This is my first appearance since September, for the most part. I placed a tentative post up on the blog near the middle of this month, but I didn't feel it was right- so I deleted it. This post contains the beginning chapter of an idea I am going to try and progress through NaNoWriMo. For those that don't know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's a pretty sweet event. In order to "win," one has to write 50,000 words in a single month. Thirty days. It's a grand feat, but I'm sure that one feels amazing after its completion.
Anyways, here's a bit of what I'm going to try and write about. It's a total of around 2,300 words. Enjoy it!
CHAPTER 1 (Official Draft 2)
* * *
In the barracks, Gavin straps armor around his chest. He grabs a spear from the wall and throws it into a dummy. It feels shaky, stiff. He pulls the string of a nearby bow but the stretch is forced, not fluid. A man next to him looks surprised, says, No shooting today boss?
No. Doesn't feel right.
Gavin is walking now; his armor on and slightly loose against his chest. He is skinny, very skinny. He's looking into reflective glass- his pale face, his hair covered in grease. A row of swords and knives on a table catch his attention. He picks up a knife with a sharp edge, spins it in his hand, and squeezes the handle. The swords get a closer examination. He grabs a straight blade with a durable blue grip. The metal looks soft in the candlelight. Gavin shoves the knife in his belt and carefully attaches the sword around his waist. The man is talking to him. Gavin doesn’t listen. Something about food.
No thanks.
Back by the mirror he glances at his eyes. They’re frigid, empty. He blinks. Still cold. Emotionless. Gavin takes another knife from the table and throws it into the forehead of a dummy. Everyone thinks he has eagle eyes. But they’re just blue to him. The man mutters under his breath, Nice toss kid.
At the mirror he tugs on the straps of his armor. They feel alright. Loose but not too loose, like they look. He notices the stains on the armor. The dried blood. The salty crust of sweat. Rust. Mud. More mud. He wears pants that are shredded at the ends. Leather guards protect his shins. His bare feet feel every step on the uneven floor.
No. Doesn't feel right.
Gavin is walking now; his armor on and slightly loose against his chest. He is skinny, very skinny. He's looking into reflective glass- his pale face, his hair covered in grease. A row of swords and knives on a table catch his attention. He picks up a knife with a sharp edge, spins it in his hand, and squeezes the handle. The swords get a closer examination. He grabs a straight blade with a durable blue grip. The metal looks soft in the candlelight. Gavin shoves the knife in his belt and carefully attaches the sword around his waist. The man is talking to him. Gavin doesn’t listen. Something about food.
No thanks.
Back by the mirror he glances at his eyes. They’re frigid, empty. He blinks. Still cold. Emotionless. Gavin takes another knife from the table and throws it into the forehead of a dummy. Everyone thinks he has eagle eyes. But they’re just blue to him. The man mutters under his breath, Nice toss kid.
At the mirror he tugs on the straps of his armor. They feel alright. Loose but not too loose, like they look. He notices the stains on the armor. The dried blood. The salty crust of sweat. Rust. Mud. More mud. He wears pants that are shredded at the ends. Leather guards protect his shins. His bare feet feel every step on the uneven floor.
He’s cold and retreats from the mirror. His nerves are on fire- they always are before a fight. When he steps into the arena, though, his nerves disappear. He doesn’t feel human then.
Gavin needs to calm down. He grabs the bow again, unstrings then restrings it. He licks the feathers on the ends of three arrows and marks their metal points with soot from his thumb. He fits one against the wood and pulls back the string. Tight. Stretching further, his muscles bend with the bow, and he points one finger at the target. Release. The tip of the arrow jams into the pommel of the knife, pushing the blade further inside the dummy's skull. Too easy.
It’s all just too easy.
The noise is unbearable now. Gavin grabs his head in pain. He doesn’t want to hear their cheers, their cries of excitement. The man in the background is sitting down. They want more, he says. They never get sick of it.
More. Gavin frowns.
It’s time to put on the helmet, to place his skull in a prison. The helmet forces him to look mean. Cruel. Maybe this time he wouldn't wear it- he’d walk out without anything to protect his head. No one would hit him anyways. They’d miss. He’d dodge.
Gavin needs to calm down. He grabs the bow again, unstrings then restrings it. He licks the feathers on the ends of three arrows and marks their metal points with soot from his thumb. He fits one against the wood and pulls back the string. Tight. Stretching further, his muscles bend with the bow, and he points one finger at the target. Release. The tip of the arrow jams into the pommel of the knife, pushing the blade further inside the dummy's skull. Too easy.
It’s all just too easy.
The noise is unbearable now. Gavin grabs his head in pain. He doesn’t want to hear their cheers, their cries of excitement. The man in the background is sitting down. They want more, he says. They never get sick of it.
More. Gavin frowns.
It’s time to put on the helmet, to place his skull in a prison. The helmet forces him to look mean. Cruel. Maybe this time he wouldn't wear it- he’d walk out without anything to protect his head. No one would hit him anyways. They’d miss. He’d dodge.
No. The audience wants the helmet.
He puts it on, sighs; the metal kisses his cheeks to spite him. Maybe he is mean. Cruel.
