You have asked me to post the rest of my son's story, so here it is. He has dutifully typed it up, while moaning, "This is taking forever! Mom, can you type for me? Please?" And every time I told him that you guys loved his story, he told me, "I don't want to be a writer. Nope!" I will continue trying to convince him of his talent. In the meantime, enjoy.
(Oh, and I finished editing the last draft of The Badlings! It's here, and more blog posts are coming about it and other exciting stuff. Just taking a breather today and tomorrow. XOXO)
A short story by Peter Ustyugov
The child’s parent’s nailed the door shut. In their hands were gleaming daggers of ebony with a hint of red on them. There were shouts and orders heard outside. A raven’s call once in a while. The child was scared.
Suddenly, the door shattered to pieces. The child’s parents were swallowed by twisting tongues of smoke, devouring all in their path. A blast shattered the rickety shack. Then, the smoke cleared, seeming almost alive. Two bodies lay on the ground with daggers sticking from their chests. The child realized in terror that those were his parents.
"No…" He choked. About twenty people stood outside, weapons raised, pointed at the child. In a flash, knives rained down on the soldiers. Everything went black.
2 DAYS LATER…
The child woke up, a mess of hair, clothes and blood. He had bright blue eyes, smooth tan skin, and dirty blonde hair. A raven pecked at his hair, smudging blood on his beak. I woke up, dizzy from some catastrophe. A big wave of terror and sadness hit me like a truck. The image of my parents lying dead, daggers sticking from their chests. I gasp, as emotional pain tears through me. A raven next to me jumps back, his beak smudged with blood, purple eyes staring intently at me.
"Morning," I crawl back in surprise. "Are you talking to me?" I question in a shaky voice.
"Look outside; it’ll be more believable."
I stand up with shaky knees. I stumble and then catch myself; bracing for whatever’s outside. I twist the doorknob, and the door sweeps open. Wind blows at my face. A horrible stench of rotting corpses washes over me. I wretch, and vomit into a scarlet pool of blood.
"Look," I look up. IN front of me lie bodies scattered all over the ground, a dagger protruding from every body. In front of me lie to familiar faces. Sadness overwhelms me. But despite my thoughts, those daggers are attracting me. I run forward, and wrench away the daggers. They seem to pulse in my hands, matching my heartbeats. I can hear a voice inside my head saying, take revenge for us. Kill him. I retreat landing on a chair. The daggers thunk in the floor. I sleep.
I wake up to some one saying, "get up. NOW." I prop myself up with a startle. The side of my head throbbing strangely. The raven stands in front of me.
"Who are you by the way?" I ask.
"I am Night. I am ninety two and three quarters, and I am a shapeshifter. One of the last."
I recoil as he turns into a cat and back.
"Well, maybe I should introduce myself. I am Sky, Part of clan ebony. I am 12, years old." The clan symbol burns into my mind.
"Well, we have to go. There are armed men approaching us. I will take you into the city."
I stand up. Pull the daggers from the floor, a newfound strength inside me. I instinctively dash outside, into the forest. I find a tree, and swing up onto it to perch there. Night lands next to me. We wait until we can see the men. I jump down behind some brush. We wait. Soon enough, the men approach. FEET away from us. I wait until they pass. They stop, still in the formation of a straight line. I creep out from the brush, prowling behind the men. I pounce forward, hurling a dagger at the last of the men. It finds a home inside his chest with a thunk. He falls down, dead on the man in front of him.
"Huh?" I jump forward, and yank the dagger out of him, blood spurting from the wound. I run forward, becoming a whirlwind of daggers, spinning around. I tear the flesh from them with my daggers before they have time to react. I kill all but one. He scrambles away, running for his life. He can’t get back with information of me. My daggers start glowing, and my arms launch them forward with incredible speed, aimed at both his spine and neck. They slide into the flesh, killing the man instantly. The daggers fly back into my hands. I collapse from exhaustion and disbelief.
"Wow that was AMAZING!" says a surprised Night from the brush. Well no time for chatter or rest. We must go into the city quickly. I pull myself up. Night turns into a shadow. Seconds later, a dragon looms in front of me!
"Hop on," he snorts. I clamber onto his back, clenching his neck tightly. Shock and question pulsing through me. His powerful legs launch into the air, his wings flapping gracefully. We sail towards a gleaming city, an astounding sight. Darkness engulfs me.
I wake up to a faint hum. A cat sitting on my lap. The cats eyes perk open, and he jumps off me. "Hey Night," I say. "Hello."
"So, ready for some training?" he asks.
I observe our surroundings. We are in a room with a red sack hanging from a chain, (punching bag) A red and white thing in the shape of a circle (target). And a bow and arrow next to it. Some red gloves hang from hooks on the wall. We begin. First, we begin to train with the bow. Naturally, I can hit a bullseye the majority of the time over the course of two months. Next, we start to spar with night turning into a human or a tiger to fight. After three months of that, and practicing on the ‘punching bag’, I could feel myself move faster. Then, I would go out to buy food, shop, buy, and on assassination contracts. After about four months of this, I turned thirteen. On one day, Night gave me an assassins outfit from clan ebony. I honored this gift, but he said no biggie. Soon, I was more stealthy, lost most fat, was more stealthy, and better – Improved. I am ready.
"Well, ready to leave our newly established home?" Night asks.
HOME. The word hits me hard. Images of my parents lying dead on the ground brings sadness and agony sweeping over me. But as quickly as the feeling came, it got replaced by something else. Anger. Dread. Madness. For what they had done, the RENEGADE. I will kill all of them. Get revenge! "Let’s go wreck some face."
We leave at dawn the night sky settling over us. We jump from roof to roof, silent as shadows. Soon, we reach a brightly lit war stadium. We stand above two guards, looking around. They fail to notice the cat and human standing above them. I jump down, feet barely making a noise. I stalk up to one of the men, reaching fro his neck. One of my hands shoots up to his brow, and I twist. It snaps loudly as he falls down. The other guard turns toward me. I flick a dagger towards him, a slim black bullet. It strikes him in the forehead, and sticks. He falls back, and off the balcony. My hand shoots out, the dagger smacking into its sheath. There is a power box that controls the lights around the stadium next to us. I tear the cover off, and the lights turn off once I tear out a wire out.
"Hurry Night, the lights’ll be on any minute."
He once again turns into a living dragon. I jump onto him and we launch to the stadium. We fly through the air. Suddenly, the lights turn on, blinding us both as an alarm blares. We plummet down, soon crashing into the stadium seats. We lie there stunned, for a minute. Then I get up, and blind rage fills me to the brim. A headache hammers the side of my head. I ignore it. I just sprint forward, and quickly reach double doors with about fifty men guarding it, weapons raised.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" I scream.
"Stand down or we fire!" someone yells.
"NO!" I become engulfed in shadow. The bullets strike me, but some to go through me. My hand flies upwards, clenching the men in a magical hand. They float, stunned from my power. My daggers fly out of their sockets, multiplying. They launch forward, headed straight for all the men, one by one. Blood spurts everywhere, dirtying the area around the dead men. They all fall towards the ground, landing in a heap. Carelessly, I dash straight through the doors. There is a man sitting upon a technology encrusted throne. His face is contorted into a snarl of madness and surprise.
"I was expecting you, child," his voice is calm and soothing. Four men stand guarding him, looks of surprise on their faces. My daggers cut the air, piercing their skin like butter. The daggers come back.
"NO one beats me, Razor. As I am the RENEGADE!" He stands up and shoots. The bullet hits Sky’s head, blood splattering everywhere, leaving a big gaping hole through his face. But time rewinds, freezes. The bullet is about to hit my head. I duck under, and sprint to Razor. Time resumes.
"What the…" he gasps. I then start repeatedly stabbing him in the stomach, blood flowing. He falls back dead for good. I collapse, lying there just noticing Razor’s bullet in my arm. Thank you my son. We are proud. I lie there, a shadow on bright white light.