Edit: The rock

Laya and Arnov approached the crater hesitantly, already knowing what they would find inside of it. It was not the first time they had traversed the rock-ladden hillside to peer down into the massive cavity, whose perimeter was an hour's hike, that had been left there many years prior, looking to see what the hidden and protected mystery was - but it was the first time they were planning on entering the gaping wound in the ground. They were tired of idly observing. They wanted to get close. To touch it. To feel it. To not only wonder, but to experience. Whatever exactly it was.

But that didn't mean that they were about to throw themselves blindly into action. They had talked for sometime about how to go about it - when to do it, how to enter and exit the hole, and what they would do once they had descended. They knew that during the day the area was patrolled, but at night the fences were locked up tight and the patrols were sent home. Granted the fences were a solid fifteen feet tall, and the tops and random inner fencings were barb wired, but with a little practice Laya and Arnov had managed to learn how to scale it without getting hurt. They had had to do it in the late night, so as not to be seen, which had lead to a number of cuts and infections, some of which were now scars. But now they could do it blindfolded. They'd just never dared to go much further than that.

They peered over the edge at the immense floating boulder in its crater, held down by four chains, each with links as big as their bodies. The boulder itself was easily as large as their high school, and the chains were connected to a ring encompassing it tightly, as if holding a prisoner in his cell. In a way, that was how the rock appeared. A giant prisoner, caught in a freak accident that had brought it to the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tying the long rope they had brought with them around the base of a tree at the top of the hillside, the two descended into the crater, close enough to one of the chains that they could reach out and touch it. The metal was cold and dirty, but the dirt was only a thin layer on top of the steel. It seemed as though the chains were kept well cleaned most of the time, perhaps to prevent rust, but the winds that had been blowing earlier that night had covered them with a thin veil.

They set foot down at the bottom of the hole and made a beeline straight for the rock. Laya reached it first, placing a hand gingerly on one side of it. The stone was warm, as though it were basking in the summer sun, despite the fact that, not only was it night, but they were on the underside of it, where its own shadow would block the sun's rays. The spot where her hand rested had likely not felt the sun's warmth since before it had arrived in its new home.

"What do you think it is?" Arnov asked quietly as he placed his own hand on the rough surface. "Why do you think it's here?"

"I think the real question is why is it chained up like this." Laya muttered in response.

Arnov nodded in agreement. "What do you think would happen if we broke one of the chains?" he asked after a long pause, almost more to himself than to his friend.

Laya turned her head in shock to look at him. "Arnov!" she whisper-shouted. "We talked about that! We can't do any damage to anything. We can barely afford to touch anything in here. No one can know we were here! Can you imagine how much shit would go down if we were found in here? We'd get arrested. And you want to just go and break whatever they've built to see what would happen?"

Arnov frowned and shook his head. "I know," he replied, taking a deep breath. "I know. I'm not saying we should. Especially not right now. I just... I can't help but wonder, you know?"

Laya looked back at the chains keeping the rock earthbound. On the far end, they were connected to thick metal poles lodged deep into the ground. Everything about the construction was impossibly huge. She could only imagine how far down the poles must have gone.

"Yeah," she muttered reluctantly. "I know."

Paper wings

Michelle stood atop the large hill overlooking her friend's ranch, gripping the handlebars of her flying contraption and feeling the wind on her face. She knew her creation was a tad impractical - she had used bamboo to make the frame because it was the lightest solid she could think of to do so with, and had covered the frame in thin sheets of paper carefully sewn and glued together. She had decided against adding wheels, as she figured that the less weight she had, the more likely she was to take off - that also meant she had to wait for a particularly windy day in order to have the wind and the speed to fly. But that wind also had to be blowing the right way, so as to pick her up, and it couldn't be blowing too hard or it would simply tear through the delicate membrane. It was a very frail procedure.

She had finished construction well over a month prior, and had been waiting on pins and needles ever since for the right day to come around. This day was the best one to arrive yet, and if she was ever going to be time for her to take it for a joyride, this was it. "Remember not to fly too close to the sun," Sabrina said. Michelle smiled at her best friend and nodded, knowing full well the lesson of Icarus - the two had joked about it many times while she had been working. Sabrina was there to make sure that she didn't hurt herself trying to fly, and to be a witness to the success or failure, whichever it may be.

"Wish me luck," Michelle replied before taking a deep breath, and pumping her legs as hard as she could down the hill. She felt the weight of the contraption mostly on her hips, through the two bars that were built into a belt around her waist to help support the weight and keep it above her and off the ground while she was taking off. It was more uncomfortable than she had anticipated, and it was somewhat debilitating for her running, but she refused to let that stop her. She kicked as hard as she could off of the ground, and when she felt her foot missed, she closed her eyes tight, afraid of slamming face first into the ground.

But a second passed. And then another. And her other foot swung again without hitting ground. And that was when she realized she wasn't falling.

Her eyes flew open, and she could see the ground falling away from her, and feel the wind blowing hard in her face, whipping her hair around her shoulders and back. It was an incredible feeling - one she could hardly describe. Like being picked up by the wind itself and carried down a long hallway, where the artwork on the walls extended endlessly in every direction. The colors seemed more vivid from in the air. She glanced around, and saw bright blue of the sky, the green of the hills, marked by a multitude of colors that were the flowers and wildlife. And she saw whites in the sky, of clouds and birds and...

She whipped her head back to look at her wings. Her hair was too long. As it whipped and snapped in the wind, it was hitting her wings, and slowly chipping at the paper that formed the membrane keeping her airborne. She had not accounted for that possibility. She twisted her hands hard around the handlebar, trying to aim herself down while she was still somewhat in control, but it took much more strength to steer herself than she thought it would. When she started to drop, it was because a small hole had formed.

The landing was rough, but luckily it was in the open field just outside of the ranch's fence. Sabrina had been running under her, and was there in less than a minute. "Oh my god, Michelle, are you ok?" she called out, a mix of fear and wonder in her voice.

Michelle sat up slowly, her legs having buckled under her only a few steps after her shaky landing, and looked at her friend with a weary smile. "I need a hair cut."

Sellsword

The water was rising, unbidden, in a very sharp way, completely unlike how the water usually reacted. Lisa watched it, unable to turn away, her violin resting by her side, the air filled with utter silence. Even the water rising was without sound. There was something unnatural about it - the way it moved, how it seemed to have a mind of its own, and how it piled up on top of itself to give itself form. That last point took Lisa far too long to recognize. She was used to having her eyes closed, to feel the water move reaching through the core of her system and giving her a vision of how it moved without her having to see it. But this had nothing to do with her.

The water bent and stiffened as it rose, giving itself shape and texture, the light reflecting off of its surfaces to give the vague shape meaning. Lisa didn't know how long she was standing there, transfixed and watching the water move, before the shape was clear enough to make out. It was a man, standing in the calm waters, one hand crossed across his waist. There was something at his side that he was grasping on, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. And then a shiver ran through her spine, as the wind picked up and blew all around her, towards the watery figure.

Ice formed across the man's body, making him appear as though a sculpture made in the lake, a mask across its wide opened eyes that stared into her soul. They were a piercing blue, making her intensely uncomfortable. She wanted to turn away - everything about her was screaming for her to turn and run - but she simply couldn't. She watched as the man's arm extended toward her, revealing that what he was gripping was a sword that had been sheathed on his hip. He pointed it at her, face smooth except for the eyes, unable to say anything to accompany the motion. She didn't understand what it wanted. Why it had appeared. Why it seemed to be almost as transfixed on her as she was on him.

And the figure rushed forward, faster than Lisa's eyes could comprehend, sword pointed straight between her eyes. Lisa's breath caught in her throat, and she was prepared for the icy blade to cut her, but it stopped only a meter away. The figure glared at her, but did not move any closer. Shaking ever so slightly in her knees, Lisa glanced down. The figure had reached the edge of the lake, and appeared unable to take a step further. It was stuck where it was, and if she had been standing much closer, it surely would have cut her down. But it could not.

They stood in a standstill for a long moment, Lisa breathing hard, and the water man glaring and pushing hard against the land. Neither could move. Neither was willing to turn away.

And then, in an instant, the cold in the air was gone. The ice melted, and the form as a whole splashed down into the water, vanishing loudly - though if anyone else had heard it, they would have thought nothing of it. Lisa stared at the spot where the man had been. Where had he come from? Why? And why did it seem to want to kill him?

She could only hope that the others would have some form of answer.

