Sun wraith origins: Edith

Reads: 73  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 17, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 17, 2018

A A A

A A A


 

 

 

 

 

How long have I been laying here? Why do i feel weight? Why cant i see? have i been burried?  i thrust my torso upward and gasp for air as lumps charicoal-colored dust fall off my shoulders. I pat myself off and the ash falls loose from my dark jeans, and creme colored tunic. all around me is a dark shade of grayish blue, swallowed by a haze thick enough to hide anything byond my wingspan. am I still on earth, or has the moon suddenly grown trees? I cant remember anything. What came before this? Did anything come before this?

 

“hello?” I call out. Not even an echo responds

 

the ground swallows my feet up to the knee. I look around and see tables, toppled over. Chairs broken, or partially buried in ash And half a white board sticking out from the ash. a few plaques lay scattered about. I pick one up.

 

Dr. Dema Spriss 2026, for 10 years of servitude and dedication.

 

 

I pick up another. it's larger. Framed in gold and studded with gems of some sort

 

Dr. Edith Spriss 2098, medical pioneer and the most gifted doctor of our generation, your contributions to the human race have made you immortal in the minds of every man woman and child on earth. May your final years, be your best

 

 

on the bottom corner of both plaques I see a photo of the woman. Mid thirties, perhaps. Beautiful for her age. These plaques have two diferent names and have over seventy years between them, and yet this woman still appears young, the only thing that would suggest old age was her silver hair. But even that is seen in both pictures.

 

holding this plaque, I notice something strange about my right arm. It's made out of a blackish blue metal, the jagged tears and hanging skin where the prosthetic connects to my upper arm just past the elbow, suggest, that it was once consealed beneath flesh. The joints glow a bright diluted blue, an orb of light where my wrist should. I twiddle my fingers curiously. Has my hand always been like this? What happened to the real one?

 

I hear a woman pleading near bye,“no, stop!” gunfire fallows. Then screaming. Then crying

 

my gut squirms. As if the sickened at the thought of death. I get to my feet and run toward the danger. I see them. A middle aged woman lays bleeding on the ground. A man, of the same age on leaning over her presses against the wound. Two ragged, figures stand across from them, guns pointed at the man as he tries to save her..

 

My legs arent carrying me fast enough. I need to go there now. I notice a pool inside of me a reserve of sorts. As if by instinct, I draw from it. My closest surroundings stretch. And the conflict once several feet away a second ago, is now within arms reach.

 

I wind up my metal arm, curling my solid fingers into a fist. And thrust it into the face of the criminal closest to me. I hear a crack in his neck and he flies backward. Landing motionless on the ground. His partner, turns to me, surprised and raises his gun. He fires. I try to dodge. But still the bullet collides with the right side of my lower torso. A hot stinging sensation inflames the region and I shriek and stumble backward from the bullet wound. I draw from the mysterious pool inside me with the intention to kill. The palm of my hand begins to glow red. A burst of ravenous crimson light shoots from my metallic arm, blasting a hole into the criminal's chest. He falls stiffly, hitting the ground with thump as twigs snap beneath him.

I feel nosiating tug. i want to vomit, but not because i killed, my body reacts poorly to the crimson beem, what ever i casted, that spell. it made me sick. I turn to the the man, who is trembling in fear before me. Then I look toward the dying woman, her skin is ghostly, and her eye look empty, still she's breathing, if faintly. My eyes are heavy and my body suddenly aches, but I must help. I must save her.

 

The man stumbles back, as i approach

“please dont hurt me”

 

I raise my left hand. My normal hand

i manage the friendliest tone i can in spite of my trembling legs and heavy arms. “i want to help”

 

I kneel before the dying woman. Red spewing from the bullet wound just below her ribs. Muscle memory tells me to place my prosthetic over the wound and draw from the reserves again. It's shallow, But it would need to be enough.  the palm of my hand iluminates a soft blue. I feel the pool begin to drain. The bullet surfaces from the womans injury and I pluck it quickly. I press my hand over the injury and feel it shrinking beneath my palm.

 

Thats strange. I can feel through the prosthetic. The woman gasps as if breathing for the first time in hours. Life returns to her face. Color fills her skin again.

 

My vission sways. I feel... sleepy. my body sways,

 

“tired” I say with a mumble. I fall to the side, and everything goe's dark.

 


© Copyright 2018 Auker J Wells. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: