Creative Corner

@Mypilot

forty seconds of silence
snow and ashfall
indistinguishable from
one another
the cold in our veins
and the remains of our comrades
drifting aimlessly like the endless war...

i want this to end
the rusted metal of our city creaks
robed figures approach my home
the conscriptors
or as we know them,
the reapers

my mother cries
my baby brother wails
I have already buzzed my hair,
wrapped my limbs,
donned my armor

they will put me in a cage, clip my wings, still my song,
but they will not take my freedom

"Kiki," my brother says
his nickname for me
for Kiara, meaning 'bright'
I don't know if I am supposed to be
beautiful or brilliant
I suppose it doesn't matter now

I jerk open the door
they await
there is no time left
to embrace my mother
wipe my brother's tears
I refuse to deny the fear
pounding the war drum of my heart
I wish I had thought to give a better farewell
better than what's left of my body
stripped of its cybernetics
already rusted and much-reused

I march out, eyes on the grey horizon
they let me lead
to board the ship to take me away
forty seconds of silence

I do return
impossibly
but though the war is won
when I come back
my city and I are
broken

@Lightshadow101 - This has such a neat concept to it! I really loved the abilities of these characters, and the mysterious personas they all have. I've certainly got a lot of questions as to what they heck these guys are and what they do. lol A personal critique would be that maybe next time separate the paragraphs some more? Wordblocks are hard on the eyes. ;;

@lemonading - Ooooh, very cool. Although nothing really happened to make me think this, I got a very scifi vibe from reading this. With a lil steampunk. =D Again, another story that leaves a lot of questions to be answered. lol It'd be neat reading a full story on this!

@lessthan3 - Ah, poetry. And war! What a fun topic in writing. lol I like the narrator's thoughts, and how ready they were to accept whatever grisly fate awaits them, which is no doubt not very fun at all. 'Reapers' isn't really a nice guy name, and a mother weeping is never a good sign. I like the sense of foreboding you instilled in the writing, and I'm curious to know more about this war.

The winner of this round is lemonading! Runner-up is lessthan3. =D You both wrote some really cool prompts, and I liked the eerie feel from both of them. ^.^

@Mypilot

I'm sorry my wordblocks were hard on the eyes, but they were actually intentional. I though it may help the story be a little more dramatic, I don't know. And I'm glad you have questions.I like to write in ways that leave questions :)

@lemonading

((shorter than normal, but it's fine =.D))

“Are you one of them?”

Kiro paused, foot just about to step into the car. He didn’t turn immediately, almost believed he couldn’t. Couldn’t face the woman who spoke, and couldn’t answer the question that he knew was true. He knew it would lead to other questions, knew those questions would be impossible to answer.

“Please,” the voice asked again, pleading. “I have to find my husband. Please.” He could see her, in his mind’s eye, the suppliant woman: hands clasped, as if in prayer, eyes damp with unshed tears, hair caught in the nighttime breeze.

“I don’t know where your husband is.” A truth, but also a lie. He could guess, any one of them could, but there were plenty of locations were a mortal male might’ve been taken. He heard a shuddering breath from behind him, and still he did not turn.

“Can you help me?” she asked now. “Please, can you help me?”

Kiro’s hand gripped the railing, and he forced the muscles to relax. Forced his shoulders to untense and his mind to calm. Only then did he turn, when his face and body were the cruelly impassive mask his kind was expected to wear.

“No,” he said, without any of the cushioning kindness he would have put there. “I can’t help you, or your husband. None of us can.” His expression didn’t change, even while the woman silently wept, face burying into her hands. He knew how much this had cost her, talking to him. Her kind did not mix with his, even in these quick instances.

Kiro didn’t wait for her to ask anything else, instead just turning and sliding into his car. The door closed almost silently, and he left the widow to her mourning.

@lemonading

She stared at him for a long time, studying each of his features in the dim streetlight. The rain came down in drizzles, but neither of them had any plans of moving to someplace dry.

“Damien, sir, did you do it? Kill them?” she asked quietly. There was something in the stillness of his profile, the lighting intensified his cheekbones and his unwavering expression. There was mostly darkness in his face, something hidden.

She wrapped her arms over her chest and pulled her shawl further over her shoulders to try and keep warm. It was so difficult to keep pace with a man who seemed to withstand anything. The cold. The heat. The rain. The shine.

“What do you think, Sylvia?” he replied and glanced at her before returning his gaze to the dark, empty streets.

“You’re one of them.” Her voice was timid. She feared getting a negative reaction out of him because she feared the consequences.

“One of whom? You’ll have to be more specific, darling, if you want me to understand.” He quirked an eyebrow up. The one she could see.

“One of those cult members causing mayhem and terror. You know, these streets used to be filled with people at night. People were never worried. This town was a safe place filled with police. I could walk around with my friends and feel safe.”

“I’m not one.”

“That’s what you’d say if you were.”

He rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but something caught his eye and he started running.

Chasing someone across the street.

She followed after him since she didn’t know what else to do. Her usual nature would tell her to just stay there or go get help or just run the other way, but she didn’t want to be alone.

There were too many mysteries that required someone to solve them.

But she was also wet and tired and this was taking her further and further away from her home.

