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Monday, August 30, 2010

FIGHT BLOGFEST_PREY FOR ME_GHOST OF A CHANCE Interlude




Ever try saying "No" to a fallen angel?

Ghost of Samuel Clemens here saying I didn't have it in me to do it.

Here is Roland's entry (with the fallen angel's thumbprints attached)

for J.C. Martins' FIGHT BLOGFEST.



http://jc-martin.com/fighterwriter/2010/08/17/fight-fight-fight-blogfest/comment-page-1/#comment-271

It is the year 1936.

The battle is within the Hindenburg as it sails around the towering statue,

Christ The Redeemer, in the skies of Rio de Janeiro.

The fallen angel from Roland's WORD PAINT and FAIRY TALE blogfest entries

is fighting her double she created from her own glamour in a crisis.

Now her daemon is on a murderous rampage. It is up to the fallen angel to end the

madness before the daemon attempts suicide by exploding the Hidenburg :



I reached out with my mind and bent the patterns of time/space to my will.

The world blurred, the deck changed shape beneath my boots, and I stumbled as I now stood outside the cabin door leading to the enormous chamber of hydrogen gas bags.

I instinctively looked to the right, the side of my body without a heart.

There, at the far end of the hallway, was my daemon. She felt my eyes on her and whirled about, actually hissing at me, her knife springing up.

I bit the insides of my cheek and bent space again.

She leapt back in shock as I appeared right beside her, slashing with my own knife. With a fluid grace, she leapt onto the railing of the stairs leading down to the engineers' catwalk.

I leapt onto the opposite railing. We slid down, our knives slashing, blocking, and darting as we surfed down the metal banisters.

Down we sped, our daggers clicking and sparking down into the darkness.

My daemon was giggling, having the time of her life. Why not? One of the damn sparks from our knives was sure to ignite the hydrogen and blow us both to hell.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and the end of the railings.

We leapt straight at one another. We were too evenly matched. We blocked each other's thrust as we passed each other.

On a wicked whim, I stretched out my neck and kissed her full of the lips. She spat in my face.

"I always wanted to do that," I laughed. "But I kept getting lipstick all over the mirror."

Then, we hit the catwalk in a roll and bounced up into the metal struts that crisscrossed above us in an upside-down triangled jungle gym.

She swung out her long legs to slam me in the chest.

But that was what I would have done, so I had swung lower, patting her hard on the butt as I slid underneath her in a sweep.

She sailed over the catwalk onto the metal struts on the other side of the pathway. Damn her.

While I had been trying to rattle her, she had been setting herself up into the exact spot she had wanted :

right over the huge silver gasbag full of deadly hydrogen.

She did a little flip and dived straight down towards it,

her black knife stabbing out. I called up the Power within me and bent time to appear right under her, on top of the gasbag.

I blocked her knife. She rasped like a stabbed lion. She reached out with her left hand, grabbing a girder for support.

I straddled the gasbag, a boot on a strut on either side of it.

We thrust and parried in a flurry of movement that my eyes couldn't even follow.

"It doesn't have to be this way," I panted.

"Why the hell not?," eerily came my own voice at me from my daemon.

"I made you, fool. I can make the hunger go away. I promise."

"Idiot! Can you make the emptiness go away, too? If you can't stand being you, why did you think I could?"

As our knives sparked against one another, I cursed myself. The engineers who worked here even wore felt boots to keep even the smallest sparks from happening.

And here we were making like sparklers right above enough hydrogen to blow us clear out of the sky.

"I'll kill us yet," she screamed, and with a wild swing,

dived through the wires and netting that held the uppermost gasbags and out through the silver fabric that covered the zeppelin's frame.

The lunatic. She was going for the engine car. Instinctively, I started to jump to the right of the jagged hole she had made.

Then, at the last second, I dived through the silver skin to the left of the hole. The rough fabric scratched my face and tugged at my shoulders.

A mighty blast of cold winds smashed into me as I flew out of the Hidenburg.

I flailed out with my left hand and grabbed onto the fluttering fabric, whipping myself tight to the zeppellin's side.

My glamour had been waiting on the right side, knife held high to skewer me. Seeing me come out an unexpected way, she howled in rage.

"Bitch!"

Dropping down to the wide, sprawling tail-wing, I yelled over the terrible winds,

"That's Queen Bitch to you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the huge granite face of Jesus.

