The violent wind beat against the old home, rattling every stained-glass window. Thunder roared overhead, the gods announcing their anger. Lightning flashed across the skies, illuminating the harsh sway of the century-old pines and oaks of the forests beyond. The ice-cold rain poured in steady torments as it had for a solid three days, threatening to flood the three-hundred-year-old home. A tall figure, cloaked in black, slowly made its way to the house, battling the downpour. Looking out, nobody would have seen this being. The hounds howled as the thunder grew louder. The door slammed open, soaking the wooden floor, as purple lights of the storm flashed, outlining the figure.
She slammed her pen down, crumpled the paper, and tossed it to the ever-growing heap of paper wads on the floor. "I can't do this! What kind of mother breaks her promise?" Tears pricked at her eyes as her words flashed through her mind like the lightning in her story. She looked at the shelf above her desk. Best-sellers from the previous fifteen years lined the shelves. Romance, horror, mystery, crime, drama, historical fiction, thrillers, religion, etcetera. She'd covered every fiction genre imaginable! But not a single one of them had a happy ending, neither were they suitable for children.
"All you do is write! I go to bed, you write! I get up at three a.m. and you write! I go to work at five, come home at six, and you're still writing! You're going downhill and I can't do anything to stop you! What happened to us?"
"Nothing. We're still us, James!" She bit her bottom lip, knowing where this was going. Over the past three months, it'd been the same. Ever since...it happened.
"No! We're not! You're married to your words, ink, and paper! You're not the woman I fell in love with! You used to love adventures, love spontaneity, love the great outdoors and all life had to offer! What happened? Why do you have to write all the damned time?!"
"I have to write! I just have to, James!" Her eyes beseeched for him to understand, for him to let it go.
"Why? Miracle, I miss you. Please, give me a reason. Why?"
"Because I said so, James! You'll never understand!"
"No, I don't! I'm not standing by and watching you deteriorate! You've been this way ever since Mich---" He stopped as a sharp slap resounded throughout the room.
"Oh my God!" She looked at her hand in horror, then back at the red handprint that was forming on his face. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I -- I -- I'm so so sorry, James. Please."
Anger clouded his features, his blue eyes going dark and his face turning to stone. "Let me know when you're ready for us, Miracle. I'll be back in a few hours for my shit."
The wind violently rattled the stain-glassed windows of the Victorian-era home. Thunder echoed overhead as the gods roared their displeasure and anger. Lightning flashed across the skies, illuminating the harsh sway of the century-old pines and oaks of the forests beyond. The ice-cold rain poured in steady torments as it had for a solid three days, threatening to flood the three-hundred-year-old home. Cloaked in darkness, a figure made its way to the house, battling the winds and torrents that threatened to hold it back. The door slammed open as the dogs began to howl in fury.
"Show thyself!" The female’s voice held an ominous, eerie melody and was just loud enough to be heard over the storm’s fierce torrent. The being ran into her childhood home, slamming the door behind. Memories flooded her senses as she entered the darkened room she’d once been tortured in before being violently ripped away. "I know thou art here, Malachi! I've come for the boy!"
From the darkest corner, a short being jumps out, knocking her over. Rage, hot and true, emanated from his primitive howl as he ripped off the intruder's hood to reveal a blonde-haired, blue-eyed elf. “Woman! Thou hast broken the most sacred of covenants betwixt my clan and thine! May the wrath of the gods come upon thee tenfold lest thou turn back and never return!”
He backed off her and she slowly rose to her full height. “Dost thou dare address a queen this way knowing thou hast something of mine?” Her voice rose in fury. She drew her sword, slicing the dwarf in half before he could blink.
A teardrop splashed the edge of the paper. "Damn it, all to hell!" She knew that she had no way to turn this into a happy ending. "I'm sorry, Michael. So, so sorry! I'm trying, I promise. I'm trying!" She pounded the table in frustration before putting her head in her hands. Finally, she picked the pen back up.
Pushing her way through the darkness, she made her way to the room she was sure her boy was in. The door scraped against the white stone floor of the cellar. There he was, just out of reach. She crept forward, her blonde-white hair glowing in the dark. Suddenly, she heard something swish past her. "Mine," a voice hissed. She drew her sword once more and slashed through the air. "Mine!" The eery voice roared as she missed. She saw the beady eyes surrounding her and the faint red outlines.
