly, the other Holy Ones seemed to disappear, fading into the black canvas of night, as if they never existed. The Faceless One held his candle ever higher, his white robes rustling, as though stirred by a sudden breeze.
The wind picked up. The candle flame wavered, but did not die. The taste of the sea was in the air, and the wind was harsh and cold and wet on Areala. But the Faceless One never moved, his veiled face turned to the beacon of light held aloft in his hand.
Slowly, the breezes ceased to exist, and the white figure before her lowered the candle. A soft whisper, almost a sigh, emenated from beneath the veil, and the candle changed. The flame reached out, and snaked around Areala, holding her fast in the searing heat. The heat was almost unbearable, but the flame did not burn her. She was rooted to the ground as the Faceless One stood before her, his candle outstretched.
As the flaming ropes pulsed against her skin, he reached out a pale finger. And touched the palm of her hand.
"It has begun."
And the dream faded away like so many times before. Areala sat up in bed, feeling her palm tingling from the light touch of the Faceless One. But it would go away, like all dream injuries, she knew. But this time, it didn't. She raised her hand to her face, and felt cold fear wind around her heart.
On her palm, a pale scar, though it seemed to flicker like the flames that had bound Areala moments before. As she watched it, terror spreading throughout her body, the scar became clearer. In its odd flickering light, she could make out the design of a branch crossing the moon, bathed in flames. She clenched her fist tight, and barely held back her scream. And from the window, the Faceless One, unseen by her, was watching.
(April 7, 2009 - 5:13 pm)
WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN???? CONFLICTING POSTS!!!!!! ah, but i am an expert at getting this to work. i'll end my part by adding on so it connects to the next part smoothly, k'?
Areala did not see the figure, she only saw the symbol on her hand...flaming white, as though she had been branded. Shaking, she turned on the light, and the Faceless One was gone. She would not turn off the light. Not let the dream disturb her. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not dispell the tingling on her marked hand, or the sound of the Holy One's music in her head. "You are us, and we are you. You are us and we..."
(April 8, 2009 - 10:42 am)
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...
Catalina's horrible voice joined in with the Christmas carol as Areala awoke from the terrifying dream, drenched in sweat, as the horrifying chants gradually melted into ear-wrenching strains of the neverending Jingle bells, jingle bells...
"Turn it off," would have been Areala's grouchy response any other day, but today she wanted nothing more than to awaken from the unspeakable terror of her dreams. She didn't even know why she felt this way about them; I mean, seriously, she told herself, it's no different than going to church... but it was, it was different from anything else earthly, but what frightened her was that it wasn't just a nightmare with monsters and graveards that you could wake up from, shake off, and joke about a day later. It was becoming a part of her, a fear that couldn't be shaken off, couldn't be joked about... and it was driving Areala absolutely insane with the eternal fear.
She jumped out of bed, thankful for the freezing wood floor against her bare feet to jolt her senses into motion. "Hmmm-hmmm hmmm, hmmm-hmmm hmm, hmmm-hmmm hm hmm hm," she hummed, trying to vanquish those awful words that were becoming true You are us and we are you, you are us and we are you... Never fading, always there...
She launched herself into her comfortable everyday routine of breakfast, shower, blah-blah-blah. On the bus, she chatted with Susi (Mag took the subway) about this and that... did you get number seven on the math page... I love your skirt... and Areala breathed an inward sigh of relif, knowng that this was how it was supposed it be.
((Sorry, I'm in a bad mood and either more writing would be seriously crummy, and/or somebody would die.)) ;)
(April 7, 2009 - 5:58 pm)
Ok, have just pieced together conflicting posts nicely! yay me! will propably take like 24 hours to show up though...
This was real. The screeching of the bus brakes as it slid to a stop in the slushy winter streets. The stale smell of mold lingering in the air. The smell of old pizza from the boy in front of her and Susi. Areala relaxed. A dream. Just a dream.
