Fuel - Part 0
May. 22nd, 2009 08:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
loquacious Since it doesn't exactly fit as the first part of Fuel I'm not posting it as a chapter, though it may evolve into one later. I just happen to like this idea.
1,603 words. Worksafe.
Night settled over Haithe like a thick blanket. Few insects dared to be heard at night and fewer animals. Even the winds and rains tended to calm after dark. It was as if the whole valley simply gave up at the end of the day. The streets were all but deserted at dusk, and not a soul dared to go into the streets when full dark hit, thus the city had no need for street lamps to light the way.
This suited him just fine.
On the night of a new moon the city looked like it had been drowned in ink. There was a light in every window, but they were all a blue tint that only enhanced the sense that the city was under a dark cloth at night.
Down on the cobblestones between buildings whatever slight sound was being made by his footfalls was carried away on the light breeze. He gazed longingly into a few windows, but never stayed long in one place. His stomach was a gaping pit begging to be filled, a monster that never knew satisfaction. But he couldn’t worry about that now.
Work to do, so much work to do.
A cat jumped down into the street in front of him. It hissed and arched its back when he took a step toward it and fled when he took a second. Just as well, they both had better things to do than play. That thought didn’t stop his stomach from growling and clenching painfully as he watched the receding form of the cat disappear into an open second story window.
He turned a corner and began heading north. Even in the overwhelming darkness he knew where he was going. His footing on the cobblestones was sure and stable, like any creature in its element.
Hungry, always hungry. Work to do. Work before food.
He came across a garbage bin that had been overturned either by someone or something before he got to it. In all his life he couldn’t remember a time he felt so hungry. It was gnawing at him from the inside out as if his stomach planned to eat him. He rummaged through the refuse looking for anything he could eat. Some of it looked good until it was in his mouth where it proved disgusting and was immediately spat out. He was distracted from his foraging by a burning pain in his skull. It pierced him between the eyes all the way through his head and he stumbled back a step or two keening deep in his throat.
Working, working. So hungry. Can’t stay here.
At the town square he came to a halt and looked curiously out into the open air. He was used to navigating the back streets, places where he could hide easily from anyone or anything he didn’t trust. Not that there was anything out there he did trust. Either a wrong turn or wrong luck had brought him to a point where he needed to cross the great unsheltered main square to get to his destination. He let out a low whine in frustration and shrank back in the direction he had come.
Work! Finish your work!
The pain behind his eyes grew worse and he made a second more drawn out whine. If he knew how, he would have cursed the pain. He scratched the spot between his eyes where the pain was focused and was overcome with regret for trying. It burned worse, working fingers of agony behind his eyes and through to his mouth which went slack with a sudden jolt of numbing pain. Whatever sound of agony he intended to make died unborn in his throat as the voice filled his head again.
QUIET! Work, eat, quiet, eat. So hungry. NO! Work first!
Somehow, he pulled himself back to the task at hand. Carefully, and with all the stealth he could manage, he darted into the square. With no moon in the sky to illuminate him he might as well have been a leaf blowing through the square, or an overzealous shadow. Still, he felt too exposed, like a turtle turned on its back. Soon enough, however, he had made it to the other side where he could rest a moment, once again hidden by the surrounding buildings.
Next to him on the ground was a puddle left after some townsperson had thrown out their dish water earlier. From the faint blue light in the windows above him he could just make out his own reflection in the water. At first he could only see the very top of his head but as he tilted back the rest of his face came into view. He started at the sight of it and voiced his anguish anew. With fierce and unnecessary strength he smashed the puddle with his hand, wailing his frustrations in the otherwise silent night. None of the people safe in their houses would look out at this. To them it seemed some unlucky animal was being flayed apart while still alive, for the noise he made was inhuman in both tone and duration.
QUIET! Focus. Work. Not finished. Go now and finish it.
He scurried away from the horrible puddle and the truth it had unwittingly forced upon him. And soon enough he had forgotten all about his own face, singularly focused on his task once more. He was approaching a large house, one surrounded by flowers and trees and grass. Not that any of those meant anything to him. If he couldn’t eat it, he didn’t have any business knowing about it.
As soon as he stepped into the grass all thoughts of his work were temporarily displaced. The only thing he could focus on now was the intriguing sensation of hundred of individual strands of grass tickling the underside of his feet. He picked his feet up and put them down in different parts of the grass to feel the slightly prickly sensation again. When that failed to be new and amusing anymore he reached out and stepped down on one of the flowers planted in a border around the gate. It crushed easily under his foot and made a satisfying squishing sound to boot. However, when he picked his foot up again the remains of the flower stuck to him in a bad smelling paste. To his memory, this was by far the worst thing that had happened to him all night and he bemoaned his foot’s unfortunate fate with a soft cry.
So hungry.
The pain behind his eyes started up again, insistent and piercing. Why was he being tortured like this? He looked up to see if the evil star was in the sky, but found view blocked by a very large house with round windows. The house looked familiar, but he couldn’t place why.
So much work to do.
He scaled the gate so easily, it might as well not have been there at all. He approached the house proper and stared into one of the windows of the lower rooms. Empty. One after another, all empty. No sign of what he needed. It must be above somewhere. How could he finish his work when he didn’t know where it was?
Tentatively he reached out and put his hand against the wall. It wasn’t cold like stone, but it was smooth to the touch and almost sticky under his fingers. He put his other hand above the first and pulled down, which propelled his body up. It seemed he was capable of climbing this wall, so he did. His feet didn’t catch quite as easily as his hands, but he managed to pull himself up to the second level without too much trouble.
So very hungry.
The first window was tempting, there was something there that looked delicious. He was so hungry, and so close to being finished with his work. But the light burned his eyes when he looked at it for too long, so he moved on again. Nothing here. Nothing in the next few windows, either. His foot slipped on a spot of wall that was quite slick and he made a lot of noise getting back to a safe spot. He was breathing fast now, inadvertently thumping his body against the house in an attempt to get enough air in his lungs.
There was movement from inside. Voices. The window he was waiting above suddenly filled up with the blue light and he hissed at it like the cat he had already forgotten having met earlier in the night. The voices began to fade again, they were going away. Was he failing in his duty?
Failure was not tolerated.
Work, then food. Work for food.
He heard more movement inside and saw several more of the blue lights bobbing down below. They hurt to look at, but not as bad from far away.
Soon.
He climbed back down the wall just as easily as he had climbed up it. There was a lot of sound and movement coming from the part of the house that he had first approached. Bobbing blue lights appeared and began to throw their painful rays at him. He made more hissing sounds and jumped into the closest tree. It was a good twenty feet to the first branch that would hold his weight, but he cleared it easily. He did not, however, clear it quietly. The sound of leaves rustling and small twigs breaking brought the terrible lights closer. He sobbed quietly, rocking himself back and forth on the branch. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
1,603 words. Worksafe.
Night settled over Haithe like a thick blanket. Few insects dared to be heard at night and fewer animals. Even the winds and rains tended to calm after dark. It was as if the whole valley simply gave up at the end of the day. The streets were all but deserted at dusk, and not a soul dared to go into the streets when full dark hit, thus the city had no need for street lamps to light the way.
This suited him just fine.
On the night of a new moon the city looked like it had been drowned in ink. There was a light in every window, but they were all a blue tint that only enhanced the sense that the city was under a dark cloth at night.
Down on the cobblestones between buildings whatever slight sound was being made by his footfalls was carried away on the light breeze. He gazed longingly into a few windows, but never stayed long in one place. His stomach was a gaping pit begging to be filled, a monster that never knew satisfaction. But he couldn’t worry about that now.
Work to do, so much work to do.
A cat jumped down into the street in front of him. It hissed and arched its back when he took a step toward it and fled when he took a second. Just as well, they both had better things to do than play. That thought didn’t stop his stomach from growling and clenching painfully as he watched the receding form of the cat disappear into an open second story window.
He turned a corner and began heading north. Even in the overwhelming darkness he knew where he was going. His footing on the cobblestones was sure and stable, like any creature in its element.
Hungry, always hungry. Work to do. Work before food.
He came across a garbage bin that had been overturned either by someone or something before he got to it. In all his life he couldn’t remember a time he felt so hungry. It was gnawing at him from the inside out as if his stomach planned to eat him. He rummaged through the refuse looking for anything he could eat. Some of it looked good until it was in his mouth where it proved disgusting and was immediately spat out. He was distracted from his foraging by a burning pain in his skull. It pierced him between the eyes all the way through his head and he stumbled back a step or two keening deep in his throat.
Working, working. So hungry. Can’t stay here.
At the town square he came to a halt and looked curiously out into the open air. He was used to navigating the back streets, places where he could hide easily from anyone or anything he didn’t trust. Not that there was anything out there he did trust. Either a wrong turn or wrong luck had brought him to a point where he needed to cross the great unsheltered main square to get to his destination. He let out a low whine in frustration and shrank back in the direction he had come.
Work! Finish your work!
The pain behind his eyes grew worse and he made a second more drawn out whine. If he knew how, he would have cursed the pain. He scratched the spot between his eyes where the pain was focused and was overcome with regret for trying. It burned worse, working fingers of agony behind his eyes and through to his mouth which went slack with a sudden jolt of numbing pain. Whatever sound of agony he intended to make died unborn in his throat as the voice filled his head again.
QUIET! Work, eat, quiet, eat. So hungry. NO! Work first!
Somehow, he pulled himself back to the task at hand. Carefully, and with all the stealth he could manage, he darted into the square. With no moon in the sky to illuminate him he might as well have been a leaf blowing through the square, or an overzealous shadow. Still, he felt too exposed, like a turtle turned on its back. Soon enough, however, he had made it to the other side where he could rest a moment, once again hidden by the surrounding buildings.
Next to him on the ground was a puddle left after some townsperson had thrown out their dish water earlier. From the faint blue light in the windows above him he could just make out his own reflection in the water. At first he could only see the very top of his head but as he tilted back the rest of his face came into view. He started at the sight of it and voiced his anguish anew. With fierce and unnecessary strength he smashed the puddle with his hand, wailing his frustrations in the otherwise silent night. None of the people safe in their houses would look out at this. To them it seemed some unlucky animal was being flayed apart while still alive, for the noise he made was inhuman in both tone and duration.
QUIET! Focus. Work. Not finished. Go now and finish it.
He scurried away from the horrible puddle and the truth it had unwittingly forced upon him. And soon enough he had forgotten all about his own face, singularly focused on his task once more. He was approaching a large house, one surrounded by flowers and trees and grass. Not that any of those meant anything to him. If he couldn’t eat it, he didn’t have any business knowing about it.
As soon as he stepped into the grass all thoughts of his work were temporarily displaced. The only thing he could focus on now was the intriguing sensation of hundred of individual strands of grass tickling the underside of his feet. He picked his feet up and put them down in different parts of the grass to feel the slightly prickly sensation again. When that failed to be new and amusing anymore he reached out and stepped down on one of the flowers planted in a border around the gate. It crushed easily under his foot and made a satisfying squishing sound to boot. However, when he picked his foot up again the remains of the flower stuck to him in a bad smelling paste. To his memory, this was by far the worst thing that had happened to him all night and he bemoaned his foot’s unfortunate fate with a soft cry.
So hungry.
The pain behind his eyes started up again, insistent and piercing. Why was he being tortured like this? He looked up to see if the evil star was in the sky, but found view blocked by a very large house with round windows. The house looked familiar, but he couldn’t place why.
So much work to do.
He scaled the gate so easily, it might as well not have been there at all. He approached the house proper and stared into one of the windows of the lower rooms. Empty. One after another, all empty. No sign of what he needed. It must be above somewhere. How could he finish his work when he didn’t know where it was?
Tentatively he reached out and put his hand against the wall. It wasn’t cold like stone, but it was smooth to the touch and almost sticky under his fingers. He put his other hand above the first and pulled down, which propelled his body up. It seemed he was capable of climbing this wall, so he did. His feet didn’t catch quite as easily as his hands, but he managed to pull himself up to the second level without too much trouble.
So very hungry.
The first window was tempting, there was something there that looked delicious. He was so hungry, and so close to being finished with his work. But the light burned his eyes when he looked at it for too long, so he moved on again. Nothing here. Nothing in the next few windows, either. His foot slipped on a spot of wall that was quite slick and he made a lot of noise getting back to a safe spot. He was breathing fast now, inadvertently thumping his body against the house in an attempt to get enough air in his lungs.
There was movement from inside. Voices. The window he was waiting above suddenly filled up with the blue light and he hissed at it like the cat he had already forgotten having met earlier in the night. The voices began to fade again, they were going away. Was he failing in his duty?
Failure was not tolerated.
Work, then food. Work for food.
He heard more movement inside and saw several more of the blue lights bobbing down below. They hurt to look at, but not as bad from far away.
Soon.
He climbed back down the wall just as easily as he had climbed up it. There was a lot of sound and movement coming from the part of the house that he had first approached. Bobbing blue lights appeared and began to throw their painful rays at him. He made more hissing sounds and jumped into the closest tree. It was a good twenty feet to the first branch that would hold his weight, but he cleared it easily. He did not, however, clear it quietly. The sound of leaves rustling and small twigs breaking brought the terrible lights closer. He sobbed quietly, rocking himself back and forth on the branch. This wasn’t supposed to happen.