Life and Death Book 1

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Life and Death Book 1

Post  GreenGlassNotes on Mon Apr 02, 2012 11:08 am

Life and Death

Prologue

Fear drove into his mind like a spear; he needed to save himself. Correction, he needed to save his life from falling into the hands of experimentation.
It was all the same, another group of scientists and agents would bust down his door to take him away from his home. All they wanted was knowledge, and the gift of eternal life. But they lacked the understanding that maybe there was a reason they weren’t immortal and he was. They never thought of that as they shot him in the thigh and started to drag him into the van parked outside.
His breath hitched as he fought off another wave of pain and nausea. Rain pelted down all around them, turning the ground to slick, sticky mud. There was one more thing he could do. One last chance to save his skin that he was willing to take. He spoke up, voice falling quiet towards the end of his sentence. “Stop! Please… I… I know where you can get another immortal! Please… put me down… and I will tell you where to find him…”
The leader of the agents, a tall man in his early thirties, still so young in his eyes, turned to face him with a questioning expression bubbling to his face. “Oh do you now? Pray tell where this other immortal is? You were the only one I could find so obvious.”
True, he was reckless and horrible at avoiding agents. He was willing to accept that fact, but god forbid he allow himself to ever be taken away by any of them. He took a shaky breath and remembered the first tenant:
Do not compromise your fellow immortals…
“Yes,” he sighed in defeat, “his name is Dragomir. He lives in the Apuseni Mountains in Transylvania.” He looked down with uncertainty before adding, “He is much older than I am, and… he has a daughter who is immortal. They will be more use to you than me for sure…”
He felt sick, knowing what the High Council will do to him once they find out about his betrayal. Once they find out about his giving away a name and location of another immortal. Surely they will cut out his tongue and sink him for this. He didn’t know Dragomir personally, only heard that he was displaced to those particular mountains after escaping a different bunch of agents and scientists five years before. But he knew enough to know that the man had married a mortal woman and settled to have a family- which wasn’t the most common choice- he had two notable children he could recall. A son who died at the age of 93 of old age, and a daughter who carried the immortal genes. Maybe there was a third child, but if there was then it was one he had not heard much about.
The agent nodded, then looked to his men before ordering them to let him go. The younger man came up to him, grabbed him by the throat, and glared right at him as he growled lowly, “What you say better be true, old man, or we’ll come back and take you like we should have now.” Then he let him fall to the ground before leading his men back to the van, where they all filed in and drove away.
He took an unsteady breath before shaking his head. “I’ll be long gone by the time you return, child.”
After he dragged himself out of the mud, he trudged back to his house and slammed the door. He climbed the stairs, ignoring the trail he left from his shoes, and threw open his bedroom door and begun to pack with much haste. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes, he only shoved it all in and sat on the suitcase to keep it shut while he pulled the zip across the opening. Then he smashed a dark green wine bottle on the end table, paying little mind to the dark, thick shards of glass that glittered under the lamp’s light. There he picked up the money that the bottle had been holding, more than enough to secure the deal he had been making for a bunker in the Norway. Just plenty.
With a grin he called up the landlord and left the house in a hurry. So long old comfortable life, hello new one of secrets and hiding.
There was an idea that came to mind as he started the engine to the car, what if he could get rid of all the immortals? Most of them, the younger ones discluded, hated being immortal. All it showed them was people they cared about dying. Maybe he could end all suffering and simply put a stop to all the immortals.
The idea was pure genius to him. Without immortals, the agents would have nothing to hunt down. It would be a blow to them, and a mercy to everyone else. No way could he just ignore this stroke of brilliance.
But first, he would need to prepare, and the only way to do that was to go into hiding for a little bit until he was more certain that there was no one coming after him. After that, he could begin to search for the only known way to kill an immortal.
You see, there is only one way. There is an amulet rumored to be buried under miles of ice in Antarctica. At this point, many immortals doubt it even exists, but if there were a chance, he would gladly hunt it down. The tricky part was finding it. There was a map made to find this amulet, but over the years, the High Council must have thought it safer to tear the map into eight pieces and send them to different countries across the world. And if anyone were to know one of the guardians, it would be his good friend living in Africa.
With his plan ready, he drove down the road and onto the highway. Step one was now in motion.