Damien turned into an alley and Sylvia followed. It went deep between the buildings, and there was no light back here except the moon. Their footsteps echoed on the cement and puddles splashed beneath their feet.

They reached the end, and there was a creature. Tall with multiple sets of long arms like a centipede. It towered over them and hissed then bent down to capture them.

Damien pulled out a gun. He shot the creature in the head a couple times, causing it to fall to the ground unceremoniously with a loud plop.

Sylvia shrieked. “What was that?” she asked.

Damien grabbed his phone out of his pocket and pressed a button. “I took care of it, but Sylvia saw too much,” he said, the last part too quiet for her to hear. “I know. I understand, but I can’t do that.”

She stepped closer to him to try and hear what he was saying.

“No.” He shook his head. “I refuse to do that. Of course I understand the consequences. Who’s gonna believe her anyway?” He turned around to look at her, and it was the first time she had ever seen him express anything close to panic.

He nodded then put the phone back in his coat pocket. “You will not say a word about this,” he said. “I can’t be held responsible for the consequences if you do. Now, would you like me to walk you home?”

“What was that?” she gasped.

“I said forget it.” He held his arm out for her to grab.

She nodded quickly and took his arms. “You are a murderer, but not humans?”

“No. Not humans. That’s as much as I can tell you without killing you.”

“You’re so strange.” Her voice had a tone of awe. “I’m glad we met.”

“Me, too.” With that, they went into the night.

@lemonading

Are you one of them? One of the people who watch me when my back is turned? I can feel their eyes burning holes into my back. I know that they whisper, even if I cannot catch them at it. It's because I'm not like them. I don't know what they are, but I know that they are something other than what I am. I have heard them at night, baying at the moon. Werewolves, some might call them, but I don't think that they're anything quite as peaceful as that.

I see you looking at me. You let me see you. The others hide their glares from me, but I see you because you don't hide it. Why is that? Are you not like they are? Are you like me? I was so sure that you were one of them, someone that I had to be wary of, to watch where I walked near you. But your eyes are so pure, so sweet and innocent. I don't see any judgement there, not like I see in the others. Not that the others even look at me when I am looking back. I am no one to them, I am an outsider. My shape doesn't change with the phases of the moon. Why would they even care about me at all? Why not simply hunt me down?

Are you one of them? Should I fear you too?

I see you looking at me, and I find that I want to reach out to you. I want to know more about you. If you are one of them, maybe you could teach me not to be afraid. Maybe you are worth getting to know. Maybe there's a way for me to join you in the night, to find out what it's like to appreciate the moon. What it's like to run free.

Are you one of them? Can I be one too?

"Are you one of them?"

The young boy in the oversized trench coat walked up to the young buy with the soldier's eyes.

As he got closer, and the boy looked up, he saw those soldier's eyes were full of tears.

"A-are you one of them?" the boy sniffled.

"One of - them?" the boy in the coat replied.

"A m-monster," the boy said. "Are you going t-to eat me? That's ok. I d-deserve it."

"I am an angel of the lord," the boy in the coat proclaimed. "My name is Castiel."

"O-oh," the boy soldier said. "I-I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean. Why do you say that you deserve to be eaten?"

"M-my dad says I'm a g-good-for-nothing failure. 'Cuz Sammy got hurt, and it's m-my fault. So he hurt m-me."

"Who is 'Sammy'?" Castiel asked.

"M-my brother," Dean said, looking back down at the ground.

"Brothers should protect each other," Castiel pronounced wisely. "But fathers should not hurt their children or play favorites. My dad loved some of his children more than others, and my brother ran away because of that."

Dean looked up, a sort of wild hope in his eyes. "Do you think I could do that? R-run away?"

"You should not," Castiel said. "Your dad still loves you."

Dean's eyes grew dark. "Really?" he said, rolling up the arms of his own oversized coat to show a mass of welts and bruises.

Castiel closed his eyes and placed a hand on Dean's arm. All of the marks miraculously vanished.

Dean yelped. "You shouldn'ta done that," he gasped. "My dad's gonna be so mad." He hiccuped, starting to cry again.

"Oh," Castiel said, and without removing his hand, made the marks appear again, and making Dean cry out in pain.

"I am sorry," Castiel said helplessly.

"S'ok," came Dean's voice, muffled and subdued. "I still don't see why I should stay, though."

"What about your 'Sammy'? Wouldn't he miss you?"

Dean gasped. "I didn't even think about that. I really am a g-good-f-for-nothing failure." He looked up, noticing the darkness that had fallen. "Godda** sonnuva! Dad's gonna kill me for sure this time!"

"I do not think your dad will kill you," Castiel said, offering his hand. "If it makes you feel any better, though, I'll watch over you."

Dean wiped the tears from his eyes. "Thanks, Cas."

John Winchester was furious when Dean came home. He had been terrified of what had happened to his eldest son, and tried to forcibly instill some sense into him. His son had to be a soldier to survive, and the things out there in the dark would use more than shouts and fists. He had to protect both himself and Sam, that was Dean's responsibility as older brother. It was the responsibility he had failed at, as a husband and a father. He never wante deither of his sons to feel that pain. He wouldn't let them.

So I was going to turn this into a passing-of-time Destiel ship-fic, but this happened, so, enjoy? @lemonading