Birthday present

Emile couldn't wipe the smile off of his face as he swung his legs back and forth, dangling off of the massive branch that was supporting him and his best friend. It was his tenth birthday, and Emily had promised that after the party she would show him something really cool. It had taken their parents some convincing, but they had managed to run off together the moment that the last of his guests was gone. They dashed into the forest, weaving their way between the trees, leaping over creeks and rivers, until Emily lead him into a small hole in one of the massive stone walls on the opposite side of one of the rivers, formed by the erosion of the hillside over a number of years, though the two didn't quite know what that meant.

"I was playing over here when there was a rockslide," Emily had explained as they walked through the small cave. There wasn't enough room for them to stand fully, but there was enough for the to move. They had always been too small to go any further than the rock wall. For Emile, this was completely uncharted territory, and he was ecstatic to see what lay beyond. "The rock falling let me see the hole to get in here. When I saw what was on the other side, I knew we had to come out here."

Emerging from the other side of the cave had brought the two to the far edge of the forest, just as the sun was beginning to set. The light reflected off of a pool below them, making the air glow with oranges and yellows. It was like they had stepped into another world entirely. They had run around and explored for a while, but it was late in the day, and they knew that they wouldn't be able to stay long, and instead agreed to come back the next day to traverse these new lands and map them out, as they had with the forest.

Instead, they found the biggest tree they could and worked together to scale the branches, until they reached a larger one that extended out over the pond and could hold them up. They sat together and watched the sunset, excited for what they might find the next day, telling tall tales of the sights they would see, and the daring deeds they would do.

Emile didn't think much about it as he felt Emily's hand rest on his, so he didn't see the blush spread across her face as she did so. She was a year older than he, and had been exposed to the magical, dangerous "boy." It hadn't taken her long to realize that Emile was her boy. As they sat, she wondered how long it would be before he learned of the mysterious, undefinable "girl." She hoped that she would be his girl. Maybe that could be her birthday present for him in a few months.

They were too excited in their thoughts to consider how they were going to get home in the dark.

Duties

The words on the papers were starting to blur together, forming lines of smudges of ink on aged and crinkled sheets of paper that very clearly would have better served remaining trees. Adam's head was swimming, and no matter how many times he tried to blink away the pain, the words refused to reform. He kicked his chair back away from the desk and swung his feet up on top of it, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his forehead, closing his eyes tight to hold back what was sure was his brain melting out of his sockets. It had been a very long day, trying to keep his men under control as they learned of the fall of one of the other great commanders and realizing that they very well may lose the war. They had very nearly rebelled against him, and it had taken all of his physical and tactical strength to keep them from throwing him overboard.

He really needed a drink. Unfortunately, the wine was the first thing the men had thrown overboard in their anger. He was still unclear as to why that was - they seemed just as infuriated as he was that there was no alcohol left on the ship. And conveniently they had forgotten whose fault that was, so the blame was all back on Adam. He had done nothing but try to help these men, and now he was the fault for all of their problems. It wasn't his fault that the other commanders had all lost! In fact, if it wasn't for him, they all would have fallen in battle long ago!

The crash of his sword, which had been resting against his desk, hitting the ground scared him, and he nearly fell out of his chair because of it. He looked down at the sword on the ground, almost glaring at it, as if he was trying to pin his problems on it. It took him a while to even realize that he was the one who had knocked it down. He had begun flinging his arms back and forth to the anger of his thoughts as though he were ranting to his men. He was really losing it.

He pushed out of his chair and went to the window, pushing it open harder than he meant to, nearly cracking the glass inside of the metal frame. Near immediate regret washed over him as he heard the men angrily fighting, full on fist fights ringing through the air. There were still arguing over whether or not to follow their commanding officer. There was nothing left that Adam could do to convince them. All that was left was to wait for them to make a decision.

Practically feeling the rush of the water over his head as he was dropped into the depths, Adam slammed the window back closed. He had wanted to get some fresh air, to get away from the stuffy, musty breaths that were catching in his throat. But he would rather deal with those then his men right now. They were more dangerous than the war had ever been. If only he could make them see that. Then maybe they'd be able to come out the victors after all.

