The Swimming Pool

The swimming pool reminds her of the sea but it makes her miss it too. She watches fireflies dance with death on its surface, setting themselves on the invisible line between under and over. Sat by it, in the sun, she can smell chlorine and longs for it to be salt. Fireflies here are large and red, blue, they look like plastic baits, not like they have a mind, a life, a breath, like her.

A red firefly falls from its in-between space, hopelessly it struggles, its wings too heavy now, floating and drowning. She reaches out and delicately grabs the transparent tissue paper thinness of a wing, holds her breath in case a cough, a sneeze, in case her strength destroys the delicate thing. She sets it down by the side of the pool, the brickwork dark with drips of water she brought up with the castaway.

Where the firefly used to be, there’s a stain of red there, in the water. As she watches the stain bleeds in the surrounding water but doesn’t dissipate, the pool becomes a paint bucket. She reaches out and touches the water – not cold like the sea but lukewarm. She lets the water absorb her, like the firefly she loses her place in-between something and something, dragged down against her will. She struggles but knows her wings are wet, there is no escape.

The red swallows her, no hand scoops her up back onto the side of the pool, this time.

She thinks of the sea and wishes the water was colder.

The story of Bob the Mouse

Bob the mouse had never really thought much about anything in life. He had never contemplated the futility of his existence, what the point might be to their circular route, or indeed if there was one at all.

No, Bob the mouse was far too busy with his task: Follow Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse on her patrol route. Then, when the day is done, retire to the hovel and sleep with the other mice. It was a good life, a pack life, a family that no one needed to question, and no one ever thought of taking from him. In short, Bob was a happy mouse.

So the pack followed their fierce leader; they went up the Smuggler’s Run, and down again. Up the Rum Quarter, and down again. Bob looked forward to stopping behind Dead Man’s Tale, where Hands the monkey often kept a rotten fish aside for him, on a Wednesday.

Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse had found Bob just as his life was starting, and yet again so close to ending. You see, Bob was the runt of the littler. Rats and mice are not fond of runts, and his mum had already decided to serve him for dinner to his strong siblings. She had been washing the pots ready to throw him in one, when Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse’s hand had come from the sky, like some legendary titan or another, and plucked Bob from his grim faith. That hand drip fed him goat’s milk until he was strong, it stroked him when he shivered at night, it shooed away the bigger mice in the pack who bullied him. For a long time, Bob worshipped The Hand. It took years for Bob to realise that the hand was attached to a bigger body, and by then he was one of the biggest in Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse’s mice pack. Bob was proud to be by her side. Wherever Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse went, Bob would be there, come hell or high water.

It started with the faint, distant, sound of barking mastiffs. It wasn’t their usual morning greeting to one another, it was an alarming sound. Bob heard that horrible, final whimper. And then there was silence. Intruders. They had killed the first guard and were heading for Sky Capt’n Kragg! But Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse continued their route, so Bob faithfully followed.  

YER DOOM BE AT HAND

YOU DISPUTE MY HONOUR?

They heard Sky Capt’n Kragg yell.

GUESS I… BE OFF… TA THE LOCKER…

Those were the last words the residents of Freehold heard from their fierce captain.

Bob and the other mice took their steps carefully around their route, their leader didn’t seem to mind or notice the fires, lightning and howling that came from the Smuggler’s Run, that could be heard up at the Rum Quarter and beyond. The mice looked up at the sky and missed Sharkbait’s reassuring shadow over them, wondered if the faithful bird had also been lost.

Bob would later ponder on how they should have burned down the rickety vine bridge. It wasn’t until it was too late, that they saw the dust of battle draw closer, across the bridge as Irontide Enforcers ran pursuit of the intruders, and were mercilessly cut down. Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse was now on high alert, she and the mice carefully looked left and right on their route, to try and locate the intruders.

They had come across the bridge into the Rum Quarter, but where were they? Behind Dead Man’s Tale? Maybe. Wouldn’t Jill and Venrik have cried an alarm? No matter, they had shut the door and were likely staring out as terrified as the mice and their mistress as they approached the inn.

