Prologue
It was a damp morning and the sun had not yet risen. The grounds of the Royal Palace were bathed in semi-darkness and there were small puddles all over the place, remnants of the rain storm that had passed by the previous night. A lanky man sat on the top step of the vast stairway that led to the entrance doors. Dressed in a black leather trench-coat, he was easy to miss in the dark, and beneath this coat he wore a white shirt and a loosely tied black tie. He pulled a small silver lighter from one the coat's many pockets and lit a white cigarette which was hanging from his mouth. As he pocketed the lighter, he inhaled deeply on the cigarette and let a stream of smoke escape his nostrils. This chap did not look as if he belonged anywhere
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near a royal palace; his long black hair was streaked with grey and was very messy, he sported a stubble and his eyes were a cold green. These were not even his most distinguishing features; he sported a long scar over his left eye, which served as a reminder of a past he wished so desperately he could return to. He slowly ran a finger down his scar - an old habit most people in the palace found annoying - and he heaved a sigh. This was Orion, to those who knew him. He had once had a name, a real name. Though there were a few that still referred to him by this term, the name had lost all its meaning. The Royal Palace had five massive towers; the biggest one had four large clock faces on either side. Orion heaved himself to his feet and looked upward toward the Clock Tower, which now read 5:45, and he pulled out an expensive silver watch from his coat pocket and checked to make sure the time was right, seeing that it was he replaced the watch back within his coat. He wrapped the coat tightly around his body to keep out the cold morning air and proceeded to enter the palace through the vast double doors. Orion was walking down the second-floor corridor. This was the one of the most important sections of the Palace, since it contained the bedchamber of the King and Queen of Moroldia. Orion did not give a damn about that, in fact he had made it his life's mission to completely alienate himself from their 'Royal Highnesses'. The corridor itself was lavishly furnished, with cushioned sofas at regular intervals, vast paintings of previous Kings and Royal Families. Orion's room had a wooden double door with brass handles. As he reached it, he removed the cigarette from his mouth, extinguished it on the wall and threw it into a corner, he then began fumbling among his numerous keys for the one that would gain him access to his private world of misery, he heard a familiar voice call out. “Orion,” "Oh, shit," muttered Orion and sped up his search for the right key. He had just found it when a large hand was placed on hid shoulder. Orion inhaled deeply and slowly turned around, attempting all the while to remain calm, and he stared straight into the deep brown eyes of his older brother Xander - King Xander XII to be exact. Xander was roughly the same height as his brother, but his muscular build was a stark contrast to Orion's scrawny frame. However, where Orion's eyes overflowed with intelligence, Xander 's eyes were full of wisdom and as any learned person will tell you: there is a vast difference between wisdom and intelligence. "I wanted to ask you something," Xander stated. "Make it quick," Orion said rudely, "So I can say 'no' and get on with my life." Xander chose to ignore the hint of rudeness in Orion's voice, though he had grown weary of it, he just decided to let it go…this time. "I want you to come to the Ceremony tomorrow. " Orion rolled his eyes and said, "As I have told you, about eight times, I am not coming to that tribal ceremony. " Xander tried not to get worked up over this, and proceeded to say, "You and I went through it, as did our forefathers.
I don't know what you have against it."
"Now look here," muttered Orion, "It is the most ridiculous, superstitious, adolescent ritual in the history of all the Nine Kingdoms. How it exists in this day and age, I'll never know. "
"Orion," said Xander, sternly, "I am asking you as a brother. "
With that, Xander went back in the direction of his room, but not before looking back to see Orion light another cigarette. Before Orion entered his room, he heard Xander say, "What would Mother say if she saw you smoking those?"
Orion quickly removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked around nervously; he then looked at the cigarette with a guilty expression on his face. He sighed sadly and tossed the cigarette on the stone floor, crushing it with his foot.
The great sun rose from its resting place behind the horizon. The light from the sun reflected off the gigantic truck hidden among some bushes. The man behind the truck emerged from the shadows and stared out over the vast plains before him, he had seen many sunrises before, but this one was strange, glorious would be how he would describe it and for a moment, a feeling of hope overwhelmed
him. The man looked at the sunrise for what seemed like hours, until he noticed something: people, flocking to the east, toward the Great City. He knew what was happening, he had heard of the 'journey' made by the people whenever the 'moment' happened. The man grunted, climbed into his monstrous truck, and fell asleep. The ocean of people and vehicles continued on the journey to the Great City and once they got there, they would have to make a two mile journey from the City to the Royal Palace. Most of the elderly had made the journey before, but that was 30 years ago, and now they found the journey long and tiring. The younger ones, however, found the journey fun and adventurous, in a way.