So, here's the first part of my story, please let me know what you think.


Last edited by GreenGlassNotes on Mon Apr 02, 2012 11:09 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : small font mistake)

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Re: Life and Death Book 1

Post  LadyAtsuko on Fri Apr 06, 2012 8:19 pm

Really Good!

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Re: Life and Death Book 1

Post  Damxge on Fri Apr 06, 2012 11:02 pm

I think its great Happy
Can't wait for more.

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Re: Life and Death Book 1

Post  GreenGlassNotes on Sun Apr 08, 2012 1:59 am

Book 1: The Split

Chapter 1

“FRIENDLESS, adj. Having no favors to bestow. Destitute of fortune. Addicted to utterance of truth and common sense...” ~ Ambrose Bierce

A light rapt could be heard upon the oak door, jolting me from my thoughts as I looked up and answered with a heavy sigh. “Come in, Stela.”
The door opened with a light creak, reminding me I had yet to grease the hinges like I kept telling myself that I would, and my daughter stood in the doorway. Her eyes appeared almost indigo, and her black hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. I almost wanted to reprimand her when I took note of what she had decided to dress herself in. She once again decided to go for the tight fitting shirt that hugged her already nice curves and made her waist appear thinner. The one real reason I kept my mouth shut was because I had seen enough to know that she had been born and raised while such a style still hung around in the form of long dresses and tight corsets.
Noting my momentary tick, she crossed her arms and stared back at me. “Really, dad, it’s just a shirt.”
I shook my head. In reality, she was almost two hundred years old, but physically she appeared to be in her late teens. Then again, I wasn’t much better. I was nearing eight hundred, and in all honesty people say I just barely pass for a thirty year old. That’s what being an immortal gets you, aging takes forever once you’re done with puberty; that tends to come at us when get to ten or eleven, and the we get through it in four or five years.
When she gave up the argument, she brought her bright smile back. “Anyways, I wanted to see if you wanted to go to the market with me, we’re running low on supplies.”
“Did you make a list?” I asked, placing my pen in a ceramic cup before standing up from my dark wood desk and stretching. What can I say? Sitting almost still for three hours makes you painfully stiff; I couldn’t help but groan in content when I felt my spine pop.
Stela pulled a slip of paper from her jeans pocket and handed it to me, in a way it was my way of proofreading to make sure she hadn’t tried to sneak anything on. Thought I am well aware that she hadn’t tried it in a few months, I still felt the need to be sure that old, unneeded habit didn’t return.
“Alright, put on your coat and we’ll go.” I told her once I was done scanning the list. When she left, I stepped over to my desk and picked up my cloak, which over the course of the day I had removed as the fireplace warmed the room, and pulled it on over my shoulders. The heavy fabric hung down, and I caught a glimpse where- at the bottom- blue teardrop shapes embroidered the edge.
It’s the sense of familiarity that keeps us immortals from completely going mad. I once thought that I had to go and explore the world, fight in wars and become a hero. But decades of conflict had made he taste of adrenaline bitter and warfare lost all reason in my eyes. I longed to live a home, but I had been displaced a century ago, and so when I was found again, I returned here. It was just close enough to the small house I grew up in with my servant mother. And five years of this house made me feel comfortable, where I knew where everything was and it felt warm. Not a cold empty space…
My daughter was waiting at the front door, the vibrant colors of the setting sun reflected through the glass and filled every nook and cranny with its glow. And briefly, I caught the excitement in Stela’s eyes. Despite being alive to be displaced three times now, she never hated a mortal like I learned to. The only mortals who ever seemed to be nice, smart, or decent to be around were my mother, my wife, my other daughter, and my son. And they’re all dead, so, to me, there was no one.
“I’m surprised,” she stated.
I was turning the doorknob when she had said hat, and opened the door as I replied. “Oh?”
“I didn’t think I would get you out of that study of yours,” she told me with a hint of humor in her voice. Then she added as she buttoned her coat, “I found you asleep at your desk again.”
Stepping down the path, I looked up to see a raptor, probably a hawk, circling overhead. “When you get as old as me, you’ll forget the difference between rest and work.”
