Jump to content

Writing Of Swords and Fallen Angels [M-LSV]


Recommended Posts

OOC: This, I think, is the first story I've ever written front to back. I've started a lot of stories, volumes could be composed just listing the story concepts I've gotten bored of, but this is the first one I actually outlined, wrote, and rewrote, beginning to climax to end. It consists of about three parts, and this what is posted is half of part one. A good story or not, I'm damn proud of this, if only because it's finished. :p

Some things you should probably know about this story, first. You'll encounter a lot of religious references, but God help me I'm not trying to bible bash, even in the least. The morale of this story, is even the best intentions lead to impure actions. It's a story of warning.

Also, when I first dreamt up this story, it took place in Heaven. I changed it for obvious reasons. But knowing that it origionally took place in Heaven goes a long way to seeing why Michael, Illinois, the fictional City this story takes place in, is so wacked out as it is.

Also, as much as I tried to avoid this, you might see my religious refferences as being...immature? I'm probably not knowlegable yet to write this story, but I really tried to at least seem mature about it. Anyway, here it is. Part 1:1 to 1:4. Enjoy, o my brothers.

[COLOR=Navy][FONT=Garamond][SIZE=2][CENTER][B][U]Of Swords and Fallen Angels[/U] [/B][/CENTER]

I always laugh when somebody asks me fore directions to city hall in this city. I point them to the Michael Angelous Christian Church in the center of town, but they never understand.
Welcome to Michael, Illinois.
?In news today, the three Holy Brothers Club organized a search party for young Kacie Dellow, age 10, who was reportedly abducted yesterday afternoon by the current Satan.? So reported ?The Word,? the only news station permitted to broadcast in Michael. ?Volunteers of the search are currently pressing authorities to grant a search warrant to Satan?s Mannor, where the young victim is suspected to be held.? At any given time, The Word only reported one of three things: the war against Satan, the goodness of the citizens, or the atrocities of the devil.
Welcome to Michael.
Beside the central highway leading into Michael was an enormous towering monument, depicting the Angel Michael after whom the city was named, with sword held high and caption reading, ?Michael, Illinois. The City of Swords and Saints.? This monument, the highest tower of the Michael Angelous Church, and The Word radio tower stood tall above the city, like gods of mesh and steel. Those three towers were the tallest in the city of Michael, though a few yards shorter stood a close fourth: the tallest spire of Satan?s Mannor, which stood outcasted on the outskirts of town.
Welcome to Michael.
As the story goes, some hundred years ago, a wealthy man came to Michael and built his dream castle upon a foreboding hill. Every day the gates of his mannor were barred and sealed, but every night they opened just wide enough to permit a mass in flowing black cloaks into the castle. The Citizens of Michael told strange tales of the barbaric pagan rituals conducted within that mannor, rituals which, though never truly proven to exist, earned the wealthy man the title of Satan, and his castle the title of Satan?s Mannor.
Nobody truly knows what actually went on in that mansion, and the secret died with the wealthy man, who left no heir to claim Satan?s Mannor. But upon his death, something very bizarre happened. Before the government of Michael could reclaim and demolish Satan?s Mannor, another man, claiming to be the heir of the wealthy man, took up residence inside Satan?s Mannor and proclaimed himself Satan. The rituals, though, did not continue, and the wealthy man?s predecessor devoted his reign to the enigmatic performance of Evildom. A performance further perfected by the Satan who proceeded him. As did the Satan who proceeded him. As did the Satan who had lived in the Mannor at the beginning of this story.
Outraged at this lineage of evil, the people of Michael declared war upon Satan, devoting the news to informing all of their daily battles. And oh, what a dramatic city was birthed.
Welcome, friends, to the City of Michael.
Allow me to introduce myself. If you had ever been to Michael Illinois in better times, you might have seen us drifting down the street, like a mist of purples and velvets. Six of us in all, plum-clad in flowing coats and golden buttons. As far as the mundane world was concerned, we were like the ghosts of a memory. We were the Society of Cards, and I was their leader.
My name is Jonah Bellinado, but they knew me as Night. Flanking myself in our natural order were Jackie, the woman of my love, and Penn, my dearest friend. Jackie and Penn had known
each other long before I knew them, and a strong sort of sibling bond had formed between them. They were almost twins in mannerisms, and I suppose it was because of this blatant reflection, that Jackie had chosen to gift her heart to me and not to Penn. Truly, had fate not intervened, I might have liked to marry her. Jackie was tall and make-up like pale, with ruby red lips and straight black hair. She looked almost surreal, in how foreign and how beautiful she was. Penn was pale, though not to the extreme that Jackie was, and sported a crew-cut head of dark brown.
Two or three paces behind Jackie and Penn flanked three of whom I cared little for and tried less to hide it. I do not recall either their names or their faces, for they each wore a white mask depicting a different suit of cards. It was by these suits on their masks that I referred them, and they referred to themselves. They were Spade, Heart, and Club. The masks were of my decree, such was my distaste for them, and I suppose the suit on each is how we came to be known as the Society of Cards; after all, none of us really actually cared for card games. In any case, whether I disliked them or not, it seemed at the time that we, the Society of Clubs, would never be apart. Sad, for I must begin this story just when that happened?at the beginning of the end of the Society of Cards.
The evening upon which I choose to begin this story was particularly cold, even from inside the Café at the Edge of the World, dubbed such by yours truly for its desolate location at the edge of the city, behind the worst residential neighborhood and bordering an infinitely large meadow and forest. We had sat in the Café at the Edge of the World on hundreds of occasions, it being our place of meeting after we had each concluded business in our own lives. We never spoke of our own real lives, actually, it was sort of an unwritten rule between us. Jackie and Penn conversed with each other at one end of the table, while the Three of Masks joked and horsed at the other end, attacking each other with sugar packets and wet coffee spoons. I sat in the center, reading silently over the coffee I had been served.