Hell, we were still circling that damn staute. The two of us had to be making some spectacle of ourselves to any straying unfallen angels.

The two of us :

edging around each other on the Hindenburg's elevator flap, under a fifty foot swastika, in front of an open-armed, stony faced Jesus.

It was the stuff of a Wagner opera, complete with two suicidal valkyries. But you first, daemon.

The forty mile an hour winds making a wheat-gold halo of her hair, my daemon shrieked, "You can't win."

Then, she struck. I leapt right at her, parrying her attack, giving her another kiss.

She hit the flap in a skiddering roll, popped to her feet, and wheeled around to face me.

She wiped her mouth as if my lips were diseased.


We danced about each other, diving in thrusts of knives and claws in a flurry of blocked attacks.

The terrible winds threatened to blow us off the wing at any moment.

The water sparkling beneath us, the city moving slow around us, the remote stony face of Jesus regarding us.

They all blurred as only the features of my daemon stood out in sharp detail as if burned into my mind.

A shredded piece of tarp flew from the hole straight into my left eye. My daemon took advantage of my shock and leapt up onto the side of the Hindenburg.

Then, like a scurrying monkey, she clawed her way up the side. I jumped up after her. But she had too much of a headstart.

I would have to bend space to reach her. But for a second I would be off-balanced and vulnerable. And in that second, I would be dead.

She scrambled to the top seconds ahead of me. She spun about atop the sloped, silver surface. She raised both hands into the air and screamed.

"Top of the world, Ma. Top of the world!"

She suddenly glared at the giant granite face of Jesus. "What the hell are you looking at?"

And in that split second of inattention, I bent space and appeared before her. I flung both arms around her in a crushing embrace. She bit at me. And I planted a third kiss on her.

But before I did, I whispered in the tongue of my race, "Come home."

Inside my mind, my daemon screamed, 'Not this way. Not this way!'

I had run out of time to talk sense to her. Like I had said, I had given her being. I could take it back. And I did.

I drew her into me in the breath of a kiss, a long kiss good night.

She shivered in my arms, then I heard a faint mental wail : 'No! Not sucked up like a drink. I'm alive, a somebody, a ----"

And then, she was gone, and I whispered, " -- a memory."

I stood alone on top of the Hindenburg, the winds nearly blowing me off. The remote, staring eyes of the granite Jesus stabbed into me.

Staggering at the impact of the winds, I snarled at Him.

"What are you looking at? I wish the hell you'd tell me because I do not know."

The words bled from me. "I do not know."

And so did I, last of the Sidhe, slip past the stony, open-armed grasp of Christ the Redeemer.

***




23 comments:

  1. Wow! Great fight scenes, unexpected, uh, 'weapons' and very tight-I didn't know I was holding my breath until I finished! So she DID get to go with honor, but she's still sad and haunted and lost. Can she have a happy ending? (I'm a sucker for flawed, tortured characters and I always want happiness or resolution or something good for them.)

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  2. Words Crafter : I wrote two novels where she is one of the two love interests of the clone grown from the tissue sample taken from the tip of the Spear of Destiny :

    LOVE LIKE DEATH and LAST EXIT TO BABYLON.

    She is also the protagonist of the short story, THE LIES THAT LOCUST TELL.

    Hers is a Greek tragedy of a tale with love, horror, trials, some happiness, and an uncertain end.

    Perhaps I'll find a source to publish them someday. Thanks for liking her adventures. She blows you a kiss from the cyber-realms.

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  3. I thought this was fantastic! Like The Words Crafter, I didn't realize how into it I was because I was so immersed in the story. Great characterizations and awesome fight scenes.

    Well done!

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  4. Both a superb fight scene—talk about internal struggle—and a thought provoking read. Saved by Jesus or not? What does He see? I admit my favorite line was "I always wanted to do that," I laughed. "But I kept getting lipstick all over the mirror." It made me chuckle after what was a long hard day.

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  5. Kelly : Saying you were that immersed in my tale really makes me feel as if all my work was worth it. Thanks.

    VR : That I could make you laugh after a hard, grueling day makes me feel as if my fallen angel did her job in brightening your evening.

    The story's genesis was a photograph of the real Hindenburg sailing right by the granite face of the towering Christ The Redeemer.
    monument.

    The book, whose front face that photo was, burned up with my home. I wasn't able to find it on the internet to post with this story.

    Glad you liked my snippet from my story.

