The Drama Club!!!!!

Are you ever dramatic?

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TominWa said:
As The Coup Turns


It was a rather dreary day, as dreary days go. Western Washington state is a mix of fog and overcast skies. Colors muting as the eye adjusts to the grayness. This day seemed no different than the many others Maynard had experienced in his short life.

A maturing Buff Orpington, he took pride in his curling tail feathers and growing strength.

He was not the only one in the coup noticing his growth and plumage.

Dorothy had known Maynard all her life. First as a scared chick thrown into a box with hundreds of other frightened young hatchlings. They shared the dark ride and strange sounds until arriving in bright light and divided into holding pens. It was there that she first sought comfort in his presence.

They grew together, happy. Both experiencing childhood games and exploration. In her mind they were inseparable.

She too was growing. Taking pride in her grooming. Often she found herself watching Maynard scratch the dirt with his powerful feet......and waited for him to call for her after finding food. Running quickly at his call….yet careful, to leave enough for Maynard. Even if she was still hungry.

It was on one such morning that their daily routine was broken by a schreek that startled her to her core.

Maynard was pacing madly and seemed twice as large as she had ever seen him. She ran to his side in fright and shook from head to toe.

There, before her was another hen. A strange hen. An ugly hen. Dorothy had not lived a long life and would admit, if asked, that she knew not much of this ever strange world she and her Maynard were part of. She knew little of much at all really. But there was one thing she was clear in mind about.

This hen would have to go!
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I love it! It is so thrilling!

Thank you for inviting me, @alexa009! :D
 
I'm joining in!!
This is a story I'm in the middle of writing. Maybe rated PG? :p
But without further ado:

It was midnight when Bone walked down that street. It was the 27th of July and as cold as ice. The metal mask pressed against his face, it was uncomfortable, but it was necessary for his next performance. Bone liked to call each grimy episode in his line of work a “performance”. Bjorn Bone was an actor and a killer. Often both. He had a family once. But he didn’t have time for family now. Tonight, he had serious business to take care of. People paid him to do his work. People who wanted someone dead. But sometimes they didn’t pay enough. Sometimes, it was the payers who got a show, leaving the would-be victim sleeping soundly. Tonight was no such night. Here it was. The manor house. The stage for tonight’s performance. Under the mask he smiled at the thought of what he had been promised. Then he paused. For the first time in his entire career, Bjorn Bone was scared. But he bit his tongue and cleared his mind. And strolled into my house. He looked into the second floor window of the large house. And saw me.

Now here I’ll pause, to let this sink in. I realise I may have confused you. This story is not about Bjorn. This is about me. Me and my Mother. My Mother’s name was Georgina Longfort

And you can call me Jess. I was three when I looked out at our large garden. I saw Bjorn standing there, looking back at me. The moon reflected off his blue-gray eyes and shimmered on his painted mask. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came. Bjorn saw this and rushed to the house. I heard a muffled crash as the door slammed and Bone disappeared from sight. I heard footsteps on the stairs. I hid in my bed, tried to wake up from this nightmare.The footsteps closed in on me, they were all I could hear other than my pounding heart. The footsteps stopped in front of my door. I shut my eyes tight. The door opened. I heard heavy breathing.

As Bone looked into the room of the young child he thought, he thought about what he’d be taking away from the toddler. Then he was scared again. A memory broke through the seemingly impenetrable barrier of Bjorn’s mind. He remembered playing with his only friend, as a six year old. He remembered getting older and being more than friends. He remembered their marriage day. Those were the days before he had been trained. Bone quickly hardened his heart. He had no time for family. He closed the door and walked down the hall. He opened another door. This was the room. He entered and walked to the large bed in the centre of the room. He was going to make this easy for the woman lying in the bed. He uncorked a small vial of blue powder. He skillfully sprinkled it under her nose and watched as she breathed in the compound. Then Bjorn Bone, killer for hire, made his getaway, leaving no traces of his presence there. Except me. Jess Longfort, insomniac, and now, orphan. I lay in my covers that night and wondered what that wretch had been doing.


The next day Bone woke at the tenth hour of the morning. He took a morning stroll down to the Massacre Theatre, where he had a real performance. The audience loved Bjorn Bone. They never saw his face behind the silver painted mask that he always wore, but they loved him. Early that morning, at about seven, I had told my maid, Felicity about the man. She dismissed it as a childish nightmare. No one had found my mother’s body yet. The servants were forbidden to enter her bedroom. Felicity took me to see a children’s play at about noon. As soon as the first character came onto stage, I was terrified. It was the man. I ran home to tell my mother. She would believe me. And so it was, that I was the first to find my mother. I was three, I didn’t understand what had happened. Only, I knew it must have been that man.