The small café was empty save us and the poor man who run it, who in these late hours of inactivity sat in the back and watched TV until closing time. The Café at the Edge of the World never housed many customers, which is why I suppose we had chosen it to frequent every few nights. ?That?s not what I am trying to say!? Argued Jackie, who had been conversing with Penn about god-knows-what. I had stopped trying to follow their conversations years ago. They were a lot like commodious background noise when they spoke, and I don?t know why, but it was comforting to hear. Jackie had just momentarily raised her voice, catching my attention, before launching into some explanation, about beauty in the eye of the beholder or something of the like.
I peered up over my book, I can?t remember which one, to see the cream-colored clock hanging on the cream-colored wall opposite me. It was late, slipping into the little hours of the morning. ?Come on, then.? I said aloud, getting everyone?s attention. ?Time to get on our ways home. Penn and Jackie each looked at the clock, surprised at how time had escaped them, and agreed. We kindly paid our dues and left, into the cold and breezy night.
As soon as we stepped outside, I laced up the golden buttons of my coat and crossed my arms. It wasn?t freezing out, but still cold enough for one to see his breath. We as a group traversed back into town, following the one cracked and broken street that led to the small café. The sky was a reddy-gray, glinting with the first hint of a rising sun, and in the distance I could see the tallest spire of the Michael Angelous Church silhouetted on the horizon far ahead and to the east of us, and directly ahead to the west, looming ominously closer, stood Satan?s proud Mannor. On many days we had walked by the steel, barbed and locked steel gates of Satan?s Mannor, and sometimes even stopped to gaze up and admire the intricate masterwork of stone
and mortar and superstition of which Satan?s Mannor had been constructed. When a moon lit the sky, the dark structure shone like obsidian, revealing the edges of the artistic carvings within the stone, carvings which depicted the swords, saints, and sinners of our time. Even without its history, Satan?s Mannor well deserved its title.
The Satan that had been residing in the foreboding structure at the time was growing old and nearing the end of his reign. We all knew it, and in a way it was sad. It had been exactly one year to that night, since the gates of Satan?s Mannor had been permanently locked, Satan having reduced to a hermit shell of himself, as his predecessors had been reduced. The only sign left of Satan was a shadow that sometimes moved across the lone, flickering light that emitted from the window of the tallest spire on Satan?s mannor. That, I suppose, is why the Society of Cards and I were so shocked upon that night to see the gates swinging ajar in the wind, bent and broken as if forced apart by immense weight.
We stood and peered at the wreckage of those gates for only a moment, hardly enough time to ponder it, when the answer presented itself. Suddenly the sound of an explosion, much like the cracking of thunder though terribly close and terribly loud, ignited from within Satan?s Mannor. I turned abruptly, scared as all hell, and saw the highest window of Satan?s Mannor ablaze with smoke and light. There was something like a scream, which mingled with a cheer of victory from below the window inside the courtyard, followed by the squealing of wheels on pavement, and a moment later a pair of headlights stormed down the path from Satan?s Mannor and burst through the gates, almost spinning out as it disappeared into the night.
And all that followed was a heavy, shocked silence, except for the small sound of a crackling fire, and a the small, barely audible sound of something like moaning. I think it might have been Spade, or maybe Club behind me. I hope to god it was one of them.
?What the hell just happened?? The question echoed between us a dozen times over, from Jackie, from Penn, from even myself, as we as a group moved away from the mannor, pressed by some primal instinct, as fast as we could without sprinting. We all constantly looked over our shoulders, for what I don?t know. It was only when the Mannor had been reduced to a small silhouette behind us, far enough so that we couldn?t see the smoke billowing out across the reddy-gray sky, that Jackie decided to reinstate the question. ?What the hell was that?? She asked, quivering with cold and shock. Nobody could answer her. She looked at me, and I shook my head as to say I didn?t know. In retrospect, I think it was pretty obvious what had happened, though none of us wanted to say it.
There was a long silence. ?Should we go to the police with this.? She said. ?No.? I responded, quicker than I had wanted to. I didn?t anymore associations with what had happened than what associations we already bore. ?I mean,? I tried to continue, my heart in my throat, ?we don?t know what happened. And I don?t want the police to think we were involved.? There was little agreement, though a little something in all of us wanted to go to the police as fast as possible. ?Let?s keep out of it, alright?? Another small agreement, followed by a heavy silence. ?Tomorrow in the library as usual, then?? Asked Penn at last, recovering his composure inch by inch. I nodded, and gave a quick smile. ?Until then.?
From there we parted ways, each going to their own home. Usually upon parting to go home at this time, Penn, Heart, and Spade would go North to their homes, Jackie and Club would go east, and I would go west to my own apartment. But this night, Jackie accompanied me westward. I was thankful for the company. ?Night, I really don?t like this.? Whispered Jackie to me. ?It?ll be alright.? I said, trying to soothe her, though I had no idea what would follow. ?That
man, Night, that man was looking at us really strange when we left.? I looked at her dumbfounded. I had seen light in the window, and I had seen the car, but I hadn?t actually seen a man. ?You mean, you saw a man in the car?? I asked nervously. ?No.? she said. ?When that explosion went off, there was a man across the street looking out of his livingroom window. Didn?t you see him?? I hadn?t. I wanted to be sick.[/SIZE][/FONT][/COLOR]
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Create New...