It happened so quickly that Bob wasn’t sure how he got out alive. Maybe it was Hands, how he grabbed him by the scuff of his neck and held a finger up against his monkey grimace. Maybe Bob had subconsciously tried to edge closer to his friend, unaware he was aware of the impending doom.

WE NEED FOR COUNT

WHAT, REALLY?

YEAH WE’RE ONLY AT 50 PERCENT

THESE ONES THEN

Through mouse squeaks and bigger-mice screams Bob listened as his beloved mistress and his pack were cut down. Hands had put an arm around him, and was holding him tight. The massacre was over before he could ponder on the senselessness of it. He watched as the humanoids, with their shiny armour and so powerful spells, walked by them ignoring them completely. They headed to the Captains’ Council.

Bob had no chance or time to avenge Big-Mouse-With-Long-Face-Fluffy-Tail-That-Also-Rides-A-Bigger-Mouse that day. He vowed to search the corners of Azeroth, looking for this “Count” the humanoids had killed his family for. He vowed that from that day, until his last, he would never cease searching: until he had found this evil overlord and slain Him, or had died trying. Where his little heart had held contentness, gratitude and love; it now held hate, vengeance and ire.

This isn’t the last time we see each other. He told the adventurers quietly. We will meet again.

This post is based on the Blizzard Activision World of Warcraft IP, I do not own or claim to own any of the related IP. Just some fun fan fiction for all to enjoy.. Originally posted on https://www.reddit.com/r/wow/ . You can find me on there as u/Khisla. 

Prose Extract: Empty Forest

Dear Comrades, I have been quiet in the past week: Life suddenly got busy and I am now applying for a MA in Writing, so have not had time to add to my blog.  I have however, been writing lots of prose recently, so although I have not been able to write a blog post, I have something different for you today......

Today I am sharing something different, this is an extract that doesn't belong to anything yet, but I would like to share with you. 

Empty Forest

Sasha stopped for a moment and took a breath in. The complete lack of sound coming from the tree line gave the air a ponderous sensation. As if something was out there, but afraid to move, watching intently for any sign of danger, like a doe in unknown territory. As Sasha took a step, a gust of wind shook the branches overhead and she paused. The forest had risen its head at the girl’s approach, from its careful grazing, and had eyes fixed on the danger of the unknown: Sasha.

The thickness of the undergrowth gave away nothing of what was to come once she crossed the border in the great southern forest. It encompassed a large portion of the Eastern Kingdom territory, and had once been feared and respected by all Kingdoms. The Great Giant had grown quiet since the end of the last great war, the creatures of the forest that had once given it a fearsome reputation were… Gone. So was anything once moving under its shade. The Empty Forest had hence coined its name; a great green expanse with no fauna. Without provisions, a traveller may well hope to cross an arid desert unscathed.

Ever since its inhabitants had left, even the lichens on the trees had become poisonous, the water springs bitter with rot. Below the green tree tops, the forest itself, once a verdant, if dangerous, paradise, was wilting, sobbing. Or was it grieving the loss of its protectors?

Sasha pushed her fears aside, her journey took her directly through the silent expanse. Whilst this made her nerves tense and her skin prickle, she had no alternative. Winter was approaching this side of the world, and with it the King’s troops. A week had passed since the girl’s eighteenth birthday, and inevitably meant that soldiers would claim her in the name of the King. The last “great” war may have ended seven decades before, but war was not over by any means.

The realm which Sasha had been born into had been slowly expanding and engulfing nearby kingdoms with every turn of season. The King had unparalleled military power, and all obeyed. All youngsters joined the military for five years following adulthood. Most never made their way back home.

The fact that Sasha was alone was not to imply that she was not loved. The grief of sending her away would probably never subdue; her tribe had to send her away to persuade the soldiers that she had died during the last winter season. To the family collective this had been like dropping their child from the window of a burning house: Hoping that she would be fine, that she may one day find peace and happiness. Knowing that, either way, they may never find out what became of her.

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