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  6. Very nice indeed. I find that fight scenes can be very tricky. There is usually a lot going on and it takes skill to make me see it they way you invisioned it without a lot of confusion. You certainly know how to do that. Great, great job.

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  7. Very well written Roland. You are displaying your talents to the extreme here. Action has always been a strength for you.

    The dialogue was well done too. Got such a sense of these two, their same-but-different personalities and internal struggles.

    I very much enjoyed this Roland.

    ........dhole

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  8. That was tight and pacey! I loved it! A fallen angel fighting her doppelganger, all while floating in a giant zeppelin around the Christ the Redeemer statue! My, what an image!

    "I always wanted to do that," I laughed. "But I kept getting lipstick all over the mirror."

    That made me LOL!

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  9. I love the fight scenes! They were very tight.

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  10. ...whoever she is or was, she inspires you to write and my guess is, it was she who had noticed your true talents, and am sure, she too is giving you a big hug and a kiss in her ghostly way.

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  11. Loved this Roland. So much symbolism in fighting yourself. Being able to be killed by yourself puts a whole new spin on things.

    I loved the ending. She had to embrace that part of her in order to save herself.

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  12. This is awesome. I love how tightly paced it is and on how many different levels it works. I would love to read a book about this character.

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  13. Fantastic fight scene in every way.

    "That's Queen Bitch to you." LOL!!!

    I have something for you over at my blog so stop by when you get a chance between blogfests:)

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  14. Wow, what an adventure! I love the details of the scenery - the Nazi symbol, the statue, the zeppelin.

    My favorite line:

    "If you can't stand being you, why did you think I could?"

    A really beautiful piece, Roland. I loved it. Nice job - and keep writing!

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  15. The dynamic between the two characters was as compelling as the action itself. Excellently staged, very cinematic, very epic. If someone filmed this it would be spectacular. Great work Roland.

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  16. You're at your best when you'ore doing snappy dialogue and having characters interact with the setting. The way you wove the setting into the fight scene was fabulous!

    I really enjoyed this, and the character's attitude, though I didn't really understand the whole kissing thing until the end. I kept asking myself, "Why would you kiss someone in a fight? Much more effective to punch than leave yourself open." But in the end, wrapping it back around, it made sense.

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  17. Kelly Dexter's right, Roland! Awesome story, great fight scenes. Your mojo's humming along!

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  18. Roland, amazing piece. You somehow always pulll off wonderful imagery and descriptions, trailing your readers along for the ride. I only noticed one small thing and you might have done it on purpose, but it didn't seem to fit. : "She felt my eyes on her and whirled about, actually hissing at me, her knife springing up." How could your main character know that? I realize its a self fighting self type of thing, but it makes it less believable with this in it. just a for your information thing.

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  19. My favourite bit of imagery:
    "The world blurred, the deck changed shape beneath my boots"

    I love your way of writing, it's more poetry than prose!

    There's (another) award for you on my blog btw...

    Tessa.xx

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  20. A well-choreographed fight scene indeed. Nice job, Roland. ;]

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  21. I do believe this is my favorite fight scene. Inside the bowels of the zepplin, surfing the rails with sparking swords...then outside, balancing over the water with the granite statue. Loved the stolen kisses and the bending of space-time to flit right in front of her. I SO WISH you wrote screenplays! I would pay to see a movie like this.

    Edge of Your Seat Romance

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  22. I love this: "edging around each other on the Hindenburg's elevator flap, under a fifty foot swastika, in front of an open-armed, stony faced Jesus.

    It was the stuff of a Wagner opera, complete with two suicidal valkyries."

    Great action, Roland. This would make a terrific scene for a movie. :)

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  23. Coming by a little late...

    Great scene! One of my favorite lines:
    "I instinctively looked to the right, the side of my body without a heart."

    But the best has to be the ending.

    "I stood alone on top of the Hindenburg, the winds nearly blowing me off. The remote, staring eyes of the granite Jesus stabbed into me.

    Staggering at the impact of the winds, I snarled at Him.

    "What are you looking at? I wish the hell you'd tell me because I do not know."

    The words bled from me. "I do not know."

    And so did I, last of the Sidhe, slip past the stony, open-armed grasp of Christ the Redeemer."

    The staring eyes stabbing, the words bleeding, the symbolism of the Sidhe eluding the grasp of Christianity - this is beautiful writing.

    Very nicely done.

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