She rolled her eyes as we continued to the road, where her beat up jeep was parked at the edge. She scooted into the driver’s seat while I sat on the passenger side. A shock for all of you, I can’t drive. I tried a few times in recent years, but it only resulted in some damage to the car. Thankfully, Stela faired better. I still say it’s because I prefer traveling by horse back over this junk on wheels.
“Maybe you should try learning again,” She chuckled, starting the engine and pulling into the street.
I only stared at her for a long moment before cracking a grin. “Are you sure you would like to go through the damages again?”
“Good point…” She sighed. “Something at least. I don’t know, a motorcycle maybe! That’s close enough to a horse, right? Or a bicycle at least.”
Just to avoid confusion, I can ride a bicycle, but do I own one? No. As for motorcycles, I had made my point after seeing the accidents. “No, I think I’m fine having you drive me around.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that you hardly ever leave the house, you introvert.” She grumbled the last part; her usually energetic and excitable personality clashes with my, as she puts it, “antisocial and gloomy” self. Should I be surprised when she grows irritated with the disagreements and arguments we have? Probably not.
The drive was only sixteen minutes to the town, and another five to get to the market. In the back of my mind I resented the bright street lights, the concrete roads, and the billboards. I lived at the time when this place was so simple; we had horse drawn carriages and lanterns. Even then I felt the advances made every day were simply too complex.
After the supplies were purchased, we left the town and drove back up the road to our home. The sun had set by now, and the first stars were faintly glowing in the sky, dulled by light pollution.
Stela carried the supplies back inside the house, but I stood at the cliff and stared out at the fields ahead; one advantage of this place was that it had a good vantage point. I could see the band of headlights from cars on the highway, the black government vehicles, and the pale moon rising in the sky.
…. Back it up here! Government vehicles! The realization dawned on me like a heavy weight as I studied the symbol shared among the agents- an eagle with its talons around a leg bone; they have found us again.
But how could they so quickly? Moderators, our version of officers, ensured us that they covered our tracks fairly well. It would have, should have, taken them much longer to find us.
I pressed my lips together as I forced a breath to calm my racing thoughts before going back inside.
“STELA,” I called, cupped a hand over my mouth. “Stela! We need to leave!”
She appeared at the stairs in a matter of moments, staring down at me with alarm. “What is it?”
“Pack your things,” I told her with regret. “We need to leave.”
Her expression turned to one of horror, she remembered as well as I did of the last displacement. The agents tried to use tear gas to take us, but we narrowly escaped through an underground passage. She had also been shot through the back, and the trip in itself was agonizing. “They found us. But how did they so soon?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Just get Klepto and let’s get out of here.” Klepto was our pet cat, and probably the closest thing to a friend I have. Well he’s loyal, I’ll give him that.
She nodded and vanished over the banister as she returned to her room to gather her possessions. Meanwhile, I went straight for the closet and opened the door fast enough where the mirror on the inside of the door rattled.
In my reflection, I could see the exhaustion bring thin wrinkles under my eyes. My black hair still denied a decent trim in almost two years had started to hang closer to my shoulders, and a thick strand of dark sapphire blue hair hung to the right side of my face, the dye matched my eyes with almost startling accuracy.
From the wall, I removed the first of my weapon belts, with a sheath and my dagger attached, pulled up my oversized, white, cotton button shirt to reveal the earthy brown sweater underneath. I wrapped it around and tightened the buckle just so it would remain secure around my waist and over the sweater, then removed the second, which held my easily concealable gun, and strapped it on just under it. I wanted to grab my sword as well, and I figured that it would be better to do so, so I secured it to my hip and pulled my shirt back down over the weapon belts.
“Dad! Hurry!” I heard Stela scream.
My heart pounded in my chest before I dashed up the stairs and threw the door to my daughter’s room wide open. She was being held with a gun to her back and pressing her front against the wall, she was trembling heavily as she stared back at me. She never was a fighter; I tried to teach her, but she couldn’t manage to wield a knife, she couldn’t battle with a sword, and a spear was disastrous.
