Friday Writing Response for June 12, 2009

So. I didn't get a chance to try out this week's writing prompt yet, and I feel really guilty for not getting to do so. The day's still young, but I wanted to post something here anyway, to prove to myself that I'm still writing and so I didn't forget to post entirely.

This is from an idea I'm calling The Imperial Story for now, and pairs with the scene from a couple weeks ago. I've been coming back to this idea in my writing practice, writing out different points of the story. While I'm no closer to figuring out large chunks of what this society is like, I'm starting to get a handle on who Andros is and what drives him. Who knows? Maybe something longer will come out of it. All I know is that I had this scene in my head for a couple days and now it's somewhat down on paper.

This is a snippet; this particular scene is finished, but I'm waiting to see if it still makes sense to me a couple days from now before I show it off. At this point in the story, the Lambazzias believe Andros to be dead and he's trying to find them. He's severely injured, having been blasted in the face by a fireball (thanks Final Fantasy, for your enemies showing me new ways to mess up people!) and is currently wearing a bright blue mask to protect the burn, which needs to be treated. As such, the mask pretty much makes him blind.

I'm interested to know if anyone finds this snippet intriguing - worthy of continuing.


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I heard the faint buzz of another engine approach the boat and then cut out nearby. Imperials, then, or hunters of some kind – someone who didn’t want their prey to know they were coming. I hauled myself into a sitting position, tightening a hand on my gun. I was not about to have them steal my boat, blind or not.

It was then I noticed my hands were shaky, the gun vibrating in my hand. I wasn’t scared – though the odds were bad, I could be facing worse. I hadn’t been able to eat solid food in over a week, and my liquid rations were almost gone. Even those burned like hell going down my throat, but it was all I could do. I feared letting anyone but Anitra near my wounds.

I couldn’t worry about that now. My hunger, my pain were making my mind wander, losing focus on the moment. One mistake here and I’d never see Anitra or my family again.

Footsteps landed on the upper deck, at least two distinct pairs. The first was heavy, though I could tell he was trying to move quietly. I pictured a man, possibly built, possibly heavyset, but with half a mind about what to do in a situation like this. The second set was dainty, quick taps against the boards, like a dancer walking from one end to another. A woman, then, which meant these probably weren’t Imperials who found me. More than likely, they were hunters or poachers, curious about the boat, wondering who might be aboard.

Murmurs floated down to me; they’d paused outside the cabin door. The man was giving orders and I slid into a crouch, ignoring the way my neck protested as I kept my head down. The heavier footsteps moved away from the cabin, towards the bow and the storage compartments underneath. He wouldn’t find anything.

The cabin door creaked open, and those tiny feet tapped inside the doorway. I’d left the lights off in the cabin – there was no point in using them when I’d gotten used to the darkness. There was a click, and a dim light flooded the edges of what was left of my vision.

The light felt almost warm as she swept it over the edges of the cabin. Another few steps forward and she’d reveal my position. A burst of static broke the silence, and I could hear her breathing as she lifted the communicator to her mouth. “It’s set to drift,” she murmured, voice quiet and sweet and a flood of memories surged forward. “Might have been set on auto-pilot.”

That voice – I knew that voice. Anitra was here; she’d found me without knowing where to look, like the Gods had smiled down on us for a change. I slumped forward, bumping into the cabin wall and knocking over a spare communicator as I did so. The clattering sound it made rang throughout the cabin and she jumped back, the click of a gun pointed in my direction.

“Who are you?” Anitra asked, shining her floodlight in my direction. I turned away from it, the brightness searing my injured eyes.

“Anitra.” Her name was a rasp in my throat, having avoided speaking for so long. “Anitra.”

She fumbled with the communicator; I could hear her pressing buttons. “Found our pilot,” she said, louder now. “You’d better get down here.”

“Subdue him until I arrive.” It was Wakka who answered; that explained the heavy footsteps.

“Anitra,” I tried again. This time it almost sounded right, so I continued. “It’s me.”

Her footsteps came closer, and she shined the light in my face. No, I realized, not directly in my face, but on the edges of it; she was inspecting the edges of the burn outside of the mask. “How do you know my name?”

“Andros.”

“Is dead.” Her rebuttal is quick, but I knew Anitra’s voice well enough to hear the quiver behind it. She believed the rumor, and I felt the gun pressed beneath my ribcage. “I’m not in the habit of playing games. Who are you, and how do you know who I am?”