Writing on writing

This is a pretty ironic thing of me to say, and something that I have more or less always understood about myself, but I hate reading about writing. There's just something about reading someone tell you how to write, or how they write - even though I know they're just expressing a personal opinion - that really puts me off. I know that looking at how other people write and think about their writing is important and useful, and that it's one of the best ways to learn, but good lord it just irritates me. And that's absolutely nothing against the people who do so - maybe in the past it would have been, but I've done it myself far too often to be able to say anything about it now.

When I was deciding whether or not to write this blog, I really didn't want to do these kinds of posts. I didn't want to write about writing: I don't know nearly enough to say anything with certainty, nor would I want to read it if I were a reader. And I never expect anyone to want to read these. I would never blame anyone for coming to my blog, seeing a Real talk post, and leaving to wait for the next day and another chance at fiction. Hell, even if my fiction isn't that good, I have to imagine that it's better and more interesting than this ranting dribble.

But I decided that it was something I wanted to do. More so for myself than anything else, as the whole writing process should be as a whole. But I consciously decided that I want to write about writing so that I would have a way to think it all out, to put my thoughts into words and see if they really make sense to me as I put it all down. And there have been times where, as I am writing, I have realized that I didn't really think the way that I thought I did. Which is an extremely bizarre experience, and one that I strongly recommend you experience sometime in your life if you never have.

I once wrote about how I don't like writers and I don't think of myself as one. In retrospect, that is only sort of true. I don't like writers in the same way that I don't like guitarists. I love writing and reading, and I love guitars and the music they can produce. But I don't like the people who feel that writing and music can only be done in a very specific way, and if you don't know this story or this song and you don't love it unconditionally without criticizing its perfection in absolution, than you are a faker and should give up whatever fake crap you think you are doing with your life.

I've tried to make that distinction in my head, and realize that not every writer or guitarist thinks that way. The problem is that there is a very loud minority that thinks that way, as there is with most groups. And there is also this feeling that we have as human beings to say that what I think is the truth, and I will present it as such because I have seen one other person who agrees, and therefor everyone must. And me saying that is exactly the problem that I'm talking about, but...

It's hard to avoid. I think most everyone has had that at some point in their life. I'd find it hard to believe that anyone hasn't. They probably just haven't realized it yet.

At least I can admit to mine. I'll work on it.

Journey

Maria glanced over the rocks in front of her, looking for a good place to stand as she perched herself precariously on two small outcroppings of stone. She was well over a thousand feet in the air, and could hardly see the small town in which she had grown if she glanced down and behind her - though she would never dare, or risk falling. It had taken her many years of practice and scoping out the landscape of the floating mountains to make this journey, several multi-day ventures into the rocky formations just to make a few dozen feet of progress. This was the furthest she had ever progressed...

And she wasn't turning back this time.

She made a well practiced leap across a gap in the mountain, landing on a flat surface just wide enough for her to stand with her feet shoulder-length apart - a convenient stance for landing. The heavy bag on her back shifted as she landed, and she took a moment to tighten her core and adjust her hips, changing her center of gravity to accommodate for the shift in weight until she could safely recenter herself. She carried supplies that would last her far more than a week. She planned to be able to make a new life in the mountains.

That was something she had learned a while ago. Despite the unique terrain, and the way it was separated from the rest of the earth, there was a surprising amount of life in the mountains. She had learned to hunt, to cook, and to use their hides, furs, and bones to make clothing and supplies. The clothes she was wearing was some of her favorites that she had made, from the quick footed and highly reactive deers in the nearby forests. They were a sign of how skilled she had become, and she had taken extra care to make them beautiful. They hung loose off of her shoulders, keeping her warm in the cold, and cool in the heat.

Standing in a safe spot, she glanced back at her old home. It was far away in the distance, barely visible, but she knew that no one there would be questioning her disappearance. They had long since accepted that she would disappear for long stretches at a time. She always came back with a collection of meats and furs to pay back any loses that may have been made by her disappearance, and so the people had learned not to question her actions. It would be quite a while before they began to wonder about her location. But there was a good chance she would never see any of them again.

It was ok. She had learned to live without them, and they without her. She had long wanted to start anew. The floating mountains were the place to do that. So strange, like they were a different world only barely in tandem with their own. She had no idea if there would be any other humans in that world. But she accepted that there was a chance she would be alone. And if not, perhaps she would find people like her, and be able to start anew with them.

Regardless of what happened, she would make do. This was the choice she had made. There was a tenseness and a soreness to her body as she pushed forward. It felt good.