Based on Picture One

By SilentXcolourS

Purple is her aura. A beautiful aura. Usually soft, fragrant like lilacs in full bloom beneath an opened window. Tonight it is much darker, like the royal purple of kings and noblemen, like the dark deep sky before the lightening strikes in the night.

He is looming somewhere near--the man of prophecy and legend. She can sense it, for her senses have been fine tuned in her years of training to be what she has become. Though she does not believe herself to be ready for this task, she knows that it is not in her hands any longer. With one strike he could have her dead--or worse.

Her eyes fall softly shut, the lashes like fine spider legs surrounding her upper cheek bones. One eye keeps fluttering open, while the other takes it's turn in rest. No sleep will claim her this eve, she cannot let it.

The purple flares in front of her, a soft purple rainbow, from lilac to near black, and she feels breath behind her back. The pillows cannot breath, and it takes her moments to figure this out-- turning slowly, to look. He is not there, but she has heard that a creature of this sort does not have to appear in the normal traditions.

"So, he defies logic and tradition," she muttered, mostly inaudibly. A shiver creeped up her spine and left her in a shudder as he appeared, a waft of color before her open bed curtains.

"I will not stay long," he cooed. "Just long enough to fill my destiny." She shuddered again, this time the chill did not spawn the motion, but his words left chasms yelling within her. She knew what he would do with her, and she knew that she must let him fulfil that part of his destiny.

"I . . . I do not fear you as you would think I should. No, I welcome you into this bed, into this home. You are most welcome, Elethazar."

"Why thank you, dearest Maylin. I did expect much more of a struggle. Had I known you were prepared for this night, I would have simply knocked."

"They have taught me more than you would care to know," she grinned, the irony laced between her words that he would never understand until much too late.

"Oh, have they? We'll see about that. Did they not tell you that my kind can defy prophecy? I know what it is that would happen, you know. Be a step above me, Maylin."

"Do not doubt me."

And then no more words were spoken, for he had cautiously made his way into her bed and was against her, above her, over her. She let him do what it is he wanted, what he needed to do. Without so much as a wince. Her virginity left her, but she was not bitter. She knew that she would have a very powerful child, if prophecy held true. And if it did not, she could never blame herself for not following through with what the Goddess wanted her to do.

He left her quickly, without another word, and she felt her heart chill without him there to warm it. Saddened deeply by his departure, she cried herself to sleep, dreaming about his imminent death.

Her purple gown graced her hips and swished as she found her way to the balcony. A light snow fell from the sky, covering the ground in a soft blanket of white. She watched for a while, shivering slightly in the cold.

For days she could not get him off of her mind. His touch lingered on her body, and she was sorry she had not invited him to stay the night. She knew not where he was lodging, but he was not from this country, and would have to expend all of his energy to teleport back to where he was from, or pay a hefty sum to stay so close to the palace grounds. "If only I thought with my heart instead of my mind. They did not tell me I would love this man before I slew him. Perhaps that was for the better. I would not have let him into my bed so easily if I knew that I would lose him so cruelly."

The day came, the dawn was red and yellow as he hovered over her. She had one eye open, but it, too, had fallen to sleep in the course of the night. That usually stopped people from sneaking too closely; they knew not that she was fully asleep. He touched her shoulder, for he, too, felt some care for her, and wanted to give her fair warning.

"Are you carrying my child, yet, dearest?"

"If the symptoms have begun, I have not yet felt them," she breathed, recovering from a particularly virulent dream.

"Then I shall try once more, and then we will carry on with what fate creeds."

"Only once more? But let us not . . . let us . . ."

"No, dearest. You know that will not work as much as I know it. We can want what we may, but we may not have that."

"Forever stuck in gloom. Darkest of purples graces my eyes this morn."

"And black clouds my vision," he whispered as his clothes graced the cold marble of the floor.

They came together, as God and Goddess would under the ritual fires, and it was the most powerful love ever made. The love of a condemned man and a heartbroken woman together for the very last time before death claimed one soul from the earth. She cried softly as they came togheter and the earth shook beneath them. And she went in for the kill, as she knew she must-- one step ahead.

