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170 2011/11/07(Mon)08:19 No. 170
This was posted some time ago, but I felt that it didn't feel right to be a full-fledged story. Posting it back up in /shorts/

Just what is it that allows drives people? Is it a home to live in? Is it lust? Relationships and friendships? Power, manipulation. Factors like these attribute to one's goal. And certainly, you've experienced a lot of these things. Betrayal was a constant displacement of hope. You've quickly learned to trust nobody.

From an early age on, you've felt something different. Something that was unique to you only, something that makes you different from the other kids. While others would be drawing on the blackboard in the school, you'd be reading a book. Alone, most of the time. There would be little time to play around with the others. But still, you can't help but feel misplaced when with the rest of the children.

It wasn't until your teenage years that you discovered a brown book, with nothing on the cover page. It seemed brand new, but occasionally, you saw the pages fade in and out of existence. Once day, there would be a page where it didn't have one before. But there were no words, only page numbers. The book, at the time, seemed so magical, so amazing.. You turned the pages every so often to see something different, even if it had nothing informative inside. The book became a necessity, taking it everywhere you went.

The village was raided. Your village. When the bandits came, you were paralyzed in fear. Hiding yourself behind the bookshelf in the second floor, you covered the whole thing with a drape, hiding yourself in crack of the corner behind it. A few strays came over and looted the house. You did your best to keep quiet, holding your breath while one man inspected the bookshelf. Seeing nothing of value, he pulls the drape down again and goes in taking everything else of value. Though you were safe, the others were surely not. The cramped space you were in did nothing to muffle the faint sounds of screaming and bloodshed outside.

You weren't sure how long you stayed inside. An eerie quiet now floats around the village. Only the crackling of almost-dead flames are heard. Creeping outside, you look around the perimeter before sneaking out. But before you do so, an arm grabs your wrist tightly. You manage not to yell out in fear and pain as it twists your wrist painfully. The book falls out of your grasp.

There was red everywhere. You preferred to not remember what had happened, but at least the book, while a little damp and red, was safely back in your grasp. Not having a place to stay anymore, you wandered. And wandered. A girl with purple hair had somehow come into your presence.

Although young, she had taught you many things. The first and foremost was magic manipulation, which was the easiest. The second, although not teaching you directly, was manipulation in general. You had discovered after much experimentation that psychology works almost as the same with magic. The last thing was to never trust anybody.

You thought fond of the young girl with purple hair, though you never bothered to ask her name. She was the quiet type, always looking into a book or writing something down. The two of you never uttered a word. But a sacred promise was kept, that the two of you would quest for magical power. But one day, she disappeared and never came back. But the day before she left without a trace, she said one thing. 'Pa-Patchouli...K-Knowledge.'

After she vanished, you felt compelled to find her. But not yet. You knew both you and that girl wanted power. So you gained power. Never once did you find her. The mysterious girl with the purple hair was as allusive as the wind. But you realized you liked power. And you wanted more.

Blood was on the tips of your fingers, but you had to do what you needed. You drew the curtains from the house. The scent of the place permeated with exposed chemicals. You displaced a can of oil. The contents were dumped over the body, not quite yet dead. You closed your eyes and clutched the book tightly to avoid the pleading eyes on the face of the person. The look of fear transitioning to pure dread as you lit the match was unbearable. The knuckles of your hands were snow white.

As the warm flame permeated the room. you wondered what had went wrong. It was easy to admit what you did wrong, and how it could have been prevented. But what you had become now? You couldn't answer that question, and didn't want to know either.

>> 2011/11/14(Mon)02:02 No. 187
This...
Is quite a disturbing subject.
>> 2011/11/15(Tue)15:07 No. 188
Interesting read, but I don't get it.
>> 2011/11/18(Fri)16:09 No. 192
>>188
The general tone is how someone became what they once fought/ what had hurt them and made them begin this quest to begin with.
I think it's supposed to be Alice or something.