“Can anyone honestly say they know what truth can be found in something so simple and yet as powerful as a dream? It is through these mighty storms that visit the mind at night; that my life was flipped upside down. And when the truth was revealed to me, I found myself in a world I could never have imagined existed. But... it was there where I finally found a purpose, perhaps even my purpose.”
-Calin
Prologue: Memories of Old
There, in front of me, was a landscape unlike any I had ever seen before. Enormous mountains laid resting on the horizon, the height of which boggled my mind. Black boulders littered the flat plains that sat in the long shadows of those towering peaks.
A flash of light startled me as lightning thundered close by.
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The air was thick with the promise of rain to the dry earth; the land covered by late dusk’s darkening blanket, but it did nothing to hide the strength of the storm that was coming.
It only brought a need to make haste to my heart.
Around me, the dust layer was only broken by day old tracks; what kind could have been anyone’s guess. Yet, somehow the knowledge of something extremely dangerous that had passed here, flickered across my mind.
It was hidden from my view and there was too little time. I have come too far to fail now. I needed to be quick, before the storm erased the last of the tracks. Some of the tracks had the possible signs of a split claw on the right side, but these ones were already disturbed by the wind.
Like a shock, it finally occurred to me the strangeness of what was running across my thoughts. Notions and concepts, unlike anything that had entered my mind before, were available to me.
I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but nothing happened. My head didn’t even move a single muscle.
‘Strange…’
The word was meant to be out loud, but again nothing happened, not even my mouth moved.
This was different. Something wasn’t
The window was cold to the touch. The glass shimmered as the specks of sunlight danced, and Blake stood, peering out. As God put his head to the window, at once, he felt light shining through his soul. Six years old. Age ceased to define him and time ceased to exist. Silence seeped into every crevice of the room, and slowly, as the awe of the vision engulfed him, he felt the gates slowly open. His thoughts grew fluid, unrestrained, and almost chaotic. An untouched imagination had been liberated, and soon, the world around him transformed into one of magnificence and wonder. His childish naivety cloaked the flaws and turbulence of London, and the imagination became, to Blake, the body of God. The darkness lingering in the corners of London slowly became light. Years passed by, slowly fading into wisps of the past, and the blanket of innocence deteriorated as reality blurred the clarity of childhood.
THE PAST :.. In days gone by, the four species managed to live in perfect harmony. Witches, werewolves and vampires lived in secret, blending in with the humans on a daily basis - and the humans remained completely in the dark about their existence. It was after thousands of years of living this way, whilst everything was completely normal, that a small group of vampires decided that they’d had enough. They spent months devising plans.
Brock awoke to the sound of a trumpet. He was ready to get training. Brock put on his long johns, pants, shirt, coat, and hat. Then he slowly walked out of his tent. When he walked out he was greeted by Major General Wayne. He said, “Follow me i'll show you where you will be training.” Brock followed him for a about a mile until they walked into a large field with hundreds of saddled horses, and about 80 other men. Major General Wayne said,
My hopeless hope. It had dared to draw back, a bit closer. But, the hands! The touch! Peculiarly familiar.
Elementary and high schools are not preparing their students well enough to understand the writing process, which mostly affect them during the transition from high school to college. It is clear that elementary and high school students don’t fully understand the five steps of writing the limitation of sentences per a paragraph and how to gather information from different sources and give credit to the source or cited.
Just a night. An ordinary night, around fifteen to eleven o’clock. I lay there playing with my xacto knife kit. It belonged to my Grandfather’s aunt. So I guess that’s my great great aunt. Well anyways I finally set aside my kit and started to try and sleep. I’m at my grandparents house in the Fairfax District of Los Angeles. The house? Why it’s a classic Spanish themed home built precisely in 1929. At the end of a Golden Era: The Roaring Twenties. So as I turn to closed eyes I see a boy. A young Hasidic Jewish boy. He looks around the age of eight or nine and asks me in a seemingly cute creepily voice Have you seen my family? I asked what family. The family that seems to be missing. I asked are you from around here? He says, yes I grew up here in the brown roofed house.
“Nuclear bomb-- Sector E4Y N9H, --- Extraction --- Sector E4Y N0G --” That was all Warren heard before the transmission was cut, and the old radio died. He looked around in shock before rolling out of his makeshift bed, he sighed when he noticed the small figure sleeping in a tree above him. “Audrey, get up, We might finally escape this hell-hole!” Warren yelled, forgetting to keep his voice down out of pure excitement. Audrey fell out of the tree she was sleeping in, she was supposed to be on guard duty. “Huh, what?!” She squealed, rolling to her feet. As she stood up and looked around wildly, she swung her rusty Colt Python around like she had been attacked. They stood in silence as Audrey glared at Warren, If looks could kill… he thought.
During this short voyage I saw the lightnings playing on the summit of Mount Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly; and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased. (49)
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
As I wake up strapped to a thing of wood in the pitch black dark wondering what is happening and what to do to get out of it. I hear some strange sounds coming from right by my hands. It’s a bunch of rats trying to eat the food my captures left me before they kill me. I hurry, in instinct to grab the food and start to eat it. As i'm eating this small piece of food I hear and see a pendulum swinging above me lowering every time it goes back and forth.
"Not if I beat you until you can’t." I said crudely. I was anxious and scared. I broke my mum's lawn gnome and knew that she had warned me of touching them or else she would make me into a lawn gnome. I also knew that I would not only be in trouble for breaking of the head of the orange beard, red checked and very plump gnome, but also for playing hooky with my Dad’s RC car. Later that night I got three extra spankins for threatening my little sister.
I slowly trudged up the road towards the farm. The country road was dusty, and quiet except for the occasional passing vehicle. Only the clear, burbling sound of a wren’s birdsong sporadically broke the boredom. A faded sign flapped lethargically against the gate. On it, a big black and white cow stood over the words “Bent Rail Farm”. The sign needed fresh paint, and one of its hinges was broken. Suddenly, the distant roar of an engine shattered the stillness of that Friday afternoon. Big tires speeding over gravel pelted small stones in all directions. The truck stopped in front of the red-brick farmhouse with the green door and shutters. It was the large milking truck that stopped by every Friday afternoon. I leisurely passed by fields of corn, wheat, barley, and strawberries. The fields stretched from the gradient hills to the snowy mountains. The blasting wind blew like a bellowing blizzard. A river cut through the hilly panorama. The river ubiquitously flowed from tranquil to tempestuous water. Raging river rapids rushed recklessly into rocks ricocheting and rebounding relentlessly through this rigorous river. Leaves danced with the wind as I looked around the valley. The sun was trapped by smoky, and soggy clouds.
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
Chapter Four Light spills out from the room, illuminating the puddle of silvery blood that has formed underneath my hand. I quickly enter the room, hoping that I’ve chosen correctly. The room appears to be a small chamber, the gold walls coated with glowing yellow-green moss. The uncovered sections of wall are covered with ancient etchings, which are too faded for me to make out properly.
“The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky – seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.” (96)