Jacqmin, Laura. And When We Awoke There Was Light and Light. December 4, 2013. TS. E-Res. Library St. Mary’s College. Moraga Ca.
Because of his displeasing appearance, he is abhorred by society and forced to live. away from it, secluded in forests and so on. Finding the door open I entered the. An old man sat in it, near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast for the day. He turned on hearing a noise and perceived me, shrieked loudly, and quitting the hut ran across the fields."'.
“The teacher’s desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored books and other et ceteras of the profession. The children observed Nig very busy there one morning before school, as they flitted in occasionally from their play outside. The master came: called the children to order; opened a drawer to take a book the occasion required; when out poured a volume of smoke. “Fire! Fire!” screamed he, at the top of his voice. By the time he had been sufficiently acquainted with the peculiar odor, to know he was imposed upon. The scholars shouted in laughter to see the terror of the dupe, who, feeling abashed at the needless fright, made no very strict investigation, and Nig once more escaped punishment. She had provided herself with cigars, and puffing, puffing away at the crack of the drawer, had filled it with smoke, and then closed it tightly to deceive the teacher, and amuse the scholars. The interim of terms was filled up with a variety of duties new and peculiar. At home, no matter how powerful the heat when sent to rake hay or guard the grazing herd, she was never permitted to shield her skin from the sun. She was not many shades darker than Mary now; what a calamity it would be ever to hear the contrast spoken of. Mrs.Bellmont was determined the sun should have full power to darken the shade which nature had first bestowed upon her as best befitting.
Untouched and unhindered, he continued on a path, not yet discovered, towards the unknowing Prince Prospero. Although he had a slow pace, he made an unexplainable distance in a small amount of time. Some masqueraded man from the retreating group grew enraged and curious of this mysterious man. He ran up to the figure and placed a hand on his mask with the intent to tear it off of the ghostly man. The moment he laid his hand upon the mask, he screamed in agony and pain. Then, unable to pull his hand or the mask free, his fate was sealed. His scream withered away along with his final breath, as he turned old and crumpled onto the lustrous floor in a pile of black ash. Silence and absolute stillness filled the room before a wine glass, half full of a red drink, descended from the whitley g...
“Yet when we was finally permitted entry all my attention were taken not by the blazing fire but by a huge red jowled creature the Englishman who sat behind the desk. I knew not his name only that he were the most powerful man I ever saw and he might destroy my mother if he so desired. Approach says he as if he was an altar.”
“Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere. He held in his hand an antique silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a chimney or globe of any kind,
"Where's the cigarettes?" she asked. We all sat there, looking dumbfounded, and wishing it were only cigarettes because the consequences for that were less severe. She stood at the door for a few minutes, staring at us with a look of complete disappointment on her face, before walking out the door, shutting it behind her.
At midnight, Paul went outside and sat on the bench on the old, plank porch. Despite bundling himself in a heavy blanket, he shivered in the cold. The eastern sky before him was dotted with stars, scintillating above the quiet spread of desert. A few lonely clouds were drifting by.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
We continued down the infinitely long interstate towards our destination. Thunder clouds continued to rumble in, like an ocean tide rolling closer and closer to the beach front. Within minutes the entire landscape was calm and dark. It looked like a total eclipse of the sun, and the once ...
sun going down in the west. It looked like a prize given from God. The
The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the surrounding, it looks as if it did the last time we were up here.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
One morning, a well-known gentleman went into a bank in London, and was received immediately by Mr. Alexander Holder, head of the bank. He asked for a loan of fifty thousand Pounds. Mr. Holder asked him to present collateral to cover that large sum of money; the man showed him a crown that belongs to the country. Knowing the risk, Mr. Holder agreed to lend the gentleman that large sum of money if he pays it back in a few days. After the gentleman left Mr. Holder decided to keep the crown all the time near by him, so he took the crown to his home in Streatham. There he lived with his only son Arthur and his niece Mary who was an orphan. He told them about his story with the crown of diamonds. When the father was going to sleep, Arthur asked for two hundred pounds. He refused to give him thinking his son was spoiled by his rich friends who had nothing to do except watch horses. Before going to sleep, he went to check that all windows and doors were locked. He saw Mary at a side window at the hall. She closed it quickly, and Holder noticed that she looked anxious. After he went to sleep, he heard some noise that woke him up; he waited until he heard it again coming from his sitting room. He jumped out of his bed and saw his son holding the crown broken from the side and three diamonds were missing. In grief, he accused Arthur of being a thief and a liar. Meanwhile Mary came in and seeing the crown fainted. Arthur asked if he could leave for five minutes but Holder refused and called the police to take his only beloved son to jail. The police searched the house but could not find anything and advised Holder to get the help of Mr. Holmes the famous detective.
The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.