Post by ashley on Jun 24, 2011 16:37:10 GMT -5
Glory smiled, peering at herself in the broken mirror, shattered like the fallen dreams of Slumcity’s children. She brushed her purple hair back from her blue dyed skin, covered in Lincoln green henna patterns from head to toe. She smiled, observing her eyes now; as purple as her hair, which was laced in flowers and ribbons, scruffy and matted like a rebel princess. She pressed the silk dress into her stomach lightly, taking note of her size. She’d gotten thinned since she’d left. She’d been grateful to him for allowing her to escape, and now she was stuck with a mute canis ambulat whose language she didn’t understand.
She looked to the canine looking creature, his ears flat against his skull as he pressed his nose to the ground.
Dogparry was his name, according to Gerrard. If she’d actually found the right person, that was.
She wrapped a stray leather band around her hand and punched the mirror again, loosening the cracked class. She yanked a shard, a crack splitting the air as it came free. She bit her lip, the pain bursting from her knuckles and sprinting like racing dogs up her arm and into her shoulder. She raised her dressed off from the ground; a magnificent deep purple, with light and medium blues on the underside of the cutaway folds that made her dress looked like water. She punctured it half way up her calf, slicing the silk in an uneven circle. When she’d finished, she took the ribbon and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. She frowned, glancing frequently at the hemline of her dress. She felt a deep pity for it. She was never one to approve of destroying her art.
She checked the roots of her hair, hunting for any ginger that could obstruct her project. She may be on the border between the noble sector and Concrete Boulevard, but she was still obsessed with her creation. Her new specimen, her display.
She threw off her heels and looked timidly at the expanse before her.
Brown and gray buildings gathered on one side of her vision to the East, spewing vast quantities of chemical smog and debris.
She tossed the broken mirror back into the scrap yard that loomed behind her, and there was a loud clang as the mirror collided with the steel gates of the noble sector.
Glory Proctor watched her skyship ascend into the sky like a rusted scrap metal dragon, the frames screaming as it stretched. The nano-fibre coating was invisible, showing the piece of junk for what it really was.
She tried not to think about it, what they would do to him now. All she tried to think about was getting back. His work wasn’t done yet.
She whistled to Dogparry, his ears tilting up, his nose lifting and his eyes set.
“Stop sniffing, you’ve got a job to do,” Glory said, signalling Dogparry to join her. “I need you to go into the factory grounds over there and find me a weapon and some chemo. I don’t care what you bring, as long as I can sell to get some equipment.” She pointed to the clump of buildings
.
Dogparry’s ears flattened again, coiling into himself. He whined, a sharp whistle coming from his nose.
“Hush up, now. Gerrard needs our help and unless you’re willing to leave him to die, then I suggest you get going. I’ve got an airship to build.”
Dogparry’s eyes dashed, never making eye contact. He slipped from Glory’s hold and onto all fours, bounding away and into the growing city.
Glory adjusted her decorative head ornament, eyeing up an blemish on the landscape, sickening textures of metal and garbage sprawled across a breadth of hills, dark green trees nestled at its foot.
She held a hand above her eyes, shielding her face from the sun. It was a town, festering on the hill. She picked up her small rucksack and headed out, her instinct screaming like a railway train in her head to ‘for gods sake turn back.’
She fought it, stepping bare-foot over the almost smooth concrete. She made it about ten meters before looking back, feeling naked and exposed by the emptiness. She hunched up, peering over her shoulder, watching with pain in her heart as her skyship was consumed by the clouds, along with her family and her desires. She shuddered, thinking of the intolerable heights she was forced to endure.
She ploughed on through the nothingness, looking down, never raising her head. After what she called three hours she stopped, resting under a young oak, bursting from the unnatural ground in protest, its green folds fighting against the sun.
She pulled a bottle from her bag, gulping down a mouthful of crisp water.
“Is that… water?”
The voice made her jump in surprise, her body contorting in strange ways as she flew up onto her feet, tugging the gun out from the holster on her thigh.
The voice laughed, a man stepping out from the other side of the tree. A light brown cord seemed to be attached to his middle back, little roots spread out like a grappling hook. His hair was matter brown and green, with slanted, heavy eyes. His body was small and skinny, his arms like cables.
“It’s alright, child,” he said in a simplistic voice, “I’m not your enemy.”
Glory’s hand shook, her eyes petrified as she remembered all the stories her mother used to tell her about people who were of trees. She shook her head: My mother was a liar, she lies. Father lies, my grandfather lies. Don’t trust their words, trust the one you love the most, trust him!
“What the hell are you?”
The man laughed, a sound filled ash, as if he would cough up dust and dirt. “I am a Treechild. I protect my heart from strangers who would seek to exploit me.”
“Exploit you?”
“Yes, child. There are people in this world who would cut me down if I couldn’t save myself. This tree is my heart, my soul. Now, talking to you, I am just a body with which I communicate.”
Glory slowly lowered the gun, her hands still shaking. She slumped against the tree, her grip coming lose, the gun falling from her hand.
The Treechild tilted his head to one side. “Are you all right?”
She was murmuring to herself.
The Treechild kneeled next to her, trying to hold her gaze, but her eyes were to low to catch. He sat next to her, resting on arm on his knee.
“C’mon. What’s up? Never been out here before?” he asked, staring at the top of her head.
Glory rocked, her hands moved to the side of her head, before she looked up. “I don’t know what the hell you are -seriously- why the fuck there’s a tree out here and why my dad stole my skyship!”
She looked to the canine looking creature, his ears flat against his skull as he pressed his nose to the ground.
Dogparry was his name, according to Gerrard. If she’d actually found the right person, that was.
She wrapped a stray leather band around her hand and punched the mirror again, loosening the cracked class. She yanked a shard, a crack splitting the air as it came free. She bit her lip, the pain bursting from her knuckles and sprinting like racing dogs up her arm and into her shoulder. She raised her dressed off from the ground; a magnificent deep purple, with light and medium blues on the underside of the cutaway folds that made her dress looked like water. She punctured it half way up her calf, slicing the silk in an uneven circle. When she’d finished, she took the ribbon and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. She frowned, glancing frequently at the hemline of her dress. She felt a deep pity for it. She was never one to approve of destroying her art.
She checked the roots of her hair, hunting for any ginger that could obstruct her project. She may be on the border between the noble sector and Concrete Boulevard, but she was still obsessed with her creation. Her new specimen, her display.
She threw off her heels and looked timidly at the expanse before her.
Brown and gray buildings gathered on one side of her vision to the East, spewing vast quantities of chemical smog and debris.
She tossed the broken mirror back into the scrap yard that loomed behind her, and there was a loud clang as the mirror collided with the steel gates of the noble sector.
Glory Proctor watched her skyship ascend into the sky like a rusted scrap metal dragon, the frames screaming as it stretched. The nano-fibre coating was invisible, showing the piece of junk for what it really was.
She tried not to think about it, what they would do to him now. All she tried to think about was getting back. His work wasn’t done yet.
She whistled to Dogparry, his ears tilting up, his nose lifting and his eyes set.
“Stop sniffing, you’ve got a job to do,” Glory said, signalling Dogparry to join her. “I need you to go into the factory grounds over there and find me a weapon and some chemo. I don’t care what you bring, as long as I can sell to get some equipment.” She pointed to the clump of buildings
.
Dogparry’s ears flattened again, coiling into himself. He whined, a sharp whistle coming from his nose.
“Hush up, now. Gerrard needs our help and unless you’re willing to leave him to die, then I suggest you get going. I’ve got an airship to build.”
Dogparry’s eyes dashed, never making eye contact. He slipped from Glory’s hold and onto all fours, bounding away and into the growing city.
Glory adjusted her decorative head ornament, eyeing up an blemish on the landscape, sickening textures of metal and garbage sprawled across a breadth of hills, dark green trees nestled at its foot.
She held a hand above her eyes, shielding her face from the sun. It was a town, festering on the hill. She picked up her small rucksack and headed out, her instinct screaming like a railway train in her head to ‘for gods sake turn back.’
She fought it, stepping bare-foot over the almost smooth concrete. She made it about ten meters before looking back, feeling naked and exposed by the emptiness. She hunched up, peering over her shoulder, watching with pain in her heart as her skyship was consumed by the clouds, along with her family and her desires. She shuddered, thinking of the intolerable heights she was forced to endure.
She ploughed on through the nothingness, looking down, never raising her head. After what she called three hours she stopped, resting under a young oak, bursting from the unnatural ground in protest, its green folds fighting against the sun.
She pulled a bottle from her bag, gulping down a mouthful of crisp water.
“Is that… water?”
The voice made her jump in surprise, her body contorting in strange ways as she flew up onto her feet, tugging the gun out from the holster on her thigh.
The voice laughed, a man stepping out from the other side of the tree. A light brown cord seemed to be attached to his middle back, little roots spread out like a grappling hook. His hair was matter brown and green, with slanted, heavy eyes. His body was small and skinny, his arms like cables.
“It’s alright, child,” he said in a simplistic voice, “I’m not your enemy.”
Glory’s hand shook, her eyes petrified as she remembered all the stories her mother used to tell her about people who were of trees. She shook her head: My mother was a liar, she lies. Father lies, my grandfather lies. Don’t trust their words, trust the one you love the most, trust him!
“What the hell are you?”
The man laughed, a sound filled ash, as if he would cough up dust and dirt. “I am a Treechild. I protect my heart from strangers who would seek to exploit me.”
“Exploit you?”
“Yes, child. There are people in this world who would cut me down if I couldn’t save myself. This tree is my heart, my soul. Now, talking to you, I am just a body with which I communicate.”
Glory slowly lowered the gun, her hands still shaking. She slumped against the tree, her grip coming lose, the gun falling from her hand.
The Treechild tilted his head to one side. “Are you all right?”
She was murmuring to herself.
The Treechild kneeled next to her, trying to hold her gaze, but her eyes were to low to catch. He sat next to her, resting on arm on his knee.
“C’mon. What’s up? Never been out here before?” he asked, staring at the top of her head.
Glory rocked, her hands moved to the side of her head, before she looked up. “I don’t know what the hell you are -seriously- why the fuck there’s a tree out here and why my dad stole my skyship!”