Frequency #1 (PG)

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Frequency #1 (PG)

Post by bigbadbear on Wed Mar 05, 2008 6:22 am

Just so we have something posted in historical fiction, I'm going to post this. Yeah. I know that I've posted a lot, but I won't be for a while. This first chapter isn't historical fiction, but the main plot is. I hope you like it!

Vryheid is an exact translation to Freedom in the African language.

Chapter One

“Didn’t you say you could fly, Lyre?” Arnold Jackson asked. Lyre looked at him and smiled.

“Well, by darnit, you listened, then!” Lyre replied, his smile extending across his face. Arnold sneered at the twelve year old. Lyre was always trying to copy his Southern accent…

“Of course I listened,” Arnold said, anxiety growing, “I always listen to what you says!” He absentmindly grabbed his fingers and pulled them, making each one crack. Staring at Lyre, Arnold watched his friend’s every move.

“Well, then fly!” he shouted, and Lyre nodded, still smiling from ear to ear. Lyre was four years older than Arnold, but they were as close as two friends could be. The African American had never met anyone like Lyre. He was so…different. He didn’t care what Arnold looked like. All that he did care about was that he loved to play.

Lyre stepped back on the rock that they were both standing on. He carefully spread his arms out like he was an eagle. Then suddenly, he ran towards the edge of the rock and flapped his arms. Arnold laughed at his futile try. Lyre ran off of the boulder and flapped more intensely; Arnold gasped.

It had worked! Lyre wasn’t lying when he said that he could turn into a raven! Arnold stared up into the sky, amazement playing across his face. He grinned and his eyes followed Lyre, who was up in the blue sky. Lyre’s feathers were a deep black with a hint of scarlet. He was indeed the most beautiful bird that Arnold had ever seen.

Lyre dove quickly back to the rock on which Arnold was still standing, gazing at him. The boy chuckled and tried to capture him with his small hands. Lyre sped past Arnold with amazing speed and escaped his clutches. Eyes twinkling, the raven turned around and fluttered back to his friend. The wind was blowing a little harder now; Lyre’s eyes cautiously flitted towards the East. Nothing was out of the ordinary… no magicians fighting… yet.

Arnold cried, “Gotcha!” and cupped his hands together, capturing Lyre. He squawked, snapping his small beak at the child’s fingers, but it was no use. Arnold had captured him. Laughing, the eight year old let go of the bird and Lyre fluttered to get out of the enclosed space. He turned his head once more towards the East, just to make sure.

Arnold must have noticed because he followed suit.

“What do you see?” he asked Lyre, who was flying back to the boulder. The bird shook its head and started transforming back into its human self.

“It’s nothin’. Let’s go over to the rivers, shan’t we? I’m really thirsty,” Lyre said, changing the subject. The boy jumped off of the rock and into the grassy meadow. He headed for the two rivers down by the large oak tree and stopped when he didn’t hear Arnold’s familiar footsteps. Lyre turned his head around and sighed.

The curious boy was headed the in opposite direction: into the East. Of course, always sticking his nose into trouble…

***

Vryheid was a beautiful land, Arnold knew. The trees sang in the wind and the sun smiled at the grasses and plants. Everything was luscious and green. Arnold’s eyes twinkled as he looked around. The rocks were scattered amongst the trees and the wind whispered in the boy’s ear.

Arnold’s Mama, if she had been there, would have called this place ‘utterly amazin’’, as she so often spoke of wonderful places. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his large Mama, but there was no one there. Arnold frowned. Oh, how he wished that she could be here. How he wished that she could see spectacular sights of Vryheid.

He glanced up and stopped suddenly. The hairs on his arms erected. He could fill a chill crawl up his spine. This was what Lyre was talkin’ about…

Arnold bit his lip, trying to hold in tears. Lyre had ever rarely talked about the East Mountains. It was something that nobody ever talked about in Vryheid. The curious boy always wondered what was so magical… and so deadly in that mountain.

He stood there, and the mountain glared at him, smoke billowing from the peak. Hadn’t Lyre said that the East Mountain held a volcano? Arnold nodded; he remembered Lyre telling him that.

The mountain was black. There were no trees, no green grass and no life. The East Mountain was devoid of literally anything other than coal and fumes. And of course, The King of the East himself.

Arnold shuddered; he distinctively remembered what Lyre had told Arnold when they had been discussing the magicians of the world.

***

“There is a magician for the North, the South, the West, and the East. No one knows where they came from, or who they really are. They all sort of… hide.” Lyre had told him. Arnold raised his eyebrow.