She tried to concentrate on the conversation between her and Susi. Normal, shallow comments. No big thinking involved. All the better.
"So, I saw this skirt, right?" Susi leaned forward, a glint in her eye.
"Right, and?"
"Well, it was pretty ugly, but guess who i saw behind it..." Areala said her propers "who"s and "what's" and "and's" still trying to concentrate of Susi's story of one of the girls at school actually buying an ugly skirt. Normal, shallow, vapid.
Areala felt a sudden rush of relief that the walls at her school weren't white. She would probably get even more paranoid if they where. So what if they were ugly puke green? Anything but white. She felt a rush of gratitude towards the (probably colorblind) painters.
"I love those walls." She said this without thinking, and Susi cocked her head.
"What?"
"Did I just say that out loud?" Areala felt her cheeks flushing to a high extent of crimson. Pretty color...as long as it wasn't on her face.
"Yeah, you did." Susi was only managing to hold in her giggles. And no wonder. Ugly puke green walls. And Areala had just said she loved them.
(April 8, 2009 - 10:53 am)
((Does saying I love this RR make more sense? :) ))
The rest of the day Areala drifted off and then jolted back to reality, makng random comments, or just completely spaced out, her thoughts filled with terrifying visions. Mrs. Blanche in her white blouse, at a distance, was a robe-wearing horror. Choir practice was the worst, and she played sick to avoid it. She should have called home when she got the chance; the day only worsened from there. At recess, the littler girls' jump-rope chants sounded like menacing intonations, and the white-aproned lunch ladies made her feel faint. Halfway through lunch, when she imagined that the rockwall was a foreboding mounainside, Mag spoke.
"Heck, 'Reala," she said, chewing her sandwich, "what's gotten into you all of a sudden? It's like, you're completely out of it."
"Say what?" Areala hadn't been listening.
"That's exactly what I mean!" exclaimed Mag, sounding irritated. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine, just dandy," said Areala, a little too quickly.
"Oh, wait, I know what it is," said Mag, a knowing look in her eyes. "t's Tomas again, isn't it?" A smile played around he lips.
"No!" said Areala, now seriously ticked off, an unusual occurence for her; she was typically rather mild-mannered. "You don't understand! Can you just leave me alone already?" ((Sorry, that's a very overused line; my bad.)) She picked up her lunch tray and stalked off to another table.
As she was going, she heard Mag tell Susi confidingly, "It's SO Tomas."
(April 8, 2009 - 3:49 pm)
Please Please don't do anything nasty to me if I mess this up!!
They would never understand. They were able to live through their days never fearing a distant glimpse of white. They could go to sleep at night knowing that their dreams would be full of safe, real things. But Areala couldn't. It wasn't possible for her.
0o0o0o0
The Holy One, the cause of Areala's discomfort, smiled. The young one was distancing herself from her friends, becoming less sure of the reality of her world. It was perfect. The next part of this, impossibly perfect plan, rested entirely on the shoulders of her. This was her Time of Proving.
(April 11, 2009 - 1:36 pm)
((*gasps* You're right! No one ever did it from the whie person thingy's prospect! Genius!
I don't want to mess it up, and you might have a plan... I'll go back to Areala.))
When Areala banged through the front door that day at about 3:10, she looked up at her mother and nearly had a heart attack.
Then she relaxed. Her mom was a litle weird, as in dressing-up-in-a-long-white-robe-to-do-some-kind-of-obscure-yoga weird, but not some creepy cult member. But Serefina Ruprecht wasn't an idiot, and it was plain to see that Areala was terrified of something.
Serefina had read about smiling mothers and daughters who had heart-to-hearts and worked out all their problems and then some, and then moved on to ending world hunger and curing cancer, but she was also realistic. She knew that that sort of thing was nonsensical propaganda.
"Areala, honey," she said, "come sit down over here. You've seemed a little upset lately. Is something bothering you?"
...
(April 12, 2009 - 5:19 pm)