Everyone gets scared sometimes. Young children get scared, ruthless killers get scared, You get scared. In a way, this is a book about fear. But fear can be good. It makes you run. It gives you purpose. Yes, fear isn’t a nice feeling, and too much of it can be a bad thing, but if you learn to use it, it is a skill. Fear is what drove me for ten years living on the streets. Fear gave me a purpose. Now I’m thirteen. And this is where the real story starts.



I walk to the corner of the street, carrying my pouch with me. I’m heading to the theatre. I don’t have money, but I have fear, and skills. They’ll never let me in. I’m all too aware of how I look with dirt on my face, wearing a brown leather jacket and a pair of loose pants that are more patches than the original product. I stop by the ruin of my old house. More like the alley cats’ house now. I walk up the stairs and into my mother’s old room. A black cat comes running to meet me and rubs around my legs. I’m a regular here.

“I’m ready. Today I’ll avenge you.” I say to whatever remnant is left of my mother. But I’m not so sure. What if I lose this fight?

You will not fight today, Jess.

I spin around, searching for the voice that came from nowhere. I recognise it. But it can’t be her. Suddenly, my body is plunged into freezing, spine-rattling cold. I see myself, standing, then crumpling in a heap on the floor. I see from hundreds of pairs of eyes, all staring at the child in the centre of the room. I hear voices, merging into one resounding, piercing voice.

You will not fight today. Today, you will learn. You will be a Haunter, a Day-Ghoul, a Living Ghost. But first, you must learn. The time will come, young one, for you to kill the wretch. But that time is not now. Now, get up, control your body.

“What are you?”

We are the Victims.

“What do I have to learn? Why?”

You must learn. When you have learned, you will be strong. You will avenge us.

“How do I learn? How do I avenge you if I don’t know who you are?”

To start your training, you must first die in body. But not in mind.

“What? You mean I have to get myself killed? I’ve spent ten years trying to do the exact o opposite!” I shriek.

It will be painless. Mostly.

“Mostly! What’s that meant to mean?”

Oh, shut your mouth and just let us kill you.

“No. I will not!” I screamed, and found the strength to rise, as suddenly, my vision flipped and I was looking out of my own eyes again. It’s amazing what fear can do. I was just about to run when I felt an excruciating burn in my chest. It got worse as I breathed and soon I was beyond tears, screaming, and whatever else I could have done. The fire in my body came slowly up my throat and I fell to my knees. I tried to swallow back the white-hot pain but it was too much. It made it’s way into my mouth and the next thing I saw was my own life floating in front of my face. Then, nothing. I was dead. I must be. I wanted to be. But somehow, I was thinking. So I wasn’t dead then. What had those creatures said? Dead in body but not in mind? I tried to speak but no noise came. Just thoughts. My thoughts. And thoughts that weren’t mine. I wondered where I was. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t feel, smell, hear. I couldn’t taste. I could only think.

You are among us. You are us. You are dead. In body, but not mind.

I can’t see. How do I see?

You will see. You will understand. We will teach you. Do you remember the cat?

Yes, why?

Her name is Jess. She will be your body. Now, stretch your mind out and find hers.

I wasn’t quite sure how to do this. But I gave it a try. Soon I felt something with my mind. I don’t know how to describe how it feels to be inside another being’s head. It’s an entirely unique experience. I soon felt many creatures. I didn’t know which one was the black cat, but one mind stood out among all the others. This must be her. But what now?

Imagine your mind is a hand. Grab the cat’s thoughts, then concentrate on being part of that cat. You’ll know when you’ve done it.

So I did. I grabbed. And I caught.

Well done young one.

All of a sudden I could see, feel, taste, smell, and hear things. It was amazing. I was aware of people talking down the road. I saw hundreds of other cats around me. I opened my mouth to speak, and instead of speaking, my tail twitched. Wait! I had a tail. I had a body. I looked at myself and saw the cat from before. I watched as the other cats twitched and mewed, understanding everything perfectly.

“See? Being dead isn’t so bad, is it, young one?”

“I suppose it isn’t.” I signalled.

Are you ready to train? mewed a small tom.

“What else would I do?” I replied. Promptly, the tom leapt at me and landed hard on my back. I yowled and tried to fight back, but everything I had learnt as a human was impossible now. My tail whipped back and forth in anger and frustration. I flailed and kicked to no end. It was useless. I soon stopped struggling and lay limp. The pressure on my chest left and the tom walked away happily. Pure fury overcame me and I gathered my strength, and bounced after the proud cat. I released my claws and latched onto him. Now it was his turn to yowl in surprise as sharp claws dug into his fur. I knocked him over and we went rolling around the room, scratching and biting until I had him on his back. I pinned him there, tail waving ever faster.