Based On Picture Two:

By SilentXcolourS

My favorite song. I can’t help but sing along, the tune always speaks through my body, the beat takes on the pulsing of my heart, my eyes blink to the drums, my feet move steadily, yet waiver as I wonder if I should be dancing. These aren’t the ideal pants to be dancing in, I don’t know what my mother was thinking when she bought them, but I’m wearing them all the same. They don’t match the song. If only she would match the song, I’d be all set. But she doesn’t have a clue yet. And I don’t know that I’ll be brave enough to clue her in. God only knows where I’d be without you . . .

I don’t think she has a boyfriend. Or even a date for that dance that’s coming up. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m not going to ask. There’s no way I could glance up into those honey colored eyes, the dark brown hair falling into her face, though her fingers made many attempts to brush the strands behind her ears. I watch her do that all the time. She never gives up even though nothing ever changes. The strands win the battle and cloud her eyes. When the wind joins forces against her fingertips–there is no hope. The battle is won long before the sneak attack ever took place.

I probably won’t even go to the dance. I never do. I don’t know why I’m thinking about going. I don’t even know that she’ll be there. So what’s the point?

It’s pretty sad when you’ve liked someone for three years and you’ve never let them in on the secret. Pathetic. And if anyone took her from me, I’d be incredibly, insanely jealous for the coming days. Months. Perhaps years. I’m that in love with this girl. Taya. The name of the Goddess who blesses me with her presence in my dreams. Day and night, she is there, hovering in that place between my brain and eyes. I want her in my arms, but I am satisfied that she lingers there, for me to watch and see through the day.

More than once I’ve been yelled at for zoning out in class. I don’t dare to look at her directly, so I look to that place in my mind where she is always dancing before me. Dancing to our song, of course. The Beach Boys couldn’t have said it better. I don’t know what I would do without her. Without that image of her.

She’s like a blossoming flower. Being bent and shaped by the tides of the wind. Pulling and pushing her forward, backward, to the side and up higher than I thought she could reach. The white wisps of the ocean tugging on the shore . . . she dances, undulating underneath the sun. A bright flower she is, glowing. And I am deathly afraid to pull her from the earth. She is safer there. I might do her harm.

Taya. Did I mutter that aloud? “Yes?” a soft reply, her eyes are on me. Looking at me. This can’t be happening.

“Oh, hello. I just wanted to say hi,” I mutter. Smooth. Very smooth. Debonair, even. Leave it to me to screw up the only time I’ll ever speak to her. That flower.

"Hi,” she smiled. A smile. More than I could have asked for. Now that image will rest there, keeping me warm and happy at night.

“Well, I guess I should get going . . .”

“What are you listening to?” she questioned, keeping me there, locking her eyes with my own. Of course, being the wimp that I am, I lowered my eyes and blushed. Of course.

“Just some Beach Boys. Easy listening. Something I like to put in after school.”

“They’re pretty good. My dad listens to them. I know a lot of their songs. What album?”

And I answered her. And we somehow found a place to sit and started talking. And I started ranting about something or other. And then I wondered if this was one of my dreams. But I could feel myself breathing. I could feel her breathing. Like a dream. Like the dance of the flowers. Her words found their way through the air, slipped through the wind and landed somewhere in my ears. She put me in some sort of trance, some place in myself I never wanted to emerge from. But she was saying something about a ride, about having to go, and I knew I had to say something. Anything. There was this one last chance presenting itself to me. I saw it. I just had to muster up the balls to do it. To say it. To proclaim something. I had to.

“Will you go with me?” I asked. Dumbly. As expected. I couldn’t get anything out right. Dammit.

“Go where with you?”

“Sorry. To the dance. I can see why you wouldn’t . . .”

“Yes, pick me up and I’ll be there.” Eyes aglitter. She looked radiant. The most beautiful being . . . she said yes. It took me a moment to register, longer to smile, and longer still to wave goodbye as she left me for her ride. I don’t know what she could possibly see in me. Maybe that same flower dances before her mind and her eyes. I don’t know. And I don’t know what possessed me to say her name like that right when she happened by. Odd stroke of luck. Doesn’t happen often. I should consider myself lucky. And I do. Who knows where I’d be without her.

