Volatile's short stories

[☣ Chernobyl ☢]

Just a place to keep tryout stories and stories about my characters. c:

[☣ Chernobyl ☢]

{x}

Nothing. That was what he saw. Nothing but an arid wasteland. The wind howled, as if mocking him, and drove the black sand into his skin. His breath came in rasps. He looked back only once, to see the looming mountains that he had once called his home far away. There was no going back now.
Nox began to lose track of time. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days. If asked now, he wouldn't have been able to tell you when the raven appeared. He simply remembers sitting beside the skeleton of a long dead, blackened tree for a while, falling into a doze, when the rustling of feathers woke him.
With a start, the child glanced up. Upon the shadowy branches sat a bird of the darkest plumage one could possibly imagine. It's eyes were cold and beady, almost evil.
"What are you doing here?" The young kiamara wondered aloud. "This is no place for a free creature to dwell."
The raven cocked it's head.
"I suppose you wonder the same thing." Nox's breath formed fog in the air as he spoke. "Or perhaps not. Maybe I'm simply on the edge of madness."
The creature made no sound.
"I'll tell you, I'm pretty eager to share my story, whether I've been driven to insanity or not."
To the boy, the raven seemed almost to nod it's oily head.

"It was an accident, see. I swear it. It was an ordinary day in the pack, boring as any other. Y'know, others teasing me about being weird and creepy and stuff. The usual. One particular pup was being awfully obnoxious. When she started too, something in me just snapped. I couldn't take it anymore, so I just lashed out, a little too hard. The adults were horrified. I tried to tell them, I really did, but they wouldn't have it."
Nox shrugged, unwilling to describe the following event, his exile.
"And, well, here I am."
The raven cawed loudly above him, staring at him, with something akin to accusation in it's eyes.
"Don't look at me like that!" Snarled Nox. "As if you haven't done something to belong out here!"
The two sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. All too soon, however, the raven, too, took off, on a journey to brighter skies. But it never truly left the child. Not completely.

{396 of 400}

[☣ Chernobyl ☢]

W i n g s

As a boy I dreamed of flying. Who doesn't?

The feeling of having your troubles swept below you, replaced with a cool, crisp breeze that whispers of new beginnings.
The thought of weightlessness; like nothing can stop you.

Most of us give up eventually.
People can't grow wings. It doesn't happen.

That freedom of flight is not ours to take.

Or is it?
What changed?

What's different about me?

Why do I cling to impossible dreams?

Some say;“You have your head in the clouds.”
Is it really an insult?

If my eyes are blocked,
then why am I the only one who seems to see?

You don't need wings to fly.

➳

[☣ Chernobyl ☢]

It's hard for a child to know anything other than what's thrust upon her, and just so for I. I was born the runt of the litter. My parents thought I would die quickly, but they were wrong. I grew up, in fact, quite strong and resilient despite my slight size compared to that of my three brothers. Our family was rather on the poor side, and my mother and father often had to go on long trips to forage, just so we had enough food. It was sometime during my third summer, while they were far away on the hunt for fruits and insects, that I discovered my talent. My oldest brother, Jared, was quite obnoxious. He made a habit of teasing me, and though my other siblings didn't seem to approve of the behaviour, they didn't intervene. Jared would often steal my food, waving it in my face before showing the others his accomplishment. It was during one such episode that it began.
"Hah! Got your dinner again, Skia!" He exclaimed with a smirk. "Why do you make it so easy?!"
Jared turned to the other two, grinning.
I watched the apple he held. He seemed to be paying little attention to it, contented with bragging.
I could almost just.....
Before I knew it, I had plucked the shiny fruit from his paw. I looked up, expecting an angry face looming over me.
But....He hadn't noticed...?
I waited longer, and sure enough, Jared turned back, realising he no longer had the fruit.
"Wh-Skia?!" He snarled, seeing me with the fruit.
He glared furiously, but was distracted when a curious sound broke out behind him. I craned my head to see past his bulk, and smiled.
My other brothers were giggling to themselves.

I spent the next years of my life perfecting my skill at the markets, pinching pennies from pockets and treats from careless hands. I realised that I absolutely loved shiny things, like the apple. At first, I was contented to gaze at the gorgeous pearls and gemstones from afar, knowing I could never own them, but soon, I began to have a dark desire to have them all. The final straw? A string of beautiful elegant turquoise beads. I'd found myself overestimating my abilities, and thought the stall owner wouldn't notice me. With an overconfident smirk, I edged closer to the desk on which the beads lay. Checking once more to see the old dragon distracted, I gingerly shifted my claws towards the beads.
Almost....yes!
With what sounded to my ears like thunder, a heavy paw crashed upon mine, and I screamed in surprise.
"You dirty thief!" Cried the stall owner loudly.
I wriggled from his grip and ran, unaware that the beads were still in my grip.
"YOU FILTH! YOU'VE TURNED SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL INTO A BADGE OF SHAME!"
Needless to say, I took those words deep to heart as I fled my home. So upon my tail still hang those three cursed beads.

{500 of 500}