“Don’t ever surprise me again,” I hissed. “Or you’ll find a very painful series of cuts covering your body.”

Alright, alright, just get off, please? I was just testing you. Nathaniel told me to.

I released the pressure on the black tom’s body.

“Show me this Nathaniel.”

I will. Come with me. The thoughts sounded young. Maybe even my age. The tom led me along to my mother’s bed and nimbly bounced onto the dusty covers, leaving clear pawprints. I followed after. Sitting on the pillow was an old gray cat with dazzling green eyes. His thoughts were strong and seemed to vibrate with power.

Hello little Jess. Why are you scared? You are safe. You have been tested. You have proven your strength. You have shown your true colours. Yet still you are scared, you have been running your whole life, and now death has caught up. Use your fear. We are not your enemies. We wish for revenge upon the Wretch. We are your family. Pascallam will be your friend and mentor. Nathaniel used his tail to pull the little black tom toward him, purring. The tom (who I assumed was Pascallam) seemed almost reluctant, or nervous. I noted this with interest.

Pascallam. You will start by teaching Jess how to read a face. Then how to possess. Then finally, haunting. Then the child will be ready. Having said this, Nathaniel lowered himself into a restful position and closed his eyes before anyone could protest. Pascallam dropped down from the bed, all enthusiasm robbed from his stature. I followed after, thinking, wondering. The next day, I was pushed to my physical boundaries. And the next day. And the next. In fact, every day for two weeks. Then, I was drilled mentally for another fortnight. This, I was told, was “The Preparation”. Thrilling. I was only getting warmed up. Pascallam was a ruthless teacher, and sometimes I wished I could throttle him. Sometimes I did throttle him. But he always managed to slip away somehow. It was infuriating.

A month after meeting Nathaniel, I was given a ceremony. Until then, I hadn’t been allowed to leave the rotting floorboards of the once-mansion. The ritual was quick. It wasn’t important to me then. It was just another step towards more lessons. It was just an old dying cat giving me my life back. That afternoon Pascallam took me onto the streets. He confidently led me through the alleys and backstreets to the edge of town. To the Slums. Once or twice a child tried to pick him up. No such luck. Pascallam skillfully slipped through their legs. I stepped in line with him, keeping his pace.

“Where are we going?” I asked

Do you always ask this many questions? I suppose you do. We’re meeting with a friend of mine. Let’s pick up the pace.

“Why don’t you ever speak? I’ve only ever heard your thoughts, but nothing else.” Before I had finished speaking, I saw the other black cat stiffen and stop in his tracks.

I was born mute. I’ve never been able to communicate in any way. Even as a ghost.

“Oh. Sorry Pascallam.”

Forget it. But call me Pascall. I hate Pascallam.

Pascall lead me to a slum built against the city walls. The building (Not that it was worthy of the term) was made of piles of scrap wood and metal, it was poorly insulated with moth-eaten blankets. The roof was a thin sheet of woven sticks and hay. There was no door. Pascall and I padded into the one-room home. The stench was overpowering. The room was bare, except for some sheets lying in one corner of the room and a large barrel that was the centrepiece of the room. The two of us walked to the insufficient bedroll. Pascall promptly curled up and fell asleep. I followed suit, plodding myself down on the pillow.

I was woken by a strong smell. I opened my eyes and yowled in surprise. In front of my face was a wrinkled, papery mask of skin and bone with two hazel dots implanted on either side of the horrendously large nose that was the dominant part of the face. I leapt away, but the little eyes saw this and the old woman reacted faster than what seemed possible, grabbing me by the back of my neck. All instinct to run left me. I just relaxed. I don’t know how she did it. The woman placed me on the top of the barrel, where a large glass ball sat. Pascall was there too. The woman let me go and the hypnotic effect immediately disappeared.

What’s going on? I questioned Pascall.

Don’t freak out. She’s a friend. Her name is Romeo. Her husband is coming. He’s called Juliet. They will show you how to read faces. But be warned, do not insult Romeo’s appearance in any way. They are unpredictable and dangerous. Look, here is Juliet.

Juliet was as handsome as his wife was ugly. As he entered the shack, an imaginary fanfare played, as if he was entering for some kind of royal feast or major performance in the local Massacre Theatre. He entered like a hero, gazed into nothingness and placed down the huge barrel which he had been carrying over his broad shoulders. Then he delivered his heroic punchline.

“I got a barrel darlin’.” He said, with a ruddy glow. Then he grinned and all splendour disappeared. His teeth were black. At least, the teeth that weren’t missing were. He winked at me, trying to revive the knightly splendour. It was gone. I took a couple of steps backward as he approached, disgusted by this latest revelation.
 

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