Based on Picture Three

By SilentXcolourS

She scoffed at the movie poster as she passed it. She was the real thing, nothing like that wench in the poster, sitting there, feeling sorry for herself, with impossible blue strands of hair and a sword that could sever no heads. She rolled her eyes as she watched the same poster dance on a billboard, a bitter flavor rising in her throat as she spit at the ground.

She had a real sword, made by the best sword maker in Jalmena. He was amazing, everyone said so. She had asked and her wish had been granted. She was good enough to use it; she had spun through the ranks and performed in front of the newly crowned Queen. The queen was young, but she knew when she was in the midst of talent and great strength. Immediately the young girl was taken to the palace.

"You will be my body guard, at my beckon, at my call at all times of day and night. I have spoken with your master, and it is well with him. What say you, Qua'nna?"

"I will be ready with my sword at the first call, and the enemy will blanch at my sword, and fall beneath the blade before they have time to react. The wrath of Qua'nna has not yet been felt, but they will learn to fear me," she had responded, feeling cocky and elated as she was presented the finest armor in all the court and housed within the walls of the palace.

And then the moving pictures had started, in full color, and people were not interested in fighting, no, they were interested in filthy entertainment. Soon she felt she would be obsolete. The Queen would find other means to keep herself free of danger. And this filled Qua'nna's heart with spikes.

But slowly she befriended the Queen and learned that she was wanted and would keep her position as long as she lived. Somewhere in the depths of her mind she felt that she would do something amazing before the end of her life, as she had delved into some of the darker magics within her time in the compound, but she knew not what her fate held for her.

"Qua'nna, what drives you? What makes you so angry?" the queen, whose name was Laida, asked her one summer's eve.

"I have never had a place, I have never had anything that I needed to love, nothing that I have been required to protect other than myself. And so with that in mind, I had only myself to live for. I wanted to be the best there ever was, and I still do. Because I am all that I need, all that I have."

"You have me, though, don't you?"

"That is not the same. I care about you, but it is my duty to see that you will live as long as you may, it is my job to keep you safe wherever you should be. And because that is my job, there will be a riff between us, always."

"I am sorry to hear you feel that way. I chose you as a friend, as someone I felt I could trust. Not because you are the most amazing fighter that anyone has ever seen, you know."

"I would love to believe you, but I saw your face when I was done fighting that day."

"Yes, awestruck as I was, I felt compelled to meet you. And once I had, it was decided."

"I cannot love. The power will be lost," she sighed, disheartened.

"Love cannot be helped," the young queen sighed, as well, and bid the warrior leave her quarters for the night.

Love. Love. Love. What is love, Qua'nna wondered as she lay in her bed that night. She did not find an answer, and did not want to--the power could and would be lost. And that she could not have, for it was in her stars to be a warrior, so a warrior, and the very best, she must be.

Weeks passed before the moving pictures started having displays in the city. But there they were, in front of her eyes. She felt weak. She distrusted this media. War would be immortalized on film, watched by all. It would no longer be sacred. No longer fleeting like the life within a body. The blood. She had always shuddered at the sight of blood, human or otherwise. That is the life. It must be spilled out, like water, onto the ground. The life. Pictures were not life. War should remain in the blood. The flesh.

As she realized these things, she also realized that she was too late in realizing. For nothing could be done to prevent the movies. Nothing could take them out of theaters, out of the minds of people. And she thought that would be her final battle. Fighting for attention. Fighting for love. Someone to hold onto besides herself.

Based on Picture Four

By SilentXcolourS

Write me out

Happiness is but a facade. There I am, front and center in the picture, smiling heartily, pretending to be happy. But I’m not happy. They are nice enough people, they’re just not my kind of people. Red hair, blue eyes . . . people are always staring. Always trying to be nice. I just don’t fit in, no matter how you slice it. Even my hair gives me away! No escape. And all I want is for one person, just one person to actually care. I used to think that Laya did, but that was all part of the facade. She wanted something out of me, and love wasn’t it. I wish. Too much wishing. That’s a tragic flaw of mine. Always wishing, always in this dream world that I want to exist, and yet. . . it’s only dreams. Nothing real. My mind is like a book. Only fiction.
Makes sense why I’m a writer. I’m always in my head. Always thinking, discovering, pondering . . . I thought she was like that, too. She wasn’t, though. And those friends of hers–how could I have been so dumb!? I’ll never know.
Laya. Laya. Laya. The name floats off the tongue. Sends my body to shivers. Quivering. Like that one night. Under the stars. I never thought she’d go with me, let alone ask me. She always seemed to like Dale better. I hated him, but tolerated him for her. Just for the record. That night, though. It was as close to perfection as I have ever come. And I wouldn’t be surprised if I never get any closer. Just the way her hand fit into mine, and how her hip would brush against my leg every so often. Her perfume wafting to my nose, inviting me to the sensual scent that is Laya.
I wanted more. God did I want her. I always wanted her. In class. In the hallway. In the car. Everywhere. I dreamed about her all the time. The best dreams I’ve ever had. Ever will have. And I lost her. That night she was all mine. I was tempted to go in for a kiss, to steal the sweetness off her lips–and she beat me to it. She was all over me. And I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to contain my excitement, so afraid that she’d notice. She never seemed to notice those things. Or maybe she was used to it. I’ve heard things since. . . things that she’s done with others. Much more than I let her do with me, I can tell you that.
Dale with that stupid earring. She’s done so much with him. I should have guessed it that night. I’ll never forgive myself. I like to take things slow, I like to take my time, to have things develop. And it was all so fast. So far. She took something sacred from me. I’ll never get it back. I wish she would have stolen it. Then I wouldn’t feel so much regret. Wouldn’t look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I turned into that beast that I was with her. Such a wild night. Sad thing is, I’d do it again even though I’m full of regret. I want her back. Dale stands in the way.
And I think Liz and Eric are in on it, too. They knew she was all about using guys for their wallet, about stealing things while their backs are turned. They knew and didn’t tell me. It figures. I don’t think I’ll be trusting anyone for a long time.
Moral of the story? Stick to writing. Don’t steal kisses, don’t walk under the moon. Don’t find a beach and a pretty girl and do things you’ll regret. Because, it’s not worth it. Though I’d do it again. I never claimed to be a smart guy. Just average. Just having everything against me. But what teen doesn’t? I’m tired of thinking. I want an off switch. I want to erase her shining face, her blonde locks from my mind. I don’t want to hear the whispered words or the taste the sweetest kisses anymore. I need to write myself out of this story.

Based on Picture Five

By SilentXcolourS

She was an angel, but she had recently been put on break as she had worked too hard as of late. God had deemed her weary, and he is a kind and loving God. Yet she was not pleased with all of the time that she had to herself. Infact she was bitter and did not understand why God had suddenly taken her out of commission when she was working hardest. So as she lay in bed that first night after the messenger had deemed her unable to work, she thought about all that she had done in the past few days.

She had helped a teenage boy. That had been her favorite project, and though she was upset, she was still thankful to God for he had given her a chance to meet a truly amazing individual.

She was only allowed to speak to him through dreams, that was the normal procedure. Dreams of Angels was her committee name, and she tried her best to do just that, though it was allowed, on special occassions, for Angels to make themselves implicitly known to the human they were trying to save or help. For this young boy, she knew she must speak to him, for his skepticism ran deep.

"Josiah, listen to me, please. For I am the Angel sent to you from God and you must be careful to heed my words," she spoke before his disbelieving eyes. To him she looked like a human and thought this was some sort of joke that his mother was pulling on him. It was just like her to freak him out like this. Didn't she know he was sick and something like this could burst his poor heart?

"Sure, I'll listen. Whatever."

