Wednesday, 13 January, 2000 5:05 AM CST
Hello everyone! Here's a teaser for a story I'm currently working on! Enjoy!
Love,
SARA
What Remains
by: Sara E. Robbins
The bloodstained hands, their long, slender fingers gently caressing the keyboard, typed on for what seemed an eternity. They had committed many a callous deed, from the genocide of entire alien civilizations to the mere crushing of a troublesome insect. This time it was different. The blood belonged to the master of those hands, an unlikely personage fit for this occupation of explorer and an as-needed butcher of the innocent and guilty alike; but all the same, they were his hands. Word after word flashed upon the monitor, none spelled out for the sake of taking up space; all had a blunt and pessimistic tone.
³I canıt comprehend why they destroy themselves,² he read aloud from his personal log as he typed. ³Here, they send me out to be a god to beings I have never seen before, and at home they cannot even control their lusts for war and carnage, money and greed.²
His fingers had the dexterity of one trained heavily in music, a type of passion running deeply, deeper than the eye can see, and deeper than any heart can fathom without being stretched to the limits of its sane existence; and it was conveyed brutally in those words.
Light blue eyes, gentle and awake, probed the words over and over, a knitted brow showing his distress. His wispy blond hair had not been cut in months; there had been no need or time, and now it hung in loose, soft strands to his shoulders, almost giving him the aura of an angel. Indeed his features were cherubic, gentle, always leaving one to smile after the nearest glance in his direction and wonder what trivial little bits of life amused him so as to carry on with such a happy countenance. Even with that seeming look of almost drunken contentment he wore so unassumingly, Khellan Arnic was now a very different man.
He sat now, staring dumbly at the computer screen, its electronic gleam reflecting on his face in the otherwise darkened room, and looked down at his mangled hands. The knuckles cracked and bled, and ached when he bent his fingers the slightest bit. Yet another consequence of the Earthıs coming obliteration, he thought silently and squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. The planetıs environment was a total wasteland now, and even out here, orbiting above the smog and pollution of war and disease, the atmosphere concocted elaborate schemes for paying its destroyers back. Arnic did not wallow in joy or pity for this naturally instigated punishment for his forefathersı crimes; he simply saw it as another warning to all who entered that this was a bad place to be, nefarious and spiteful, annihilating everything good.
Everything good but beautiful Aria. Beautiful, beautiful Aria. He had adored her since their meeting in a bomb shelter when they were children, innocent to the horrors that now consumed everything they had known. She loved him too, he knew it, and always hoped and begged for him to take her away from all the disease and war as she had grown by his side, though he could do nothing. He could only hope that down there, among the torture, she was still alive, holding on to the shred of hope that he was certain remained.
He grumbled to himself and turned the outdated machine off. It was no use to even keep a log anymore, there would be no one left to read it when this was finished. Besides, he would most definitely be court martialed if his opinions against his superiors were known. It was a cruel and heartless life he led, but then the heart he still had rested in the hands of his love, if she still breathed.
My Short Stories
Solitude Her Keeper
The Visiting Place
Couteau's Destruction
Afternoon in Gray