The agent pressed the gun deep against her spine, and she winced at the barrel digging into her back. “Give up, or I shoot.” He knew it wouldn’t kill her, but it would surely make escape only more difficult.
I didn’t hesitate to withdraw my dagger and pull him off by the neck of his jacket, where I shoved the dagger into his throat. As he gagged, I removed my blade and let him fall to the floor in his own pooling blood. Then I turned to Stela.
“Are you alright?” I asked; she had sunk to the floor when she was released. “Did he shoot?”
“N- no…” She shuttered. “There are more…” Looking up, her eyes grew wide, and I turned to find myself staring down the barrels of pistols. I tightened my grip on her arm as I stood up, to which she did the same.
One of the agents, the leader, clapped his hands with a smirk. “Quite the show. Now, put down the knife and come quietly, Dragomir.”
I clenched my fist around the hilt of the blade in my hand, reddened with blood, and scowled at him. I could always fire at him first. The idea seemed to be one of my better options, and so I sheathed my dagger and pulled my hands up slowly, much to my daughter’s surprise. “Alright, so you have.”
“So glad to see you are not going to fight us this time,” He chuckled. To this, I grinned back.
Then, as quick as my long trained reflexes would allow, I whipped the gun out and slid a pellet down the barrel. But by then, the agents took the moment to fire, and against the pain, I shot back, listening to the scream of the victim before I sunk to a crouch to cradle my wounds. This had all unfolded in the matter of a few seconds.
A shot to the stomach, another to the shoulder, and one to the wrist had been the damage. I gritted my teeth through the pain as I hissed a breath, holding my wrist to my body as my hand clutched the shoulder wound. I couldn’t hear Stela’s cry of fear over the roar of blood pounding in my ears.
A couple of pairs of hands pulled me up, not giving me the time to get used to the pain. Weak in the knees, they had to tighten their grips to keep me from falling. But in the swaying, unease I caught a glimpse of the brutal arm wound I had given the lead agent. Despite this, he felt confident enough to grab me by the shirt collar with his good hand and glare right at me.
His words came out laced with venom as potent as a black mamba. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that, old man.”
I struggled, turning my face away and attempting to shake the two agents off of me. Though it did me little good in this situation, it was clear that I wouldn’t be getting out of this mess.
The agent released my neck and looked up to the two gripping my arms. “Take him and the girl to the van.” And as we were pulled past, he sneered, “Hope you have a pleasant ride.”
We were thrown unceremoniously into the back of the van, and that’s where I struggled. The reek of chemicals sent me off into a panic, it brought back so many memories to me, many I wished to forget. But the guard holding me would have none of it; he slammed me down against the floor of the vehicle and threatened to sedate me if I wouldn’t stop struggling.
And do I listen to his warning? Hardly. I spat in his face, glaring at him as he wiped his sleeve over his cheek, then he stepped outside the car, not taking on his own threat.
Stela held onto my good hand as we watched the agents converse with their next move. While they were, I took the time to notice our cat sitting on the porch; his eyes wide as another agent grabbed him and threw him in with us. After hissing at the closed door, he curled up on the floor.
I used this time as a last opportunity to shout at them, demanding to be released even though I was aware that they wouldn’t do anything of the sort. It was probably the vain hope that they would listen that forced the words out in an outright furious tone. “YOU BASTARDS! LET US OUT! VĂ NAIBII FIII CURVE!"
But it was no use. All I could do was try to ward off the waves of pain that assaulted my body as the car’s engine started up. We were moving.

I guess I just put up chapters this way? Not sure. But here you go, guys.

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"GHOST, n. The outward and visible sign of an inward fear.
There is one insuperable obstacle to a belief in ghosts. A ghost never comes naked: he appears either in a winding-sheet or "in his habit as he lived." To believe in him, then, is to believe that not only have the dead the power to make themselves visible after there is nothing left of them, but that the same power inheres in textile fabrics. Supposing the products of the loom to have this ability, what object would they have in exercising it? And why does not the apparition of a suit of clothes sometimes walk abroad without a ghost in it? These be riddles of significance. They reach away down and get a convulsive grip on the very tap-root of this flourishing faith." ~Ambrose Bierce

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