"Would you just listen and believe me? I am an Angel. I am NOT sent by your mother. I am sent by God alone. No being controls me. I come of his will and my own. I want to help you."

"That's easy. Cure me. Take this away. I don't want it. I didn't ask for it. Cure me, oh mighty Angel of God."

"Disrespect will only be tolerated for so long. I will then let you be entertained by agents of the Devil and you will be forever sorry."

"Yeah. Ok."

"Look, if you don't believe me, just hear me out, alright? Josiah, do not go with your mother tomorrow. It will not end well with you if you go with her. Please, for the love of God, do not go."

"Why? What's going to happen to me if I go with her, huh? I don't think anything will happen. It's all routine. We go every week. It'll kill HER if we don't go. Nevermind me and how I'm feeling."

"You are certainly grating on my last never, Josiah. Would it help if I gave you my name? Told you something important? I don't know what you want of me."

"What is your name?"

"Rebekah is my name, and I am as old as time itself. You broke your arm when you were seven. You broke your leg the following year. You haven't had a girlfriend yet even though you tell your friends that you've had three. What else do you want me to tell you?"

"Where did my dad go?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that, and you should know why, Josiah. That would alter history, and it is only within God's hands to do that . . . though that is kind of what I am doing, but it is at God's bidding."

"Well I still want to know where he is. He owes me an explanation. I'm about to die and he up and leaves. Yeah. That gives me a reason to live."

"His life will not bode well with God, if that makes you feel any better. And your mother is in an iffy place right now. Trying too hard does not compensate for past transgressions. She had better start repenting now for all of her sins."

"And what about me? If you're an Angel how do I know you won't take me back with you? I am not ready to die."

"Nor is it your time. No, not yet. You've nothing to worry over, not for a while. And yet dying is not so horrible. You are a good person, Josiah. Jesus will take you to his Paradise. I've no qualms about it."

"Rebekah, what am I supposed to do? What is the meaning of this disease? Why did I get it? Why are you here?"

"I am here to help you, because you have something miraculous to do, Josiah. Something incredible. Your life will not be in vain. . . you will be remembered. This I promise you if you listen. You have your free will. You may alter your history-- that is for you to decide. But hear this, young one. You have this disease to teach others. You know of what I speak. The hospital has offered that you come in and help the younger kids . . . I believe that would be the right thing to do. And as for those kids at school, you know which ones, you are to teach them. You've heard of killing with kindness?"

"Yes."

"Do it to them, for they need to be humbled. And I will visit you. I will come back to you. Do not fear. I will always look after you. You will not die until it is your time-- do not ask, for I am not allowed to disclose the date, nor the month."

"How will that make my name last on?"

"There is to be a new hospital built. I believe your name will surface as the name of the hospital. That is what I have seen. Ask no more, please," Rebekah sighed.

"What will make it obvious that what you tell me is true?"

"Do not go with your mother tomorrow, and you will understand," she whispered, and disappeared before he could utter a faint goodbye.


That was months ago, and it was nearly his time to go. And he had listened. He had trusted her as no other had ever before. His mother was upset, shaking, yelling-- yet he was unbreakable. He would not go. Rebekah weeped a heavy rain onto the New England area of the United States as she watched his uncovered bravery.

She died that night, driving down the highway. He was orphaned, but he was alive. And Rebekah wept until floods threatened the coastline. And she stopped, for she had won and she felt his loss. And now God sent her this. Another setback when all she wanted was to be with that dear boy. As she had promised. And now she could not. And her heart was heavy as she watched from the sky. Watching but not knowing . . . hurting because she knew love from a different perspective, and she wondered if her sons had been the same . . . it was so long ago she could not remember, but there was something so familiar about Josiah that it made her furrow her brows trying to figure it out. She needed him as he needed her, but God overruled all.

She thought, perhaps, that is was because of her attatchment that she had been pulled back and exhaustion was just a cover up. She had not failed on her other missions, save one, and that had been out of her hands. She could not comprehend why she must watch this boy die without saying goodbye.

But God knew, and he smiled down at her, though she could not see him; and he was content watching her watching the boy into the night.