ABLE

Self confidence about my writing skills and stories

image

Theme: Psychic ,Sleeping King,Sleeping heroes, fables and fairies

Included: Diversity, homosexuals, transsexuals, etc.

Genre: Fantasy, Sci-fi

Meaning of title: Able, able to do. In terms of the story which involves supernatural qualities and paranormal activity.

Unique naming, I don’t like giving my characters normal names unless necessary. I give my characters weird names like Daddy J. R. Symphony or Tulsa RodRich. Sone usually have meaning to them like Church Valhalla might be defined in my world as “one who invites heaven” or “stairway to light”

Idea:

Baptist Sims is a young boy who lives in mountains known as Mount King with his family who has a lineage of supernatural people mostly involving psychics such as his grandfather being a retired Grim Reaper, mother a medium and baby brother a mini baby Frankenstein–ok maybe not supernatural but the family is weird and Baptist  goes on a journey destory a secret within his family that pushes him to go on a journey as a herdsman.
He is tasked to travel across the world to seek the next sleeping hero, wake him up to help rid the Raven Kings that threaten humanity.

He looked at the clock and sighed heavily. “Time to go on another trip”. He grabbed the pills on the table, took three of them, sat the pills back on the table then finally sat at his bed.

He smacked his lips as his heart started to pound, his eyes fluttered and palms collected sweat.
The walls were closing in, his ankles tighten with the alien grip below him. ‘Let go’, he didn’t try to jerk away.

Get up
His body trembled as a cold ran down his spine. Air brushed his face, his hands flew to his eyes to block the creature’s view. “Baptist”, it uttered in a dark hoarse tone.
The figure was hidden by a black smoke, she lashed her tongue out which was purple. Yellow orbs pierced him, “Baptist, look at me”

I won’t
“Bap!”
Not real

Knock Knock

“Baptist, come down stairs”, yelled a deep voice. The noise caused the figure to disappear. He blinked his eyes rapidly, Bap looked about his room and smiled.

Knock Knock

He walked to the door, and opened it slightly, a black hand forced open the door wider. The figure grabbed him by the collar. “You can’t avoid me forever”, a tongue swipes across his face. “Tell me I’m pretty, like you always do”, she whispered.

Insanity Mary disappeared again, he named her Insanity,, his demon. Insanity Mary appeared no matter how many pills he took. His father bought him the pills, but after several of years he concluded that the pills made him worse. They were probably magic pills or the pills psychics used to calm themselves.

Psychics was something that ran in his family, it was mostly his mother that had the power in terms that she could talk to the dead. The only times he believed in his mother skills was the time he lost Halo, his pet hamster, his mother talked to Halo. Halo said, It was lonely and he missed him, so young five year old Baptist Sims, grabbed his father’s alchemy book and attempted to revive him.
The energy flowing through him, the ingredients on the table. He followed the book’s directions, said every word incorrectly and the pieces formed, muscle wrapped around the bones then they snapped.

The legs did not develop, the neck was broken and stretched. He had destroyed the soul and body, leaving Halo to curse his name in agony. He scooped up the body of his beloved pet. He went to the backyard, made the hole and cried over the grave.
“How–How”, Halo choked out.
Bap’s throat stung as he covered the body with the heaps of dirt. He petted his hamster one last time, bap then screamed, the stretched neck whipped around and claimed his two fingers. He wasn’t angry that Halo attacked him, in fact he thought he rightly deserved it. He played with life the wrong way, when he thought about it. Ruining life was in his blood, his grandfather was a grim reaper, his mother had no skin and baby brother was conjured up by forbidden arts of magic and alchemy.
“Bap”, his father called. Being a supernatural family, he guessed what his father was, he owned a scar around his neck, wrist and torso. He also missed an eye; his father had battle scars, a hole in his chest, frost–literal ice–around his feet. “Child?,” he said in question, he prepared for whatever he was to ask. His father looked at him up and down, examining the sweat on his brow and smirked. “Masturbation!,” the man exclaimed. “No,” the boy muttered in a whisper. “Insanity…”
“Oh…,” was his father’s response. At times it seemed his father, who was mostly a caring yet strict man, didn’t seem concerned with his son. “So, Bap, my… Human child”, his eyes faced the window to his right at the word human. “Today, I would like to… go ummm–somewhere, with you”
“Me?”, Bap questioned, his father stuck his hands in his pants. He tilted his head up and pursed his lips, “How?”, he shrugged.