From this point Gavin doesn’t look into the mirror. He stares down the end of the tunnel and sees light coming in. It’s not bright, but it’s enough to tell that the sun is going down. The man leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. He says, It's almost time.
I know old man. I know.
From this point Gavin doesn’t look into the mirror. He stares down the end of the tunnel and sees light coming in. It’s not bright, but it’s enough to tell that the sun is going down. The man leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. He says, It's almost time.
I know old man. I know.
Gavin moves to a bucket filled with water and picks it up. He pours the water down his throat, letting it spill and rinse the stains off his armor. Images of past fights poison his thoughts.
The kid that controlled electricity. Fifteen-years-old. Face down in a pool of water, burn marks covering his body, a knife in his back.
The kid that controlled electricity. Fifteen-years-old. Face down in a pool of water, burn marks covering his body, a knife in his back.
The kid with iron skin. Older, low twenties maybe. Thought he was invincible- but there he was with open eyes, an arrow between his teeth.
The kid that ran faster than man or animal. He had a mask on, was tall, muscular. A sword stuck out from the center of his chest.
Their faces were hard to make out, the memories blurred into one picture. One ugly picture. Gavin shakes his head and sees his reflection in the water. He yells and slams the bucket against the wall.
The door opens and orange light fills the room. Good luck kid, the man says.
Luck. Gavin laughs to himself.
He walks past the man and straps the shield around his right forearm. It feels heavier than usual but the weight doesn’t matter. Everything is always heavy before stepping past the door. But in battle everything is weightless.
The audience shouts his name but Gavin’s blocked them out. He can’t tell if he’s the favorite or if the crowd is against him. He’s not worried. His shield arm hangs at his side, his chin is down, and his blue eyes are fascinated with the dirt floor. The blood stains. The sweat.
The audience shouts his name but Gavin’s blocked them out. He can’t tell if he’s the favorite or if the crowd is against him. He’s not worried. His shield arm hangs at his side, his chin is down, and his blue eyes are fascinated with the dirt floor. The blood stains. The sweat.
Gavin shivers in the doorway. His body tells him to run, hide, escape. He never had that chance and he doesn’t have it now.
They always bring the opponent out first. This time it’s a boy, maybe twelve-years-old, and he’s standing in the center of the arena. His armor is falling off his shoulders and his helmet can’t fit his head. He keeps pushing it above his eyes. The boy is holding a spear in one hand and a sword is strapped to his back. Two knives are in his belt. His legs are shaking.
Gavin still can’t hear anything. He looks around the packed audience, at the people that came to see the fight. They are the ones that are mean. Cruel. He sets his feet shoulder-width apart and shifts his head toward the boy, waiting for the flag in the middle to fall. When it does, he’ll pull the knife from his belt and throw it into the kid’s forehead. Just like the dummy. Just like before.
They always bring the opponent out first. This time it’s a boy, maybe twelve-years-old, and he’s standing in the center of the arena. His armor is falling off his shoulders and his helmet can’t fit his head. He keeps pushing it above his eyes. The boy is holding a spear in one hand and a sword is strapped to his back. Two knives are in his belt. His legs are shaking.
Gavin still can’t hear anything. He looks around the packed audience, at the people that came to see the fight. They are the ones that are mean. Cruel. He sets his feet shoulder-width apart and shifts his head toward the boy, waiting for the flag in the middle to fall. When it does, he’ll pull the knife from his belt and throw it into the kid’s forehead. Just like the dummy. Just like before.
The banner is trembling in the wind. The crowd is mute.
It’s all too easy.
Before the flag hit’s the ground, a knife is in Gavin’s hand. He cocks his arm and launches the blade between the boy’s eyes. As it approaches, the kid blinks. The knife dissolves, particles fall like raindrops into the arid soil.
Before the flag hit’s the ground, a knife is in Gavin’s hand. He cocks his arm and launches the blade between the boy’s eyes. As it approaches, the kid blinks. The knife dissolves, particles fall like raindrops into the arid soil.
The youth smirks. He’s a nurtured killer. Just like the rest of them. Gavin shuts out his memories and concentrates on what’s ahead.
He draws his sword and levels his shield, relaxing his shoulders as he slides a foot back in the dirt. His armor clicks against his chest as he exhales.
With his spear forward the boy charges. Gavin meets the strike with his shield, but there isn’t the usual metal-on-metal clash. The point disappears, then reappears on the opposite side of the shield, cutting his shoulder. Gavin ignores the pain, twisting his back foot and stabbing at the boy’s chest. The blade turns to dust and the boy laughs. He is enjoying this.
Blood begins to flow. Gavin unstraps his shield, letting it fall to the sand with the spear inside it. His right arm is bleeding but not too badly. There are still two knives in the boy’s belt, and he’s tossing his sword from hand to hand. Gavin watches the kid’s eyes, scans for hints of the next attack.
With his spear forward the boy charges. Gavin meets the strike with his shield, but there isn’t the usual metal-on-metal clash. The point disappears, then reappears on the opposite side of the shield, cutting his shoulder. Gavin ignores the pain, twisting his back foot and stabbing at the boy’s chest. The blade turns to dust and the boy laughs. He is enjoying this.
Blood begins to flow. Gavin unstraps his shield, letting it fall to the sand with the spear inside it. His right arm is bleeding but not too badly. There are still two knives in the boy’s belt, and he’s tossing his sword from hand to hand. Gavin watches the kid’s eyes, scans for hints of the next attack.
As he sprints toward Gavin’s wounded side, the boy fires a knife toward his chest. Gavin focuses on the blade and reaches out a hand- gripping the handle. His muscles twitch to parry the incoming sword, then he throws himself backward in the sand. Dodge. Counter. He can’t risk another block- not with this kid’s ability.
He allows the boy to charge again, keeping the knife in front of him. At the last moment, Gavin turns and jabs his opponent’s sword-arm. His fingers curl around the weapon, then with an uppercut, he shatters the boy’s jaw. The boy stumbles. Gavin takes three long strides, ducking as the kid blindly swings his sword, and then kicks the youth’s legs from underneath. Using two hands, Gavin thrusts the knife into his chest. It doesn’t disappear. He takes the sword from the boy’s hand and drives it through his neck.
He allows the boy to charge again, keeping the knife in front of him. At the last moment, Gavin turns and jabs his opponent’s sword-arm. His fingers curl around the weapon, then with an uppercut, he shatters the boy’s jaw. The boy stumbles. Gavin takes three long strides, ducking as the kid blindly swings his sword, and then kicks the youth’s legs from underneath. Using two hands, Gavin thrusts the knife into his chest. It doesn’t disappear. He takes the sword from the boy’s hand and drives it through his neck.
The sun is dropping, coloring the sky. Gavin watches the light fade from the boy’s eyes. He doesn’t bow to the audience, this fight isn’t a show. Its survival. He tosses his helmet into the sand and glares at the crowd. Blood covers his hands, his face, and drips from his arm. The audience is livid- cheering, roaring. They stare back at Gavin like he’s a god. There’s an announcer, and he’s saying something, probably about his win streak- maybe mentioning the final blow.
These people. Gavin grinds his teeth. They’re the ones that are mean. Cruel.
The door won’t open yet. He waits for the crowd to quiet down, for the announcer to laugh and smile. They comment on how great he is. But he’s no idol. No deity. No.
The door opens and the man is still reclined in his chair. You’re alive, he says.
Got cut.
That’s unusual. Want it cleaned?
No. I just want to sit down for a bit.
That’s unusual. Want it cleaned?
No. I just want to sit down for a bit.
Gavin carefully avoids the mirror. He unfastens his armor and puts it on the bench where his shield used to be. He tears off the leather guards on his legs and retrieves the bucket from the corner, turning the handle of the faucet. The bucket fills and he drinks. After two sips, he pours the cold water over his head and shivers. More blood and sweat soak into the floor of the barracks. He lets the pail fall to the ground and sits on the bench.
He closes his eyes.
Gavin wakes up in a different room. The walls are whitewashed and there’s a clean floor. He isn’t in the grimy clothing he’s used to. Instead, he wears white pants and a white shirt. They are soft on his skin but don’t feel right. He thinks about taking them off but the people wouldn't like that. Straps cover his arms and legs. He hears a click from the wall and it slides apart. A man enters holding a metal box. He opens it to reveal a small chip. Gavin doesn’t know what it is.
The man puts a dark towel over Gavin’s eyes and he falls back asleep.
Again, he is in a new room. It has a long glass wall and dark gray tiles. Outside the glass he sees an endless series of uneven wooden pillars. He doesn’t know what the pillars are for. He feels sick, turns over on his side and throws up on the floor. He isn’t strapped in. He watches a different man walk over and guide him to the glass wall. You're leaving, he says. You’re going to forget everything you know. You will no longer be yourself.
The man sounds cold. Like he’s done this before. Gavin nods. He doesn’t know what else to do. The man takes a needle from a plastic case and taps the bubbles out. He presses the needle into Gavin’s bicep.
The glass opens and the man pushes Gavin outside. He stumbles and falls face-first into the grass. It stains his white shirt. It smells strange. Real. The man lifts Gavin to his feet and carries him to the edge of the forest. Go, he says. Start walking.
The serum starts to kick in and Gavin’s memories begin to fade. He walks in a straight line through the trees. He feels the bark and realizes he can’t remember his past fights, or his last fight. He picks a leaf off a branch. He can’t remember the man anymore. He smells a yellow flower. He can’t remember his own name. He can’t remember his skin color. He can’t remember what he looks like. He stops walking.
In the middle of the forest he sits down. He doesn’t know where, what, or who he is. He sees a bird in the sky. It has a sharp beak and long talons, and even though it is high in the air, he knows it is staring at him.
That's a hawk. It kills by diving from the sky, then digging it's talons inside the flesh of its prey. From miles away, it can see a small mouse in a field.
The voice comes from the shadows behind him.
Do you like hawks?
He nods.
From here on your name is Hawk.
He nods.
From here on your name is Hawk.
The voice pauses.
Follow me. We have work to do.
Hawk enters the darkness of the forest.