“What do the magicians do?”

Lyre laughed at the child’s stupidity. “Magicians make magic!”

Arnold was still confused, and so Lyre went on into detail, “One day, hundreds of years ago, four magicians were in a boat and the boat crashed. One of the magicians landed in the North, while the others landed in the South, West, and the East.”

Arnold shrugged. “So what?”

“Well,” Lyre continued, “the four magicians came together and decided that they would be kings over their land. So they did…for a while.”

“Why? What happ’nd?” the curious child interrogated.

“If you would shut up then I would explain!” Lyre said, growing angrier. Arnold nodded and continued to stare at his friend.

“Well, they were kings for a long time. But then their kingdoms grew and grew until finally the King of the East needed more land. So he started making cities in the King of the South’s land,” Lyre went on to tell him, “Well, the King of the South didn’t like that very much so they started fighting.

The child gasped, “With swords?”

Lyre nodded and smiled. He loved telling of Vryheid’s history. It was so unique… one-of-a-kind.

“Yeah, with swords. And bows and arrows, too! The two kings also trained people to be magicians, just like themselves. Well, soon enough the war got so big that the other two kings had to fight also. Guess who won?”

“Who?” Arnold asked, amazed.

“The King of the East,” Lyre said and pointed a finger over to the East Mountains.

“But… you says that the mountain is all that the King of the East has…” Arnold said, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah. The King of the East ruled for just a little bit, and then a bunch of people that didn’t like him tried to kill him.”

The child gasped again, his eyes brightening up. “But… wow! That’s cool!”

Lyre laughed; he had told Arnold a while back that his father was a rebel. He had fought against the King of the East.

“So, the King of the East went back to his mountain, right over there,” Lyre pointed again to the East Mountain. Arnold followed his finger and locked his eyes on the lifeless mountain.

“The three other Kings came together and decided that the King of the North should be the king of the entire land. Well, not all of it, you see. They couldn’t build anything on the East. The King of the East wouldn’t let them.”

Arnold nodded and then understood it all. He continued to gaze fearfully at the East Mountain.

“So, the East King lives in there?” Arnold asked.

“Yeah. I guess. I’ve never been in there.”

***

“Arnold, get back here before I swat your hind end!” Lyre cried, advancing towards the black child. Arnold was always wandering off when they could be doing something fun…

The child turned around and nodded. “I don’t like that mountain… it’s so… bad,” Arnold said, and shuddered.

“Yeah, well my Papa said that only evil things could live there. Let’s go. I’m thirsty,” Lyre stated and tugged on the child’s arms, but the child wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, I think I have to go now,” Arnold said smiled. Lyre nodded and stepped back.

“Maybe next time?” Lyre asked and the child nodded, “Well, good-bye. I’ll see you next time, then.”

Arnold nodded again and sighed. His body started to glow, and his closed his eyes. He bit his tongue as the familiar sensation covered his figure.

It was only in his dreams that he could come back to Vryheid. Every night he would fall asleep and enter this beautiful world. He could do anything he wanted, and do it without being ashamed of who he was.

That comment came up a lot in the real world. His Mama didn’t like to talk about it, but Arnold always wanted to know why the other kids didn’t look like him.

Mama would often tell him, “You don’t need to look like the other boys, hun. You’re special the way you are.” Her thick Southern accent shined through in her words.

Arnold would nod and said, “Yeah, I guess…”

But not here. In Vryheid no one told him that he was ugly, or he was covered in mud. Not one soul. After all, Lyre had told him, Vryheid meant Freedom.

***

Thanks for reading! PM me if you have something you want me to critique!

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Re: Frequency #1 (PG)

Post by Mark on Wed Mar 05, 2008 9:29 pm

Hiya! I saw this about and thought I would review it;

From a good read, I could see no errors in there. I might be wrong, though, so it is always worth skimming through it. So, when did you write this? The idea is quite appealing, but I thought it was a bit fast from when he started flying.

This might just be me, but without a long, warm-hearted description a scene is boring. Instead of just calling the place beautiful, perhaps you coul elaborate?

I don't know, but setting the scene is the best part of writing for me, as you may have already guessed. How about: 'Streaks of whisping clouds floated like cotten ball acorss the sky, a pale pink at the dusk's turn.'

Sorry, I've gone again. Hehe! This is a very fun-to-read story and I am intrigued by when it is set.

Keep Writing!

~Mark~

ps: don't worry, we need all the posts we can get at the moment! lol

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