“How, what?”, Bap asked. “How so short?”, said his father. Baptist arched his brow, “Why so tall?”
“touché”, the man nodded. “Son, what’s my name?”
Baptist looked at his feet, You never told me, “if you can tell me my name, my true name, I’ll… I’ll”, they locked eyes. “About how I got my scars”
Baptist’s eyes lit up, “Really?”
“Yeah”, his father scratched his beard that was slowly catching ice. “What’s my name? No hints”
Baptist smirked, “Is this where you tell me I’m wrong no matter what name I pull out my ass because I’m adopted?”
“Bitch, I could have told you that 19 years ago, I could have held your baby body that was fresh out the womb and said I am not you’re father”, he teased. “No, This is the part where I tell you, I never loved you and I’m trying to cast the world into darkness, start another plague, and recreate the world as I see fit because screw everyone”
“You’re funny, pop”, Baptist smiled.

His father smirked before saying, “I’m not joking”
His father approached him, rubbing his head and ushering the boy outside. The home was located at the bottom of Mount King. The main town was miles away so Bap had to travel to get to school. He knew two people from the town, he didn’t see them much and someday they lauched fireworks in the sky.
Certain colors signaled certain things.

Yellow: How are you?
Blue: Sad
Green: Great
Red: Bad

He didn’t own a phone, computer or whatever other kids and teens possessed. When he first was given permission to stay at a friend’s house, he was stunned to find out about PS2s and fours. “Is there a five?”, he asked. His friend introduced him to virtual reality, Bap even tried GTA but called it depressing and negative. Another thing was the amount of brown people, Bap himself was part of Jamaican heritage and he mostly lived in a place that had a rather dense population of color, Charlie, a boy who was roughly 20 and seven foot tall. Bishop, who was more like a cousin to Bap, was the second brown skinned girl he knew and she went out with Charlie the only “white”.

Baptist traveled up the mountain with his father, usually his father told stories when they journeyed anywhere, sometimes he wasn’t interested but lately he was more enthusiastic about them.

“I’m going to tell you a story”, he said to his son, “Once there was a boy who climbed a mountain, he came upon an apple tree and because he was hungry, he sought to grab the apple. However, obtaining the apple was not easy, he climbed the tree, wrapping his legs around the trunk and reaching for the apple. To his dismay, he lost his grip and his head hit a tree stump causing him to sleep for a full year”.

“Wow… was he dead?”, Bap questioned.
“No, he lived but everytime he died he missed a year of life until the day he defeated the Sleeping King and slept a hundred years”, his father chuckled.

“Ya know, you tell these stories as if you were there”
His father flashed a smile over his shoulder, “I should have trained you, the sun is blacking out”, he murmured.
Upon reaching the top, there was a building like a church he had never seen before, it looked ruined, a hole in the side of the building and roof gone, a giant skeleton was also present but the cold had frozen it solid. “Dad?”, he called his father but focused on the skeleton. “A superior”, he said. “That was a strange day, it came out of nowhere but you know Taboo was his favorite”
Baptist followed his father into the broken down church. Dried blood stains marked the church floors, bodies frozen in time. His father gestured to follow him, he grabbed a broken candle stick holder against the wall and jerked it down, the floor begun to split revealing a set of steps spiraling downwards. “Come on”, he said. “Your legacy is down there”.

Following his father down the stairs which seemed endless, he saw pictures aligning the wall, faces of people who he did not recognize. Their names at the bottom of the pictures, Selas, Mischa, Stefan and the last was scratched out. Each one, brown skinned. “Baptist Armageddon”, his father said. “What?”, Baptist tilted his head. “Your true name, Baptist K. Armageddon”, his father continued walking leaving his son to ponder.
Baptist questioned it in his head then continued following, catching up with his father, he grabbed the man by the shoulder. “Baptist K. Armageddon?”, he inquired.

His father shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “Psionics have unique names, it’s to express individuality. Your mother–Shoshone August, your baby brother Soso Rap, I didn’t want to name you Ignis like she wanted, I named you Baptist K. Armageddon, however I may have unintentionally cursed your name. To psionics your name would define as Bad God or one who invites destruction”, he explained. “But as a wise man once said ‘i won’t info dump on you'”, he smirked.

Reaching the bottom, Baptist took several moments to rest, his father wasn’t bothered by any of it. Down below, a man sat in a throne with a crown on his head. “Who are you?”, his father exclaimed at the stranger standing in a white fur coat that reached the back of his knees and hood over his head. The stranger turned around, “Hi… Father”, then he disappeared in a black smoke. Baptist stood by his father’s side, “who was that?”, he looked at him.
His father shrugged, in truth he knew, he was being secretive with his son. “So, this is Mischa”, he said. “He’s a sleeping hero which explains his inanimate state””He’s covered in ice…”, Baptist said in awe. “YOU’RE covered in ice”
His father grinned widely, “purrrr”, he mewled, “I have secrets that I don’t want to share but look, this is one thing that you will discover, take it as a head start to the destruction your about to cause”

Advertisements

Posted on March 22, 2016, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: