| By Kyoshidude | Genre | Rating | Reviews | Updates |
| More from Kyoshidude | Drama | G (all ages) | Here | No update page |
Information[]
This is my entry to the Fanonbender Fanonical Fanon Contest Round 1.
The prompt was 'Introduce an Original Character.'
I for one love introductions, so enjoy!
Seashell[]
Emrah slowly pushes her back against the wall of the metal postage hut, gulping down heavy heartbeats, thighs aching from running in the sand. She had been told by her father that soldiers used the hut as interception points. In it are a few discarded notes and wrappings – it is mostly filled with red dust. The child tugs her robes close to her skin, their woven material dry and scratchy, not too warm in the cold night. Ahead of her is sand, blanked black by the night sky, faded orange by the remnants of the fire.
With two fingers she scratches at the nail of another. Her fingertips are icy, and her eyes are wide with fear, throbbing to the beat of a rabid heart. Her eyes scour the sand before her for something. Anything. The stand-out blot of a group of soldiers, a waving dune to come and save her, ears pitched to every minute creak.
But nothing is coming. She is alone in the hut, wide awake.
A pause overcomes her as floods of thought, decisions, memories stampede her brain. Finally she sniffs in a great amount of air, as if she had forgotten to breathe. It brings her back to reality, back into concentration. In her mouth the metallic taste of blood covers her tongue and clogs her throat. She licks her dry lips and shuffles on the uncomfortable metal. Instantly the sand scratching the metal echoes everywhere and she stops suddenly – arms cocked under her back, knees tucked. Though it's not a comfortable position she'd rather stay alive then risk being found.
The idea of turning around and peering through the lookout comes forth from her frayed mind. Should she do it? It is just a thin line in the metal, but as she considers it all she can picture is the menacing face of that man popping up, illuminated by the crackling fire on his fist.
But she feels the sick curiosity compel her, the hope deceive her, and the fear rationalise her. And against her will her arms take hold of the bar, lifting her shaking torso up to the lookout. Slowly she brings her face closer to the slit, her listless breath warming her lips, eyes bulging to get the job over and done with.
The orange light floods her retinas as her eyes meet with the slit, forehead pressed against the metal. Like a ghost stranded in an empty void the whites of her eyes stand out in the encasing darkness, impossible to shut, torn open by horror. They fill with tears but Emrah continues to look on, pushing herself even closer to the metal in disbelief.
Again she licks her cracked lips and watches a fiery silhouette freeze standing in the sand, the outline of a spear stuck through their chest. She blinks; the face of her sizzling father burning the blacks of her vision, and then looks back at her tribe.
As the clouds of smoke and fire dissipate into the starless sky the remains slowly fade from her. She feels herself drift away, like a dried-up weed caught in a desert wind. She continues to stare, watch the soldiers ride off, see no survivors emerge – nothing. All that's left of her tribe is the grief and the sand. It sinks into her brown, broken eyes and envelops her youth...
And the empty echo patters in the flat expanse of her silenced heart, rippling its effect in ways she would someday have to confront.
See more
For the collective works of the author, go here.