"The boy is MINE!" She bellowed as she swung her sword in an arc, the metal gleaming blue with her power. "You can't have him! I won't allow it!"
"But we already have him, Shyael. The boy is ours!" She whirled, spinning her sword and driving it home into the oncoming demon's chest. Demon after demon, she slew her way through to her boy. Even in the dark, she knew what he looked like, from his angelic face with turquoise eyes to the exact white shade of his halo of curls.
Her phone vibrated against the table. Sighing, she picked it up and glanced at the caller identification. "James?" She answered the phone.
"He's fading. He needs us." She tossed her pen down and flew from the chair. Running barefoot through the hall, she found her slip-on shoes, snatched them up, and ran out the door. "I'm two minutes out. I'm picking you up." Two minutes later, he swung into the driveway and threw his truck in park. Fifteen minutes, and twenty miles over the speed limit, later, they were at the hospital. Together, they ran through the white halls and into the hospital room.
"My baby boy, stay with us. Please, we need you here." She took his pale, frail hand in her larger one. "Michael, please. Mommy and Daddy need you to wake up. We love you, baby."
"Selakiir, thou art not alone. I will never leave thee, my child." She cradled his small head, willing his eyes to open and reveal their turquoise orbs. "Come home, my son. Awake and come home. The demons have no hold over thee."
He could hear his mom, wanted to open his eyes, but the darkness was too heavy. He wanted to hug his mom and dad, but he couldn't move. Miracle watched her son intently. "He moved!" She looked at James, hope in her blue eyes for the first time in months. She gripped his hand, willing him to open his eyes. His hand twitched, his lids fluttered as his eleven-year-old body fought back against the darkness that had consumed him for three months.
"Please, Michael. Come on." She felt James squeeze her hand reassuringly. "I'm almost done with the story I promised you, baby. I think you'll like it. Please, Michael. Wake up. I know you want to. We miss you so much."
James raised his eyebrows at her comment. "You promised to write him a story?" She nodded at his whispered question. "And you couldn't have told me this? All you ever told me was 'because I said so'. You know, I'd have helped you if you'd actually talked to me."
"Later, James. We'll talk later. Right now, our boy is the focus. Not my writing." He nodded and turned back to their son as he put a comforting arm around his wife. One turquoise eye pried open as his hand tightened around his mother's. "You're awake! Oh my God! My baby boy!" She began to weep for joy as his other eye pried itself open. Hearing the commotion in the room, a nurse entered, then ran out to fetch a doctor.
She lifted her boy to take him into another room. "Selakiir. Awake from this deep slumber. My boy, thy brothers and sisters need thee." She cradled him close to her chest before setting him down on a bed. "I have found thee and lost thee." She wiped his touseled hair from his face and began to wipe it with a damp rag. Slowly, his eyes opened, piercing the darkness and landing on her face.
"Mother?" His voice was a mere croak sounding from his dry throat. She wrapped her arms around her boy.
"Our son is awake!" She hugged her son to her chest, praying that she'd never lose him again. She kissed the top of his head and looked over at James. "He's awake, James! I can't believe it!" For the first time in months, her lips curled into a genuine smile as he joined them in the hug.
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Your first paragraph is what caught my attention, and told me I had to read further. In this story, nothing simply is. It is not just a door, a window, a clap of thunder. They all have more to them. It's something with character and a past and perhaps experiences that shape their experience. They have descriptions that make me see them, and make me want to reach out to them. If I can't, I'm still content to see your visualization of them The dialogue used feels wordy at times (maybe try to split up dialogue with action to keep the reader...
Guten Tag! Good day! I do apologize for not seeing your uplifting response sooner! I have not been active since I graduated high school and took off for most of the summer before college. I’m glad I could hook you in with the first paragraph! That’s always something I worry about, because as an avid reader, I know that if the reader ain’t hooked from the start, the author is going to have a hard time keeping them interested. I had to reread your second paragraph/statement before I realized what you were saying. It’s been a long past sever...